Elana Kirsh

Tag: babies

  • The Latest Gaza Conflict – In My Head

    The Latest Gaza Conflict – In My Head

    I’m so conflicted as I write this. I can’t even find a title I like, and that’s usually one of my fortes – it just comes to me in a flash of inspiration.

    On one hand, the current reality of my life in Tel Aviv is completely unacceptable. Rockets the size of mini-buses are being fired multiple times a day on dense civilian populations. I don’t feel comfortable taking our five-month-old baby to the pool for fear of a siren going off and not having a protected space nearby in which to take cover. Driving even a few minutes away seems like an unnecessary risk. Every second time I put Gadi down for a nap I end up having to bundle him up and run into the stairwell to take cover during a rocket attack.

    And yet. We just went for a walk (on a route with buildings to seek shelter close by) and it’s business as usual. The sun is shining. Families are picnicking on the boulevard. Cafes are full. In a strange, surreal way, the underlying anxiety is actually tolerable – probably even a better standard of living than most people around the world. Sure, there’s an uncomfortable uncertainty – when the rockets will hit, whether Iron Dome will intercept (and let’s face it, one of these days it’s going to miss), if the Neil Young concert next Thursday will be canceled or postponed. I’m not saying it’s not unsettling – but it is livable.

    But what about the new mothers just like me in Gaza? All of the normal people in Gaza. As I make my way through this weird-ass week of sirens and bomb shelters, our Gazan counterparts are constantly on my mind. I keep thinking about the mothers who are just trying to protect their own little babies, as the IDF attacks terror targets left, right and center. And to be honest, it makes my considerations seem kind of precious.

    I found it hard to sleep the night of the first rockets on Tel Aviv this week – I kept thinking I was hearing air raid sirens and worrying about what angle a rocket would hit if it slammed into our apartment. But there were none, and realistically I would have heard if there was, and eventually I did sleep. Do new mothers in the Gaza Strip have any time to relax between night feeds under these unrelenting attacks, night after night? Are their babies screaming non-stop? Do they have roofs? I can’t stop thinking about it.

    I’m so conflicted as I write this. I simultaneously agree and disagree with so many of the arguments I see splattered across my Facebook News Feed. I think the Israeli management of the conflict is stupid – short-sighted and uninspired and aggressive. But yes, we do have the right to defend ourselves, and life for Israelis in the South under rocket fire is intolerable, and what would America do if Mexico…. bla bla. And of course Hamas is no better – the Islamist organization has no regard for human life, poor organization and planning at best and murderous intent at worst. And that’s to say nothing of efforts and failures at fair reporting locally and abroad.

    Last time we lived through almost the exact same war – in 2012 – I was running the JPost.com news website. During one rocket attack I was walking home after a long day in the newsroom, blasting music in my headphones, and managed to completely miss a siren. I tweeted about it and received polarized responses – from “take care,” “shalom,” and “stay safe” to “oh poor you, no headphones – think about all the Gazans you’re killing.” Trying to keep an unbiased, journalistic voice, I said little. But you know what – both responses are right. Everyone should be able to walk down the street listening to The Prodigy and not have to worry about their personal safety. All human beings should have that luxury. And yet by the same token, it really was but a small inconvenience to my life – a cute anecdote, if that.

    I’m conflicted because I don’t want to be political, and I want this blog to be about mindfulness and parenting and yoga and other such crunchy topics. But this is the reality of our lives at this moment, and I do want to give my internal conflict a voice. I believe that this dichotomy is shared by many, and ends up being the reason that nothing changes. Because for most Israelis (civilians in the South under constant attack notwithstanding) – it’s not bad enough to do anything. And for most Palestinians, it’s too bad to even imagine life any other way.

    There has to be a better way. The bottom line is that we – Israelis in Tel Aviv – can deal with life like this. Possibly for a long time. I don’t know how long Gaza can hold out. And I shudder to think of the long term effect on the psyches of the Gazan people – will any of them ever really recover from these bi-yearly military operations? Is there any chance of the babies just like Gadi growing up not hating Israelis? I honestly doubt it.

