Glowing Goddess

Being an inspiration doesn't mean that you have to be at the forefront of change or that your accomplishments are recognized with awards.  You don't have to be in a high profile position to make a difference.  Being a fierce, confident woman is being an inspiration.  Here are 7 ways that women inspire me every single day...

1.  Being a Mother.  What better way to change the future, than to bring life into this world.  By nurturing life and being a teacher to your children, you are shaping the minds and attitudes of tomorrow

2.  Nursing in Public.  The simple act of nursing in public can change attitudes and expose people to nurturing and normal act of breastfeeding.  The more people see it as a normal activity, the more acceptable it comes within our society.  It also inspires other women to do that same, without shame.

3.  Telling your Success Story.   Don't be humble when you have found success, share it.  Your success can inspire and empower whether it's a great birth experience, a booming business or personal journey of healing and finding happiness.

4.  Support the Success of Others.  Promote sisterhood by supporting and celebrating the success of women.

5.  Follow your Dreams.  No matter what your dreams or goals are, following them will inspire others.

6.  Speak your Mind.  Inspire other's to be heard by making your voice heard!  This is especially true for me in the blogging world and the many female bloggers that inspire me to be heard.

7.  Love Yourself.  It's contagious!!

Happy International Women's Day!!

Today is a day to celebrate the accomplishments of women and to be inspired to initiate change for the future.  As I look around today at my peers and those things they believe in and fight for I find myself full of gratitude, as I know they are paving the way for my own daughter to enjoy the benefits of their hard work, just as I enjoy the benefits of the hard work of my Sister's from the past.  I am inspired and optimistic, and proud to know that I am also making a difference for the future of women in my own little way.

Lots of love to all the amazing women out there.  You're always appreciated.

"For a person who cherishes compassion an love, the practice of tolerance is essential and for that, an enemy is indispensable.    So, we should feel grateful for our enemies, for it is they who can best help us develop a tranquil mind"  

River reflection day (Photo credit: tanakawho)

One thing I know about myself, through careful self reflection, is that my inner voice is not strong.  This was always a weakness until I acknowledged and accepted that it's part of who I am.  Now that I know, I am able to take a step back when I feel outside voices over powering my own.  This is a gift.  Taking a step back always gives me a chance to get some insight and perspective on my own journey and usually reveals something valuable that I may not have realized any other way.  Once my mind is clear of the noise, just mine is left behind and I am able to listen.

Knowing myself, or my heart, been one of the greatest challenges for me on my journey.  I guess I feel like I am so much a little bit of everything and, let's face it, looking at yourself can be scary!  Through daily meditation I have began to look at myself more closely and, for the first time, am really seeing myself.  By taking ideas and thoughts and virtues, and meditating on them, I am defining myself in ways I never imagined I could.  In listening to my mind, heart, soul, intuition and body I am becoming more aware of my true self. It feels great!

I am finding ways to hear my inner voice more clearly.  I am more able to decipher outside thoughts from my own and am more aligned with my inner self.  I am finding balance and clarity, and this is exactly where I wanted the Universe to take me.

This blog, in many ways, is a way to connect my outer self with my inner self; my outer voice with my inner voice.  It's a way for me to make my voice heard when I am silent and a way to connect with the voices of my fellow beings. I really encourage you all to share your voices with me, and with everyone because we are all connected and together we can grow.

 LINKS


Five Pathways to Listening To Your Inner Voice
Hearing Your Inner Voice

We've all heard the old adage "Count your blessings" but do we ever really consider what that means, or the wisdom behind it?  It's more than just a cliché to throw out there whenever disaster strikes somewhere else.  It's something that should be a part of our daily lives.  It's gratitude, folks, and it has the power to change your life.

Keep a gratitude journal to remind yourself just how lucky you are!

        Gratitude is the opposite of lacking.  Lacking is a negative feeling, and negative feelings spawn negative results.    When we focus on those things which we do not have, we are inviting negativity into our lives.  We need to reverse our way of thinking and learn to focus on what we do have.


