Norah June, A Birth Story

On my flight home from NYC last October, I started writing a poem. My world was still shaky with Bri's death and my unexpected pregnancy, but I was desperate to find solid ground and to make peace with my body and my grief. So I wrote this poem, more out of awe that I could create life at a time when I felt so empty and depleted, but also out of longing to connect to a baby who I couldn't imagine as a part of my life, let alone my body.


Life created in the barren places
is green and fierce despite the howling wind,
harsh as it crawls begging through the canyons of my body.

You came to light in a desert place,
a landscape marked by uncertainty and distance.
And you brought with you
bones and stones and endless sky --
water enough to swell and stretch.

When the earth cries for relief from its sanctification,
will the skies answer
with a crash of light, a gathering darkness,
heat that writhes in red rising flood?

Flesh on flesh
skull to pelvis
When the pounding ceases
and the horizon clears,
will we be blossoming with life,
Or will we be drowned?

It's strange to read now, to share it now, knowing what happened in the weeks and months that followed. The clubfoot diagnosis. Sela's diabetes diagnosis. Feeling like my entire life had fallen apart and I was grasping at loose threads, desperately trying to hold my old, familiar life together, and left kneeling, empty-handed.

It's so difficult to write about the darkest period of my life, to fight the instinct to brush it aside, smile, and tell you how happy we are to have Norah here, how Sela is thriving, how everything is wonderful and perfect and pretty. I like to tell happy stories and share beautiful things. I like when things work out. I like my life to be neat and tidy and comfortable for everyone, or to at least seem that way when it's not. 

It's not easy or comfortable to tell you that I know what it's like to cry every day for an entire year, to feel grief, disappointment, and fear closing in at every turn, and to lay in bed every morning holding my breath and praying that Sela will wake up too. I know what it's like to wonder if I'll love and celebrate a child born with clubfeet, to face deformity without embarrassment, anger, or shame. I know what it's like to go to a therapist every week for months because I needed someone to sit with me while I cried for hours and allow me to empty the ugliness and smallness and pettiness from the darkest parts of myself.

Norah's birth story isn't an easy one to tell, even if the actual birth is a pretty straightforward, uncomplicated one. The experiences of the months, weeks, and even hours leading up to her birth are inseparable from this story, our shared story, and I can't explain the joy and awe without showing you the pain and heartache in equal measure.

birth in rural nepal

This beautiful, haunting story of birth in rural Nepal had me in tears this morning. All women need access to skilled birth attendants and support from a community that understands and values the work of pregnancy, labor, birth, and motherhood. Childbirth should not be a death sentence. All images and text by freelance photojournalist Toni Graves. You can also find an interview Toni did as part of NPR's The Baby Project right here.

via the lovey Leigh from Marvelous Kiddo.

a part of me, apart from me

You come to me in the early morning hours. When darkness and quiet gather over my sleeping children and the only sound in this stilled house is the door as it clicks gently closed behind Brian on his way to work, you come. I sigh, stretching my sleep-warmed feet out from under my quilt into the new September air pouring  through the open window. The skies are dark. The neighbor's sprinklers start. I take a deep breath. I let you in.

You come to me in dreams, in music, in memories, but it is your smell that always comes first; a red currant candle in the winter and pine soap on your bathroom sink. Flashes of rosemary and mint as you distractedly twist your long, dark hair into a neat bun. Buttery pie crusts, apple cider, pastry cream with a splash of orange extract, and black flecks of vanilla bean stirred into soft-white peaks of whipping cream. Olive oil, as you spread your hands across my growing belly, searching for that tiny, quick heartbeat. Clean sheets, sweet smelling pillowcases, and Mrs. Meyers dish soap in your light filled kitchen.