    And it doesn’t matter who’s to blame – this is exactly what we can’t afford to tolerate.

    I’m bringing up a lot of questions, wishy-washy statements, emotions – and few answers, I know. Everyone has to take this situation and do with it what feels right for them. But for me – it’s gotta be a catalyst for change. Because if Israel keeps going the way it seems to be going – fast to the Right with no sign of it making anything any better, with regular mini wars with neighboring terrorist groups – then we’re not going to want to raise kids here. And I want to be clear – I wasn’t born into this society; I came here to realize a dream of bringing up children in an Israel of which I could be proud.

    I’m not proud right now, and I want to be.

    I can’t be responsible for everything, no one can, but I can do my bit to make this society into one that could make peace – when the conditions are ripe. I can speak up against intolerance, against senseless violence and against bolstering an “us and them” mentality which marginalizes the “other” and justifies all manner of unethical behavior. Without pointing fingers, without assigning blame – just calling a spade a spade when I can.

    To this end, my husband and I just joined Israel’s left-wing party, Meretz. It’s a small step and you probably won’t see either of us leading the party any time soon, but at least we’ll be putting a little bit of time, money and energy where our proverbial mouths are. Doing something to prime Israel for peace, adding our voices to the whisper that still thinks it’s possible.

    But even if every single Israeli followed suit right now, it still wouldn’t be enough – Palestinians are going to need to do the same. In Gaza, in the West Bank, wherever else – please, for your own sake. To those of you looking at your babies and wondering what will be – find some way to do the same. My life is already pretty good. It’s your lives that stand to get so much better if we can somehow find it in our hearts to make peace. Know that there are Israelis who believe in peace. Use the word. Convince your husbands and your fathers and your mothers and your sisters.

    For our sons.

  • Redefining the Four-Month Sleep Regression

    Ever since my peers started having babies, I’ve heard about the ‘Four Month Sleep Regression’ – generally defined as “just when you think you’ve got a handle on getting the baby to sleep, everything goes to shit.” And there’s definitely something to it – our four- (almost five)- month-old has been going through some big changes over the past few weeks – and as a result his sleep has been negatively affected. Whereas not long ago we were able to put him in cot drowsy, sing a little and say goodnight and he’d drop off by himself, now bedtime can be anything from him passing out on the boob, to a full hour of inconsolable screaming (usually ending with him falling asleep on the boob). And this goes for daytime naps, too.

    Nonetheless, I’m here to assert that this trying phase deserves a new name. I strongly believe that how we term and frame things shapes our experience – and that by choosing better words we can opt to bring more enjoyment and less suffering into our parenting.

    Over the past few weeks, Gadi has been going through some crazy leaps and bounds in his development – both motor and cognitive. When I’m not playing with him, doing the laundry, feeding or writing, I’m loving just watching him learn and explore. He does this adorable little skydiver move, on his tummy with his arms and legs out and up, he giggles and chats and dribbles. He reaches for toys and gets entranced by noises and colors. To my reading, this huge influx of sensory information is keeping him wired, making it more difficult for him to relax enough to get to sleep. And I totally get that; I know that when huge things have been going on for me – like covering massive news events in years gone by, for example – I’ve found it pretty hard to wind down and drift off to sleep.

    Why sleep when you can skydive?
    Why sleep when you can skydive?

    But why frame all of this as a negative? What we’re actually seeing is a developmental leap which we should be celebrating – not a regression. Gadi hasn’t stopped rolling over and he doesn’t babble to himself less – he’s just having some sleep disturbances. When our teenagers turn into maniacs during exam time, or our friends turn into Bridezilla during the stress of planning their dream wedding, we don’t say they’re having a regression – so why do it to babies? I think this ill-conceived concept that development is perfectly linear is playing a huge part in how difficult we experience these admittedly difficult patches.