        Gratitude is hard for some people.  In a world where material posessions rule and competition is feirce, it can be difficult not to measure our success or failure against how much we have.  This is distracting.    Sometimes just finding the time in our hectic lives to be thoughful can prove near impossible.  The best advise I can offer is to start simple.  Focus on the basics, like food and shelter, and build on it.  I am not just grateful for food to eat and sustain me; I am grateful also for healthy options and local farms and occasional sweets.  I am grateful for the culinary experts who create new, delicious recipes for me to try.  I am grateful to share my love of baking with my children and teach them a useful skill.  It's endless, and once you get started it flows qute readily.

A great way to collect your thoughts is to keep a gratitude journal.  Dedicate an entire notebook to your reflections of gratitude and try to write in it every day.  Some days you will have paragraphs, even pages, and some days there may only be one sentence.  Either way, it gives you something tangible to focus on and forces you to dedicate even just a few minutes to the positivity in your life.  Soon you will find yourself looking always to the positive, and in turn, attracting more positivity into your life.

     What are YOU grateful for today?

We all have dreams.  I dream of buying a farm and living off the land and animals on it.  I dream of my kids running barefoot amongst goats and collecting fresh eggs for breakfast.  I dream of putting on my rubber boots and heading out to milk my cow in the crisp morning air.   These dreams represent some of my most ambitous desires, yet I perceive them only as dreams instead of realistic goals. I am not the only one, either.  Why do we do that?  In essence, they are the same thing.  They represent something that we want to acheive.

The difference is that a dream is something we don't actively pursue.  Dreams come true when you stop considering them dreams and start considering them reality.

Prentis Mulford, whomever he or she is, had it spot on.  Possibilities and miracles, dreams and reality; it's all the same thing.  The only difference is how your perceive it and the way you perceive it defines how you approach it.   If you approach your dreams not as dreams but as possibilities, you are one step closer to making them come true.

Taking the risk, and failing, may be damaging to the ego but every experience gives us wisdom.  With that wisdom we are free to try again, over and over again if we must.  It can be easy to give up on the things we never thought could be.  It's much harder to turn on backs on something we have pursued with intent and hard work.

So turn your dreams into goals, your miracles into possibilities, and create your reality.

     It's been a year and a half (a least) since I last posted to this blog.  I stumbled upon it today and quickly realized how much I missed writing and sharing.  I had promised myself I would not give up on his blog, and though I took a short (long) hiatus I am back and ready to pour my love into this once again.

     A lot has happened.  I got a dog, had a baby, moved across the province, learned to knit, sent my kids to public school and began a real spiritual journey.  I hope to focus on this a little bit more in my writing.  I hope you all enjoy what I have to share and will be willing to share with me too.

    So.....WELCOME!

This is about a year and a half late!  But better late than never :D

It was about 10 PM on Sunday evening when I experienced the first trickle of fluid during what was probably the millionth contraction of the previous 3 weeks but because of the incredible pressure in my pelvis I assumed that it was more of an embarrassing incontinence type of accident. When the next contraction came 6 minutes later with another trickle and then another 5 minutes later with a bit of a gush, I decided that I *could* actually be in labour...finally.

By the time 11:30 or so rolled around I was adequately convinced that labour had, in fact, started and having woken Corey and my Mom up just a few minutes earlier I instructed them to start filling the pool! By this time contractions were about 4ish minutes apart and definitely increasing in length and intensity so I called my midwife, who told me she was already up at the hospital attending a birth and would have to find the backup midwife. I was pretty devastated that she wouldn’t be making it to my birth but that quickly turned back into excitement as the contractions brought me closer and closer to my goal.