You come to me in the places we loved together. Saturday morning farmer's markets and the homes of new, proud mothers. Countless bakeries and small cafes and bookshops. Downtown Salt Lake City on summer nights. Your pretty little office with the Anthropologie drawer-pulls and glass jars filled with raspberry tea. You perched on that tiny stool and me with my legs tucked under my skirt talking late into the afternoon and early evening. I see you in Southern California for Tess' wedding. When I step out of the car your eyes narrow as you look at my swollen feet, "Pregnant feet. How much water did you drink, Rachel? No, tell me how many ounces, I need to know. Did you pack salty snacks like I told you to? How often did you stop to pee and walk around? How many times did you pee today, Rachel?"  And finally, your front yard, warm with a new spring, and you surrounded by the women and mothers who love you for honoring them and celebrating the important work that they and their bodies do. I kiss you on the cheek and hug you tight, my hands full of plates of food for Brian and the kids and Eloise books for Sela. I tell you I'll call you soon to plan our birthday lunch, "Only a few more weeks!" you remind me. Your dark eyes find mine again, so solemn this time. I hug you again, thanking you for the beautiful party and sweet gifts. I cross the street to my car, looking back to see you tenderly folding a new baby into your arms with laughter on your face. As I start the car, I glance across the street once more and say to my friend, "That felt so much like good-bye."

You come to me in hundreds of different ways during those quiet moments. So many memories waiting to be unpacked, unfolded, and carefully brought to the light. But a few mornings ago, one sweet memory came to me so clearly: It was wintertime and we are both curled up on your big blue sofa with a six-month-old baby Graham sleeping between us, his belly softly rising and falling with contented breath. As I watch you trace your finger over his fuzzy, round head, I ask, "Bri, what is your favorite part of your job?" You are quiet as you stoke Graham's cheek, and when your finger brushes close to his mouth and he starts to quietly suckle we both smile. "I think my favorite part is watching the journey and transformation of the woman," you carefully and thoughtfully answer, your fingers wrapping around Graham's chubby fist. "No matter how a woman feels at the beginning of her pregnancy, whether she is excited, overwhelmed, anxious, or devastated, if she is willing to surrender to the processes of pregnancy, labor, and birth, she will become the kind of mother her baby needs her to be and the kind of woman that she needs to be to feel confident and comfortable in her new role. Being able to watch that journey, that process unfold is the very best part of my job."

So here I am, Bri, a few months into my own difficult, unexpected journey. A journey that began with me throwing a positive pregnancy test against my bathroom wall and spending an entire day in my bed cursing God for the vulnerability of woman's body and the quiet, never-ending, ever-changing cycles of our bodies and our lives. "Is there ever a point where a woman's body is her own?" I screamed into my pillow until my throat was raw. I curled my knees into my chest and pulled the blanket over my head and for the very first time realized what losing you really, truly meant.

words for your weekend

Briana's Words, Briana's Wisdom from Kate and Neil on Vimeo.

I'm posting this beautiful video of my dear friend Briana today for purely selfish reasons. I love hearing her voice, seeing her smile, and remembering our shared conversations that were so very similar to the ones captured in this video. Hearing her laugh has brought healing to my heart during this long, soul stretching week, and I know I'll be returning to this video again and again just to see my friend's face and to hear her wise words.

Thank you, Kate and Neil, for your inspired work, and for creating and sharing such a wonderful gift with everyone who knows and loves Bri.

sorrow and sweetness

The errand of angels is given to women;

And this is a gift that, as sisters, we claim;

To do whatsoever is gentle and human,

To cheer and to bless in humanity's name.

My dear friend and cherished midwife, Briana Blackwelder, died in a car accident on Saturday afternoon. My heart is broken as I reflect on a world without her generous, beautiful spirit. Her influence reaches almost every aspect of my day to day life; her blessed hands were the first to touch my children as we welcomed them into this world, she taught me how to breastfeed and how to make caramels, and as I sit in my living room this morning, I can see her laughing on my couch as we ate German pastries just a few short weeks ago.