    Of course, it’s not just the words – it’s the mindset that comes with them. When we expect that everything will stay the same and refuse to roll with the ebb and flow of life, or that we’ll get more and more sleep or time to ourselves as time goes by, we’re kidding ourselves. And to be totally honest maybe it’s even kind of selfish. We made the decision to have kids – surely we anticipated some rough patches? Maybe really it’s us, the parents, that are having a regression when we view tough times without context, without zooming out to remember the big picture. To quote the Buddha:

    Pain in life is inevitable but suffering is not. Pain is what the world does to you, suffering is what you do to yourself. Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.

    And so, in an effort to take out the suffering, I propose: The ‘Four Month Super Leap’! Who’s with me? Let’s marvel at our babies’ progress rather than getting ourselves all bummed out about a bit of screaming and tiredness.

    One last thing: I highly recommend whipping up a batch of these delicious chocolate chili vegan cookies. They’re full of sugar, granted, but hey – they’re keeping me buzzed and happy at the present moment so what the hell. Just try not to leave out the baking soda if you can manage it – my first batch suffered from a severe baby brain-induced softness regression.

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    Gotta just go with it – HRH Gadi takes the bed.

  • The Only Thing I Can Control is Laundry

    The last few years have been a real journey for me – from therapy and NLP to new friends and new places, yoga and meditation. I’ve learnt so much, and yet really it all comes down to acceptance – and control. Accepting the things I don’t like about myself and others, learning that everything comes and goes – regardless of my desires. That even the things I think are in my control generally are not.

    And now with a four-month-old baby, it seems to be the perfect time to put that understanding into practice. To really be in the moment, release my minute-to-minute desires, surrender to the timeless flow of breastfeeding. To realize how little I really know.

    And that’s why I love doing the laundry. Very non-feminist of me, I know – but seriously that shit does what I say. If I program the machine to finish at 8am, it complies. I can take out all my OCD tendencies on putting the socks on one side of the line, the baby clothes on the other, and of course separating sheets and towels (despite my darling husband’s efforts to the contrary). I can fold it all neatly and it never fights back.

    And best of all – it’s never-ending. Lucky me.

  • I Have Absolutely No Idea What I’m Doing

    Just a few months ago I was sure that I had pregnancy and birth all figured out – that I knew exactly what to do (and what everyone else was doing wrong). And then the big day came along and I was humbled as hell. And now with a four month old, most of the time I still think I have all the answers – I meditate my way through nursing, use my mindfulness skills to observe the baby, fit in some yoga and healthy food when I can and everything is perfect.

    And then an evening like last night comes along to show me that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Certainly not enough to be telling anyone else what to do. Nothing we did could get Gadi to sleep, and he was completely overtired. An hour of screaming ensued. Just an hour, not really so much in the scheme of things I know but it was pretty far from the norm. I hadn’t slept well the night before so my exhaustion was probably all the fuel need to spark this overwhelming feeling that I am COMPLETELY CLUELESS. That every other time I’ve managed to calm the baby has been a total fluke. That I need a complete change of tack because nothing is working and what if something is wrong and maybe he’s not even tired and did I feed him too much? Or not enough? I’m sure he’s tired wait no maybe he’s not, look he’s wide awake, but he keeps closing his eyes – and doesn’t that curled tongue gesture mean hungry?

    In the end, it was a mixture of singing and cuddles that I haven’t used to help him sleep since he was a tiny baby that did the trick. Maybe he’s teething or it’s a phase or some sort of sleep regression or something, I don’t know. Probably just really overtired. And of course after all that, he had one of his best night’s sleep ever – only one wake up to eat and straight back to sleep – and is now happy and rested and giggling on the play mat with his dad.

    I suppose this is just another reality of being a parent, right? That we never have all the answers – the game is constantly changing. Just like everything else.

  • My Baby is a Guru

    My baby is a little Buddha. A tiny, super cute & portable meditation teacher.