Heather, my secondary backup midwife, called me shortly after midnight and asked me how I was doing. From what I told her she figured I was in early labour and offered to come by and check me anyways. I told her to come on by...as I knew this would be fast and furious. A half hour later she showed up and I was still pretty comfortable...she probably thought by my demeanour that she came all the way from Paris for no reason at all. When she got down to checking me though, she realised that it was go time. I was already 8 cm! I was ecstatic! 8 cm had been a walk in the park.

After I was checked I got into the pool which was nearly full and soooo warm and relaxing. (I know from my Facebook status this was about 1AM Monday morning.) I started feeling the contractions a lot more in my back at that point and contractions became harder to bear and finding a good position was impossible. After 3 or so of those contractions, I started feeling the twinges of pressure as baby moved deeper and before I knew it I was being told to push with the next contraction. I wasn’t ready! I felt that I hadn’t quite found my element yet and something was ‘off’. As the pressure mounted, I felt my body pushing but I fought to keep my legs closed...I wasn’t in the position I wanted to be in and my backside felt like it was literally going to explode. I pleaded for a towel on my backside at the very least but was just told to push. The midwife listened to the baby and I was told that baby was tired and I needed to push or else...(or else what wasn’t evident at that point but my Momma instinct took over at that point.) Just then, I felt the baby move back into my pelvis and my heart dropped. The babe had been presenting sunny side up and I had just lost all that work my body did getting him that far. With the next contraction, I completely let go. I reached my arms back and grabbed Corey’s shoulders, gripped his shirt and let my body do what it needed to do. With that one push, I not only pushed out the ENTIRE head but I ripped Corey’s shirt in half, Incredible Hulk style. The calm after that was amazing...I waited for the next contraction as my baby waited, eyes shut, under the water. with the next contraction he was out and in my arms. Since he was covered with a towel, I reached between his legs to find out the sex...”It’s a boy”!!!

I stayed in the pool for 10 minutes or so holding my new baby boy and then transfered to my bed, where the midwife began immediately fussing with the cord and placenta. My midwife and I had discussed my plans for the 3rd stages of labour but it was apparent that my backup (secondary backup, actually) missed that memo. I was told that if I didn’t deliver the placenta within 10 minutes she would be giving me a the shot to expel it! Ummmm...really?! I didn’t want to argue though since I was completely blissed out my mind so I had my Mom cut the cord and let her fuss about with the placenta as I nursed my precious boy.

Oh, H-Man and L-Cat had slept through the entire thing and with how quickly everything ended up going it wasn’t until I had delivered that I thought to tell my Mom to wake them up. They came in just after baby was born and once I transferred to the bed they joined me and met their brother. They both went back to bed pretty shortly after that but were in my room bright and early, excited at the arrival of their new brother...especially Hayden who was especially hoping for a brother.

Baby Oliver was born at 1:52AM July 12th weighing 9 pounds, 3 ounces with a length of 22 inches and a head circumference of 14 inches!! He has blue eyes and sprinkling of brown and blonde hair on his head.

The whole experience was incredible. I may not have handled myself the way I imagined I could have, but in the midst of a fast and furious labour I was able to let go of myself and really discover what I am actually capable of. I am amazed in myself and IN LOVE with the boy who gave me the experience of a lifetime.

I am so pleased with myself.

Yesterday I had plans to make my first attempt at homemade bread but that didn't end up happening.  Instead, the kids' and I make up a batch of pizza dough and tomato sauce and make homemade pizza for supper.  despite the 'hot' pepperoni that my other half bought for the 'za,  it was a huge hit.  The dough was delish and the sauce was surprisingly tasty.  (I didn't quite have a recipe for the sauce, so I was winging it) .

Sooo...I totally dropped the ball on the blog the last few weeks.  The third trimester hit me like a tonne of bricks, so between that and the incredible amount of work I have been doing to change and improve the lives of my family I just didn't have the mental energy to devote to blogging.  I think things have settled down now and I am in a better place to start sharing again.