Briana's passing has brought waves of grief and pain, but I've also felt  immeasurable joy and sweetness as I read and hear stories of how her life is woven into the most personal and sacred experiences of the lives of her friends, clients, and family. Her life and her life's work was dedicated to healing, supporting, and empowering women, and I truly believe that she will continue doing this beautiful work where she is now.

There will be a celebration service held in her honor on Wednesday at 7 pm at 951 East 100 South in Salt Lake City and on her birthday, May 6, in California.

The treasured photo is from Sela's birth, taken by my mom. Beautiful words from the hymn, As Sisters in Zion, written by Emily H. Woodmansee.

home birth week : link love

sweet photo from tthumper via the bean and the bear

Well, here we are, my friends, this is the last post of home birth week. It has been an emotional ride for me as I've opened my most private life (and slightly nudey photos!) for all to see, read, and discuss.

I hope that you were able to feel included and supported, no matter what stage of life you are in or how you've chosen to give birth. The true purpose of this series was to honor the powerful work that women do and to recognize all the different ways we grow and change and sacrifice to bring our families together.

Are you interested in reading more wonderful home birth stories? Here is a list of my favorites from around the web:

Leigh's wonderful blog Marvelous Kiddo is full of touching birth stories (she was kind enough to include mine this week!), including her own.

Ryan and Cole are some of the most awesome people I don't know, and Ryan's post on Tessa's birth is very honest and sweet. You can check out Cole's maternity series on his blog, Pacing the Panic Room.

Lovely Lindsey's story of her brand new Charlie babe had me in tears, as did her heartfelt post on Gavin's birth. Lindsey's mom, Cathy was also her midwife and you can read Charlie's birth from the perspective of a midwife/mama right here.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for following along this week and for being so open minded and kind. It's been great talking to old friends and brand new readers about something that I hold so close to my heart. Hope you all have a lovely weekend, and I'll catch you on Tuesday. XO

home birth week : graham's birth

I've spent the entire week thinking about what I would post today that hadn't already been covered in some way by all of my previous writings. On Monday I used Sela's story to share how I came to find home birth and to explain typical prenatal/postnatal care with a home birth midwife. Today, I would like to tell you about what I learned with my experience with Diane and what I took away from that relationship to help me better articulate the kind birth I wanted for Graham.

In home birth, as with any kind of birth, it's hard to anticipate what will happen or what kind of things will or won't work for you. For example, I found that during Sela's birth I hated being checked for dilation. It was painful, annoying, and I found it to be discouraging, especially when I didn't progress much (or at all)  from the last time she checked. I also knew that for Graham's birth I wanted to stay in the tub to deliver him. Diane didn't feel comfortable delivering babies in the water and had me get out of the tub before Sela was born. In her defense, we had never talked about the possibility of a water birth and I had no idea how much I would rely on the warm water to soothe my laboring body.

When I started meeting with Briana for prenatal visits, we spent a lot of time talking about Sela's birth. Briana was there as the assistant midwife and she is actually the one who 'caught' Sela. It was so great to have her listen to my concerns and to have her offer her insight and solutions to each of my fears. She assured me that as long as things progressed normally there would be no reason to check dilation, that she felt a water birth would be an excellent choice, and that she would be more than happy to help me achieve the kind of birth I wanted.

home birth week : wife vs. mother: a father's perspective, by Brian Swan

I have to admit that when Rachel told me she wanted to give birth to Sela at home, I didn't know how to react. I was surprised and concerned. I had always assumed that my life would follow the television cliches of birth; packing an overnight bag, planning a route to the hospital, and rushing out the door in pajamas in the middle of the night. Giving birth anywhere else hadn't ever occurred to me, and there were a couple more people that I was pretty sure had never had that idea either: my parents.

After taking a couple of weeks to wrap my mind around the idea, I approached my parents to drop the homebirth bombshell. In retrospect I can say that I did this much too soon, because I still wasn't sure that it was the best thing for my wife and unborn child. I mentioned that we would be having the baby at home as casually as I could, hoping that it would be accepted before anyone really realized what had been said. I knew my parents had heard, though, when I saw that my mom's eyes were the size of saucers. "I don't think that's a very good idea." she said when she had had a moment to calm down.