    In simple mindfulness meditation, we learn to bring our attention back to the breath, over and over again. “Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, start preparing dinner, do I have any onion in the house? Oh, I have to write that email, ah – breathe in, out, in, out, in, out – hey what’s that pain in my knee, oo my ear itches – wait – breathe in, breathe out.” And so on. Each time we remember what we’re meant to be doing, mindfulness comes back and we return to the meditation. The longer we’re able to keep our attention on the breath, the more subtleties of sensation reveal themselves to us, and the deeper our concentration and insight grows.

    So too with caring for a baby – the more we keep our attention on what’s happening in the here and now, the quicker and more accurately we’re able to respond, and the deeper our connection grows. Even from the very first day, it’s so easy to lose sight of what’s actually happening – especially through the exhaustion, confusion and emotional roller-coaster that comes with a new baby. It’s natural for our minds to wander to all the things we want to get done once the baby finally goes to sleep, to get obsessed with schedules and milk quantities and not waking the neighbors.

    But babies don’t care about this stuff, their minds aren’t running around like ours – I presume that doesn’t happen until the development of language. Instead, babies are right there in the moment, always. Just trying to get their needs met, and to work out what the hell is going on out in this strange, dry, new world. And so each and every peep they make, each groan, each cry can be a lesson in stopping the mind babble and coming back to the present moment to see what’s really happening. To investigate it with the patience and curiosity of the deepest, most silent meditation.

    Here’s an example – not one I’m proud of, but a good one nonetheless: earlier today I spent almost an hour trying to help a crying Gadi relax and get to sleep. Definitely out of character for a daytime nap, but okay. I tried everything – from singing, patting, humming and “shh”-ing, leaving him for a couple of minutes to try work it out himself, even the dummy he’s never liked – everything. He was not hungry and definitely tired, but here’s the truth – I was starving. Somewhere between noticing that he was tired and putting him down in his bed, my mind had raced ahead to the quinoa and vegetables awaiting me in the kitchen, and I wasn’t really paying attention. I was ignoring the mindfulness alarm screaming at me, loud and clear and flashing red.

    When I realized, I felt like a complete moron: He was hot. I took his pants off and the screaming stopped instantly, and a smile spread across his tired little face. And then the next moment was something different again – he was thirsty (not surprising since he’d just spent 40 minutes trying to get his point across!) And so he drank, and he’s still passed out in the middle of our bed now, over 2 hours later.

    This new level of mindfulness that he’s teaching reminds me to examine the reality of this very moment – not what came before or what I want to come after – and to deal with just that. To accept the present moment rather than trying in vain to resist or to manipulate, or to take anything for granted. Just because the baby went to sleep easily at 6:45pm last night after a bath, massage, story and feed DOES NOT guarantee that he’s going to do it again tonight, or in fact ever again. He might – but taking the assumption for granted is a surefire recipe for disaster, and for missing signs and igniting a battle of wills between the two of us. Instead, my little mindfulness teacher guides me with his signals – helping me avoid hours of him crying and me feeling like a failure. And every time I slip out of focus, start senselessly expending energy on changing the present moment – he beckons me back with his tiny fingers and his not-so-tiny cry.

    All I have to do to learn is watch and listen, now.

  • 9 Tips for Surviving the Postpartum Period

    A wise woman once told me: Nobody talks about the after party. Ironically, this mother of three told me this after seeing me basically every day of my first pregnancy, and yet uttering nary a word about what I could expect in the postpartum days and weeks. The impending labor and birth we talked about, naturally, along with pregnancy matters galore – from ultrasounds and iron supplements to headaches and contractions. Parenting plans came up, name ideas, baby furniture. Hospitals, midwives and nursing consultants. But postpartum recovery was just never mentioned. No one was game to raise the issue, it seems.

    It’s understandable. You’d sound like a right downer if your first reaction upon finding out your friend was pregnant was to tell them, “Now love, you should know that sitting down may well hurt for quite some time after delivery.” I get it. But women need – and deserve – to be prepared for this intense period. This paradoxical moment in time when you need quiet and rest more than anything else – and instead you get basically no sleep, well-meaning family and friends bugging you round the clock, and varying degrees of aches and pains. And just to make things more confusing and ambiguous, all of this is sprinkled with heart-bursting love, super birth hormones and an amazing appetite.

