"But now and then, you can make people care, make people notice that something ain't quite right, and nudge them gently, with the words, to get off their ass and fix it." ~Rick Bragg
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Anna Lily is here!
Anna weighed nearly 8lbs. What a triumph and blessing! Remember my other children's birthweights? 3.10 and 5.2! I pushed (roared, more like it) on my hands and knees. I had no idea that the so-called "urge to push" was actually a freight train running through your body that doesn't give you a CHOICE about whether or not to push. I was told several times not to push, which seemed at the time like the most absurd request I'd ever heard. There was no stopping and starting. My body owned the process and I was just along for the ride.
It truly was amazing! Labor didn't hurt, pushing was lots of pain. I really don't even feel like I've just had a baby. Oh, and she's an amazing little nursling!
Monday, June 22, 2009
A wild call and a clear call that may not be denied
I'm in labor! I don't know how long it will last. My last labor was a few days long, so please don't worry if you don't hear anything from me for a few days. For those of you following me on FaceBook, I'll try to update more frequently on there. Meanwhile, here is a poem I think describes labor and birth beautifully (even though it's not written about labor) and also a link to the song I've chosen for Anna's birth photo montage. I'll see you "on the other side"!
Sea Fever
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
By John Masefield (1878-1967).