I repeated the thing that I had been using to reassure myself, "The hospital is only two miles away."

"If you hadn't been born in a hospital, you would have died!"

I shrugged. It was all I could do. I knew I had been sick when I'd been born and I really didn't have any way to reply to that.

Never one to jump into something without testing the water, my dad asked "How do you feel about it?"

That felt less like a question and more like somebody pulling aside the curtain while I was showering - I suddenly felt very exposed and uncomfortable. Truth was, I didn't know how I felt. I wanted to be supportive but I was scared that something would go wrong and that Rachel and I would forever blame ourselves for having made a decision that led to the loss of our baby. "I don't know," I said quietly.

"I think we're talking to the wrong person, then." Mom said.

"No, let me handle it." I replied.

I left my parents' house feeling like Rachel and I were making the worst decision of our lives and wondering how and if I would be able to put my foot down and insist on a "normal" hospital birth. I thought about what they had said about me being so sick when I was born, and how terrified I was of the same thing happening to our baby. It was much later in the pregnancy that I realized that the only place I could have contracted a disease was in the hospital. I began to wish that I had waited to talk to my parents so that I could have told them that if I hadn't been born in the hospital I wouldn't have died - that I probably wouldn't have ever been sick. I wished that I had been more supportive and trusting of Rachel's decision and known that she wouldn't decide to do something that affected her and our baby without thoroughly researching it and knowing the risks.

But it was too late.

After meeting with our midwife, Diane, I felt much better about the whole idea and was ready to have a homebirth.

My mom never made it that far.

The day finally arrived that Rachel went into labor, and I was surprisingly relaxed as we started putting the plans we'd made into action; I got a bed ready for Diane, hooked a hose up to the hot water in the laundry room so that we could fill the birthing tub, and followed Rachel as she paced around the house, annoyingly offering to get her anything she needed over and over again. I called my parents to tell them that labor had started, and they called a couple of times that night for updates.

Labor took a lot longer than I had thought. I wished that I could help speed things up or at least help Rachel get some rest. I could see that Diane was beginning to worry about Sela and Rachel as she furrowed her brow each time she took Sela's heartbeat. Diane put Rachel on oxygen and said it was time to get out of the tub and start pushing. At that exact instant our front door opened and it was my turn to have saucer-sized eyes; my mom had come to end the "hippy ritual" and get her granddaughter to a hospital.

Luckily, Diane wasn't in the mood to chat and she pointed at my mom and told her that she was helping. My mom helped to support Rachel as Sela was born. She hadn't supported our decision and hadn't been invited, but I was glad she came when she did. I haven't talked to her too much about homebirth since, but I know that she was surprised to see the professional care and personal support that Diane, Briana, and Liz gave to Rachel and Sela. She stayed for an hour or two after the birth to help clean up and took a load of laundry home with her.

The time leading up to Sela's birth was surreal; on the one hand I had a strong and knowledgeable wife and her incredibly supportive family, friends, and midwife, on the other I had the friction and difficulty of winning my parents' respect and support of the decision that we'd made and of convincing myself that it was right. I couldn't have asked for a better resolution. The panic that I felt when my mom burst through our front door had been completely replaced with peace and happiness by the time she took the bundle of wet towels and rags home with her.

It may seem odd that so much of my first child's birth revolved around my mother, but at the time I felt stretched between the scientific logic of my mother and the peaceful decisiveness of my wife. I went into the experience with all of the concerns that my mom had voiced and left it knowing it was exactly what Rachel, Sela, and I needed to do.

Sela's birth did something else; it built upon the feeling of "home" that I felt in that little basement apartment. Every day I would be reminded of Rachel laboring calmly in the birthing tub, of kissing the back of Rachel's neck and whispering in her ear as she pushed, and of seeing Sela's scrunched-up face and hearing her cry for the first time. I would remember all of these things because it happened right there, in our apartment where we lived and laughed and loved every single day.