    And so I write this by way of preparation for those about to give birth, and vow to send it to my friends and my sisters when their time comes. Even if they don’t love me for it at the time.

    1. You’re gonna bleed, big time – and not just like the “heavy period” that I remember hearing about. The midwife is gonna stick three surfboard-size pads together for you, and you’re gonna thank her for it. Keep in mind that the more you rest, the quicker your postpartum bleeding will stop. Rest.
    2. Black is the new black. You don’t want to find out what happens when your grey sweatpants make it to your hospital bag. This goes for underwear for the first couple of weeks too (though I actually recommend buying the sexy disposable mesh ones for the first few days. So much easier).
    3. Going to the bathroom is going to hurt, one way or another. You got through the birth, you can get through this. Take it slow and if possible take the shower head with you (assuming you had a vaginal birth). Spraying water on the area while you’re doing your business is a godsend. I wish someone had told me this earlier.
    4. Cold is your friend. If you’re in a hospital they should provide frozen magnesium or witch hazel pads, and at home you can easily make your own. Trust me, you’ll almost enjoy it.
    5. Stay in the moment – don’t waste your precious energy worrying about what you could have done differently during the birth, or how long this discomfort is going to last. Try this nursing meditation, if it tickles your fancy, put your phone down and focus on your breath for a few minutes, or utilize whatever reminders you need to stay mindful of what you’re doing right now. I really believe this will keep you sane through at least some of the exhaustion and the emotional breakdowns.
    6. Give the nursing apps a miss – unless you (or your baby) are having real problems. I used one at first and started to feel like I couldn’t feed unless I had my phone, not to mention getting obsessed with how long, which boob, averages etc. Losing my phone 4 weeks in was a blessing in disguise, and I realized that a hairband on my wrist to tell me which boob was next worked (and continues to work) just as well.
    7. Let people help, but remember to tell them when you need space. I didn’t do this enough and I should have. The first few weeks are crucial for bonding with your new baby – and if you’re anything like me, resting properly with guests in your space is difficult. Leave the washing. Screw the dishes. Forget about other people’s feelings for now. Lay on the couch.
    8. Bring a snack bowl to bed (better yet, get someone else to make it for you). Waking up every hour or so to breastfeed feels a lot better when you have chocolate, dried fruit, nuts etc at arms reach. Ditto for a liter or two of water.
    9. Give yourself a break. There is an unrealistic expectation on women (I loved this blog post on the topic) to bounce back right after birth, and for most of us it’s just not that simple. Many cultures around the world expect new mothers to be completely out of action for the first 40 days. Don’t expect to feel “normal” for the first month, at least.

    If you’re reading this before giving birth – or even before getting pregnant – I should add: it’s totally worth it. It would be even if you needed to wear the triple maxi pads for six months (you don’t). It can just be a bit of a shock, that’s all.

     

  • Nursing and meditating (or, nipple meditation)

    Nursing and meditating (or, nipple meditation)

    So I’m pretty sure I’ve invented a new type of meditation. I’ve googled it and everything – no one has thought of it before; I’m truly a trailblazer. Combining my sparkling new motherhood experience and my only slightly more established mindfulness meditation practice, I present: nursing meditation (or, nipple meditation – if you prefer).

    Essentially a modification on anapana sati, the Buddhist meditation of mindfulness on breathing, it goes a little something like this:

    1. Do whatever you usually do to start feeding – get comfortable, have water nearby, get baby latched on and settled in.
    2. Let your eyes close gently, sit up straight, and take a few deep breaths to settle in yourself – into your body, the experience and sensations of right now.
    3. When you feel calm and present, bring your full attention to the nipple of the breast from which your child is eating. At first you might just notice the sucking, tugging sensation of nursing – and that’s fine. When your mind wanders – and it always will – your only job is to gently bring it back to your nipple. As you deepen your concentration the subtleties of sensation – perhaps temperature, speed, texture – will reveal themselves. Without judging or analyzing, simply observe – sit back and watch the sensations, the experience of each moment come and go.
    4. For bonus points (not really), cultivate an appreciation for the truly amazing process of growing this tiny, beautiful creation – which started as a few cells inside you however many months ago and now continues to be nurtured by your body.
    5. When your nursling is finished his/her meal, open your eyes and take a moment – and really be there – before rushing off to continue the ongoing cycle of diaper changes, baths, tummy time and naps.
    6. Repeat as often as possible.

    Now, I’m pretty sure this isn’t gonna give me a free ticket to nirvana or anything, but it does seem to be keeping my fledgling meditation practice at bay while riding the early months of parenthood. Just breaking it down, getting out of my head and into my body for a few minutes, a few times a day brings a centered quality to my consciousness that I’ve only ever been able to achieve through meditation.

    Babies live in the moment. The least we can do is try to meet them there every now and then.

  • Today’s Achievements During Morning Nap Time

    I’m feeling proud. During Gadi’s morning nap today I managed to:

    1. rinse soiled baby clothes and cloth nappy from overnight
    2. put on load of washing
    3. write two emails
    4. send two text messages
    5. comment on two Facebook posts
    6. pump 200mL of breast milk
    7. separate, label and store said breast milk
    8. shower
    9. brush teeth
    10. get dressed
    11. hang up said washing

    and

    12. write harried blog post

    Seriously, I remember times when I didn’t get this much done in an entire day.

    10:11am and still going strong

  • The Secret Link Between Babies and Camping

    In my recent musings (granted – probably fueled by some mild infant-induced sleep deprivation), it has occurred to me that there are an unnerving number of similarities between babies and camping. Allow me to present my findings:

    1. Rise with the sun
    The first rays of sunlight penetrate the tent, stimulate a hot-house effect and make sleeping past 6am impossible. Maybe that’s what’s happening in my baby’s brain.

    2. Embrace getting dirty
    At least there aren’t any mirrors in the great outdoors.

    3. It pays to be prepared
    I’m not sure what’s better – the feeling of triumph as you realize there’s a bottle opener on your Swiss army knife, or the day when you actually use the fourth “spare” outfit (see #2).

    4. Simple meals are best
    You’re gonna need to either cook it with a mini stove or eat it with one hand on your lap. Probably better off with a sandwich, huh?

    5. Waking up way more often than you’d like
    As if #1 wasn’t enough.

    Need I go on? A word to the wise. Before you go off the pill, ask yourself – do you feel like going on a full-time, non-stop camping trip?

    Luckily, I do.

  • Gadi’s Birth Day (or, hospitals and Hypnobirthing)

    There are so many angles and ideas running through my head from which to come at this story – and of course the voice telling me to just take a nap, or pick up the gorgeous baby sleeping next to me and watch him for the next hour instead. Do I focus on expectations vs. reality? The indescribable joy that Uri and I are filled with every time we look at Gadi which overshadows anything that did or didn’t happen on his birthing day? How Hypnobirthing and a positive attitude in general made lemonades out of labor lemons? The bitchy list of “37 Ways in Which Hospitals are Anti-Health” which has been bubbling in my brain for three weeks now? Or some sort of babbling narrative combination of all of the above?

    Gotta just start writing. Before it all disappears into a blur of laundry and feeding apps and enough baby photos to make all of my Facebook friends “hide” me in their news feeds.

    I woke up around 6am on Saturday February 1, 2014 – Gadi’s due date – with the slow realization that these gas pains were getting pretty regular and might actually be contractions. After snoozing for as long as possible I got up and started timing the sensations, and doing some Hypnobirthing breathing and visualizations. I felt (and continued to feel for the entire labor) everything in my lower back, but at this point a bit of focus and relaxation got me through them pretty easily. They were coming about 5 minutes apart, for less than a minute. After about an hour I woke Uri up and told him that despite my months of trash talk about due dates, we may well be about to meet our baby on his. As we added final touches to our hospital bags, I lounged around the apartment finding positions which were most comfortable during contractions, had a shower, spoke to the midwives at the natural birthing clinic at Tel Hashomer Hospital, and agreed that we’d talk again once the contractions “got more intense.” Whatever that meant.