Had you told me five years ago that I would be such a staunch supporter of homebirth, I would have laughed until I turned blue. But I have since become quite the advocate of homebirth and I don't doubt that most of my coworkers and friends are tired of hearing me blather on about how much more peaceful a homebirth is than in the hospital, how it can be just as safe as a hospital birth, how I recommend they look into birthing centers if they're not sure about a birth at home, and how I push Birthing From Within like it's an old Buick and I'm a used car salesman. I am now convinced that more people need to know that the hospital isn't the only option and that they can have a safe and healthy baby in the peace and comfort of their own home.

Thank you, Brian for sharing such a sweet perspective of our shared story. I feel so lucky to have this guy as my partner in making and bringing our babies into the world. We make a pretty great team, if I do say so myself. :)

home birth week : q & a, part two

gorgeous image from radio canada via leigh's brilliant tumblr, the bean and the bear.

What is a doula?

A doula is a woman who provides non-medical support and care to a woman in labor. Doulas are trained in different laboring positions to help cope with pain, relaxation techniques, and massage. Doulas also act as advocates for their clients, making sure the woman's wishes + needs are met, acting as a buffer between the medical staff and the mother. Doulas also help encourage the father or partner to be as involved in the birthing process as they feel comfortable, providing information and acting as ally.

How do you feel about having older children present during a home birth?

I have been thinking a lot about this topic recently and I really believe that it depends on the age of the children and the number of adults present at the birth. When I had Graham, Sela had just turned two and was very curious about how the baby was going to come out. I had wanted to try  to have her present for the birth, but it just didn't work out. I was too focused on working through contractions and needed Brian's attention and support, so she spent the night at my aunt's house which is right around the corner. When she woke up the next morning, my aunt brought her over just in time for the newborn exam, and I felt it worked out well.

When I was talking to Briana about this topic last week, she said the key to having a successful experience is to have one adult for every child present, not counting the mother or father. I feel this is a great rule of thumb, especially if the labor runs long and the kids are feeling restless or anxious.

I'm hoping with the the next baby my children will be able to watch the birth, as I feel it's important for children to understand that birth is a normal, safe, and important event. Birth is an intense experience, not to mention messy and sometimes loud, but it is also a natural and normal experience, and I think the more exposure we can give our children, the more prepared and confident they will be as they go on and make their own choices.

What kind of pain management did you use?

I've never taken any childbirth classes or used any specific method to help me cope with the pain of labor, so I can't really vouch for any program specifically.

Here are the three things that helped me the most:

1) Yoga. I started practicing yoga regularly just months before I found out I was pregnant with Sela and continued my practice through both pregnancies. In yoga you are constantly using breath and meditation to help cope with physical discomfort and negative, discouraging thoughts. You learn to breathe through anything and to focus on letting go and embrace the experience for what it is. I used deep yoga breathing and even yoga poses to help me work through the contractions. It really helped my to accept the contractions and  to stop fighting against the important and necessary work they do by recognizing and saying to myself, "This is me. This is just my body giving birth. This is me."

2) Education. The more I know, the less I fear. I read (and continue to to read!) stacks and stacks of books, articles, and studies on childbirth. I watched videos of home births and talked to midwives, mothers, and doctors about the stages of birth and what to expect. I knew that with a home birth there is no option for a medicated birth, and so I made sure I was prepared long before labor began.

3) Support. I truly believe you can accomplish anything if you are surrounded by people who love you and are fully invested in supporting you through the journey of natural childbirth. It still brings tears to my eyes when I think of the tender hands and hearts that served me so tirelessly during the birth of my children. I can still remember the gentle words of encouragement whispered at the moment I thought I could go no further, "Rachel, you are doing a beautiful job. You are strong, even stronger than you know. Let's have a baby."

Ultimately, my support system gave me something I never could have achieved on my own: the beautiful, powerful and sacred experiences of bringing my children into the world on my own terms and in my own way.They made it all possible and then turned around and showered me with praise and love, giving me all the credit for something that I could have never, ever done alone.

home birth week : q & a, part one

 

super sweet belly picture by the lovely andrea of hula seventy

What made you choose home birth?

There are a lot of different factors that went into my choice, many of which I shared on Monday.  My initial decision was based on my desire to create a positive, safe birth experience for me and my family, and I felt that in order to have control over my environment and body, I had to be in my own home.

I have spent countless hours reading and researching home birth, not to justify the choices I've made, but because I truly believe that women have a right to know what their options are and the benefits and risks involved in whatever birth they choose.

Did you know that the United States is ranked 33rd for infant mortality? It is safer to give birth in Cuba, Singapore, and Slovenia than it is to give birth in the United States. Doesn't that seem impossible? We have a country full of shiny clean hospitals that are staffed with trained medical professionals, AND we pay more for the care we receive than anywhere else in the world, yet somehow we are failing to keep mothers and babies safe.

When I was pregnant with Sela the cesarean rate for first time mothers was 38% at my local hospital and the national rate was 30.8%. These numbers are a result of a cycle of interventions that can be absolutely unnecessary and can make it impossible for a woman to feel in control of what is happening to her body.

I'm sure we have all heard groups of women talking about induction dates and how their doctors won't let them go past a certain date before they will induce labor. I have heard of doctors who have induced women because of upcoming holidays, family vacations, and even because it is just more convenient for the doctor if their patients give birth in the early afternoon.

Once labor is induced artificially through the use of pitocin, a synthetic form of oxytocin, your body can no longer regulate labor normally. Oxytocin is released in bursts, causing normal contractions to be irregular as labor begins, but makes it easier for women to rest between the contractions and handle the intensity of labor as it progresses. Oxytocin not only causes uterine contractions, but also sends a signal to your brain to release endorphins and adrenalin to help you cope with the intensity and pain of labor. Pitocin-induced contractions are stronger and typically closer together, causing a decrease of uterine blood flow which reduces the amount of oxygen the baby is getting. There is a decrease of uterine blood flow with natural contractions as well, but the duration and strength of the contractions are much shorter and the natural breaks between contractions protect the baby.

Because of these risks, all women who are given pitocin are also hooked up to a fetal monitor which greatly limits their movement, usually confining them to a hospital bed. When you couple painful artificial contractions with the inability to move freely to cope with the pain, it is easily understandable why many women choose to have an epidural.

Once women have been given an epidural and can no longer feel the pain of labor, their bodies stop producing oxytocin and the natural contractions slow down dramatically. This is when the doses of pitocin are increased, causing fetal distress and increasing the likelihood of a previously unnecessary c-section.

I know this isn't everyone's story and the last thing I want to do is give an inaccurate template for hospital birth. Babies are born in many different ways, and no woman has ever taken the easy way out when it comes to bringing babies into this world. I also know that pitocin and cesarean sections are important life-saving tools and I'm grateful for modern medicine and the knowledge and skill of obstetricians. I do, however, know many women who can call this story their own, and I have watched as they have processed these experiences that left them feeling confused, violated, and uninformed.

I could go on and on about why I made the choice I did, but all I can really tell you is that I know home birth with a trained, certified midwife to be a safe and beautiful experience, and was absolutely the right choice for my family.


What about circumcision?

Brian and I made the decision not to circumcise Graham, so I don't have first hand experience with this topic. However, I know you can make an appointment at the hospital and have the circumcision performed there in the days following the birth.


What are your thoughts on water birth?

I love it! I spent a lot of time in water during both of my labors, and I gave birth to Graham in my bath tub. I personally find the warm water to be very soothing and an effective tool in pain management.

How much does a home birth cost and does insurance cover any of the costs?