    We decided to go for a walk, and at first it was great to be outside and moving around. We live in the middle of a city though and it didn’t take long for me to start feeling pretty self conscious about needing to lean over something, swing my hips and groan for a minute every few minutes. I was starting to understand what I’d read and heard about women in labor needing a private, intimate environment. More on that to come.

    To prepare for labor and birth, Uri and I had taken a course in Hypnobirthing, and were planning for a calm, gentle, natural birth. I’d had a smooth, chilled pregnancy and despite some minor jitters towards the end, when the birthing day arrived I was calm and excited, and certainly not scared. The ease with which I was dealing with early labor led me to believe that the whole process would be a breeze just like I’d imagined, and that in a few hours I’d be floating in a birthing pool, looking beautiful and breathing my baby out into the world. Hmm, not quite.

    Before long we were back home, spoke to the midwives again, and decided to head into the hospital. I put on my headphones, snuggled up to a pillow and practiced the Rainbow Relaxation in the back of the car, pulling myself forward to hang off the passenger seat every time a contraction started. It was uncomfortable but not that bad, and I was excited when we got to the hospital about 20 minutes later. I had expected the car ride to be far worse.

    In actual fact, the next 4 hours or so were probably the worst part of the labor, and certainly the reason I’ll be planning things very differently the next time around. Without going into too many tedious details, I went from 2cm to about 7cm dilated, from contractions being manageable to taking up my entire focus and concentration, from feeling like I was in control and my body was just doing its thing to wanting to cry from frustration at the entire system. I understood first-hand how hospitals can funnel women straight from their dreams of natural birth and empowerment to screaming at their partners and begging for epidurals.

    Despite having booked and paid for the natural birthing center I had to endure two 20-minute fetal monitors – supposedly laying flat on my back which felt completely impossible for me – and was ultimately told that I couldn’t be admitted because the baby’s heart rate wasn’t staying steady enough. While this almost threw me for a loop the truth is that by then – at least three hours after arriving at the hospital – all I wanted to do was get into a private room and I didn’t really care which one it was. Laboring in public is the pits, plain and simple. I still cannot believe that such a major hospital doesn’t at least have small areas for women and their birth partners – seriously a few meters curtained off with a beanbag and a physio ball would do it – while waiting for various checks and “measures” of progress.

    In any case, we were taken into the delivery room around 4pm, having finally met up with the natural birth midwife who would accompany us for the rest of the journey. I was basically stripping as we walked down the hallway in anticipation of the jacuzzi, believing that it would finally get me back into the “zone” and out of this horrible hospital vibe. The room itself – while still a hospital room – was at least spacious, and I was able to move around easily as we had a cordless fetal monitor (which I had to wear continuously  all of the time because of the earlier dodgy reading) from the natural birthing suite. The only real “intervention” that I had to suck up was having an open vein put in as soon as I got into the spa – apparently hospital policy.

    The order of what happened next is all a bit of a blur. Around the same time I got into the pool I felt my waters break, the midwife checked and I was at about 7 1/2 cm, and I realized it was time to let go. To let go of my disappointment about things not going exactly the way I’d planned, my surprise at how much contractions hurt, and the fact that I was in a hospital room with no tie-dye and no flowers in sight – and that I probably looked like shit. While my husband has since assured me I dealt with everything calmly and gracefully, it all seemed kinda crazy then and I had to find the space to be okay with it.

    And where was the Hypnobirthing in all of this? Maybe I left it in the car, I dunno. I’m pretty sure that there were positive effects from all my practice – the fact that I was never scared, for example, and my familiarity with the slow breaths I used through each contraction. But there was certainly no rainbow mist and no time for visualizations. I remember Uri trying to start reading a script at one point and I was like “seriously? The contractions are like 2 minutes apart and last for over a minute – there’s no time!” And that was that.