A home birth costs anywhere from 2-5k, depending on where you live or what your midwife offers in her practice. Many insurance companies will cover a portion of the costs, or even have a list of approved midwives they work with.


When is a good time to cut the cord?

I don't think there is any hard and fast rule on this. In hospital births, the cord is cut very quickly after birth, usually just seconds after the baby is born. I know some midwives wait until the cord has stopped pulsating, which signifies that the placenta is no longer sending blood to the baby. We waited about 2 hours after Graham's birth before we cut the cord (the placenta had been delivered intact just a few minutes after he was born) so he could benefit from the extra iron stores in the cord blood.


And that's all I've got for you today, kids! I'll post the rest of the q & a tomorrow, so make sure to check back. How is home birth week going for you guys? I'm completely overwhelmed by the kindness + positive feedback from all of you! Women are the best! Hope your Wednesday is awesome and I'll see you tomorrow! xoxoxox

home birth week : sela's birth

Welcome to home birth week, dear friends! I'm so excited to open my blog for this discussion. Birth is such a powerful experience for women and I'm looking forward to hearing your stories + sharing my own.

I do, however, have one small request before we begin. How women choose to give birth is such a deeply personal decision that I ask all of you to be respectful + kind in any of the comments you leave here, and I will also honor that request in all that I share with you during this week.

To kick off home birth week, I thought I would share the story of Sela's birth, since that is truly where my home birth experience begins, and I will end the week with the story of Graham's sweet birth.

I found out I was pregnant with Sela in August of 2006. I was 20 years old and had only been married since the beginning of June. Both Brian and I were completely shocked, to say the least, that we were going to be parents. Every evening we would sit on our small couch in our small apartment talking and planning for our future that suddenly included the tiny little person that we had created.

Up to this point in my life, I had never imagined how I would give birth. My only experience with birth was watching my little sister, Sophie, being born when I was 11. My mom gave birth in a hospital, and it was pretty quick and uneventful. I remember my dad holding her hand, rubbing her back, and speaking quietly in her ear. The doctor poked his head in a few times, checked dilation, and finally showed up right before Sophie was born. There were beeping machines, a television was on in the background, and a nurse brought me milkshakes. I remember watching in awe as Sophie's body emerged from my mother's, and wondered why the nurses took her so quickly away for weighing and measuring and washing. When they finally brought her back, all wrapped in a brand new blanket, I was the first to hold her.

My first and only experience with birth wasn't a negative one, although it is very different from what I eventually chose for myself. The doctor seemed kind, the nurses were helpful, and of course my dad was there to give support and love. When I picture my mother in labor, I see her sitting in the hospital bed in quiet discomfort, her eyes focusing intently on her round stomach. It is then that she makes an offhand comment that changes how I think and feel and envision birth for myself, a comment that I've carried with me for 14 years:

"It makes more sense to stand, I think. I feel like I'm pushing against gravity when I'm laying down here."

I doubt she even remembers saying this, but it shifted something inside of me. It made it possible for me picture a different birth.

When I found out I was pregnant with Sela I was working as a wellness counselor at Good Earth, a local health food store.  I worked closely with a group of women who had recently finished their doula training and had worked with women who had given birth at home. We spent a lot of time talking about birth, all of the different ways that women support other women through the birthing process, and how important it is to have a support system in place in order to have the birth you want.

One of the women, my dear friend Vanessa, was pregnant with her first child and planning a home birth. I think I probably made her crazy with all of my questions during those first months, but she always answered my questions in such a positive and confident way. She knew the kind of birth she wanted and she was making it happen. A few weeks before she gave birth, she invited me to a birth party that was being held to honor her transition into motherhood. It was such an amazing night. I remember how much love and support and laughter filled V's home, and felt such a strong sense of sisterhood with those women who believed in a woman's ability to give birth however she chose.

When I went home that night, I had made up my mind; I wanted a home birth. I wanted to be in my own home, making decisions about my own body, and surrounded by people who believed in me.