    After a while I had enough of the jacuzzi – it was a corner spa rather than a proper birthing pool and not the most comfortable – and started trying to find a more comfortable position around the room. I walked and leaned on Uri a bit, draped myself over the end of the bed, squatted… and before long the midwife checked me again and said I was 9 1/2 cm dilated and could start pushing whenever I wanted. I remember feeling excited about actually being able to “do” something, but confused because that “urge” that everyone talks about to bear down – I never felt it. I was enthusiastic though and the pressure of the baby’s head was definitely getting lower, so I started moving into the “birth breathing” that we’d learned and practiced. I don’t know if maybe I wasn’t doing it right, or if it was too early, but it did nothing – and eventually the midwife told me “honey, maybe this hypno-breathing works for second and third babies, but you’re gonna need to take a deep breath, hold it and push your baby out.”

    So what was I gonna do, you know? Tell her “listen lady, I’ve read a whole book – twice! – and been to five classes. What do you know?” At the time it felt like she was the only person who was gonna help me get the baby out, and I really wanted to meet him by now. I felt like it had been forever and I’d had enough. So I held my breath and I pushed and pushed. I got cheered on, I moved around, and slowly slowly our baby’s head moved down and finally emerged through that “ring of fire” that I’d read about. Definitely the most painful part – and yes, I made some noise  – but it didn’t take too long. Another push and his whole body slid out, and suddenly our beautiful (and I mean beautiful!) baby was screaming and squirming on my stomach. We moved from the birthing stool on the floor up onto the (horrible hospital) bed and spent a surreal hour smiling, eating and exhaling, all the while with little Gadi trying to latch on to my nipple. I discovered then that it had actually only been a few hours – Gadi was born just before 7pm on his due date, 12 hours after I woke up and realized I was in labor. I also learned that Uri had not eaten or been to the bathroom all day – I really cannot explain what an amazing support he was (and continues to be).

    During those next few hours I feel like I used more Hypnobirthing techniques than during the birth itself, but maybe it’s just that I was more conscious of it. In conversations about when to cut the cord and refusing Pitocin to help with the afterbirth, I felt I was able to stay calm and clearly voice our wishes, just like we’d practiced in class. And when my (multiple) tears were being stitched (while Uri had gone with Gadi to the doctor) I managed to stay very calm and relaxed with breathing exercises and visualizations.

    That night and the next day or two weren’t the easiest for us – Gadi was hyperventilating and needed to have his stomach pumped and receive oxygen and fluids, and I got a bit post partum anemic, needed fluids and was very weak and dizzy – but I believe our Hypnobirthing preparation helped us stay as calm as possible. Here too, the challenge was to let go of our expectations and to be with the reality as it was. And it really wasn’t that bad. Happily, Gadi passed each test and check with flying colors, and I was able to feed him the following day, though we couldn’t bring him out of the nursery or take anyone else in with us to meet him. We dealt with our well-meaning family and friends calling and wanting to visit – some more understanding than others – as best we could, and tried to focus on bonding with our baby in the neon lights of the nursery.

    So what are my takeaway points here? Birth is hard, and hospitals functioning in this way make it harder. I think that if you want a calm, natural birth either stay away from hospitals altogether, or if that’s not your thing get a doula. We’ll be doing one of the two next time for sure. I was very disappointed by the way things worked out with the natural birthing center, and don’t think that as first-time parents there was any way we could have kept me in the zone where I wanted to be in the face of the hospital bureaucracy and hoop-jumping. I should note that it’s the anti-birth and anti-recovery hospital policy with which I take issue, and not the conduct of individual staff members which was almost exclusively excellent.

    At first I felt quite disillusioned with the way everything turned out, but I’m finding my peace with it now – especially as I start to feel more human and Gadi is just the most beautiful, chilled baby. Despite the “hospital” feel of the birth and all of my frustrations, everything did unfold completely naturally – by the book, really – and I still firmly believe that most women are able to birth their babies in this way. We just need to remember to breathe.

    Gadi Henry Goldberg
    Born 6:55pm on 1/2/2014
    Weight: 3.7kg