First off, pregnancy update.  Today I am 29 weeks and 1 day, with about 76 days left until my EDD.  Realistically, I have about 10-12 weeks to go before I am a Mum of three.  I just know this time will fly by, so I am really trying to enjoy this last stretch of what could be my final pregnancy.  Here is my most recent belly shot...


The spring cleaning is ongoing we and continue to simplify and purge both material and emotional baggage, as well as fill our lives with more positive things.  Everyday feels better than the one before, and that's a great feeling.

This week is marking our first week of homeschooling the children.  Last week H-Man school sent a letter home threatening suspension if his immunization records weren't produced to the health unit.  He is fully immunized and that information would be obtainable, but it just seemed like a sign...and simply writing a letter to the school board seemed so much easier.  Oddly enough, I have already noticed a return of H-Man's enthusiasm for learning and that makes me feel that much better about the decision we've made.  I know it's what will be best for him...for both of them.

Today I will be trying my hand at baking bread, thanks to the inspiration of fellow blogger over at "Living Life Simply, Most of the Time".  I will be reporting on the success (or not) of that endeavor laster this evening.

I think that's mostly it.  I do have a few blogs in my head waiting to be written, mostly about those things that have occupied my time and energy for the last few weeks.  Hope you'll be tuning in!!

It's true.  Foreskin is loveable.  It's not just unsightly waste to be removed from male babies as soon after birth as possible, so everyone can just forget it ever existed.  It is a beautiful, functioning part of the male human body that serves in the most intimate of human interactions. I love foreskin.

When my tiny baby boy was born, I looked upon him as my most perfect creation and never thought for one moment that he needed to be altered.  As a Mother, there are many reasons that I left my son's sexual organs intact but first and foremost there is the simple reason that they are not my parts to alter.

As a woman, though, there is a different reason why I advocate against routine infant circumcision.  As a woman, my own sexuality is effected by the circumcision of my partner.  Circumcision changes the way a man makes love to a woman...and I mean the actual mechanics of sex.  The way a man moves during sex is directly related to the stimulation of his penis, which is completely different without foreskin to aid in that stimulation.  Without foreskin, lubrication is removed from the vagina making it more uncomfortable.  Sometimes without the soft cushion of a foreskin, sex can feel a bit like sitting on the handle of a broom stick.

Circumcision alters the most intimate of human interactions.

This is not to say that circumcised men are bad lovers and should just throw in the towel and join the Priesthood though.  Great sex depends on much more than the hardware you are working with, but having all the perfect tools for the job makes it much easier and much more enjoyable.  Make no mistake, an intact penis IS the perfect tool for the job!

With 15-ish weeks left, I am ready to begin preparations for my home birth experience.  I have my wishes and wants for the experience (which I have been thinking about since before the 2 little blue lines appeared) and a general birth plan written out, but getting the home birth supply list from my midwife yesterday made everything suddenly feel so much more real to me.  I've been planning a home birth, but now will start to actually prepare for one!!

It's March and the snow appears to have left us for the most part (knock on wood) so here in the Goddesses sanctuary, Spring Cleaning has begun.  One of my biggest goals for this year was to get seriously organized not only for my sanity and for preparing for a new baby but preparing for the move that is in our near future.  There is no way I will be lugging a half tonne of random junk half way across the country.  I just about pulled my hair out moving it all 4 blocks!  Not that I really need an excuse though, since this needs to be done regardless!

After three Caesarean sections, I knew I wanted a natural birth for my fifth child. I had written a detailed birth plan describing how I was to be involved and treated during my labour and birth at the hospital, with as little intervention as possible. My plan notwithstanding, this is my story of the very difficult labour and birth of my son on February 8, 2010.



by Danielle Arnold-McKenny


It all started with a week of annoying, stop and start prodromal labour. There really is nothing quite so frustrating as playing the guessing game every time the contractions start. Is this it…this time?! But after a week of lots of contractions and various other questionable symptoms, early evening on Saturday (February 6, 2010) I was pretty certain that we were onto the countdown.

Contractions continued during the night for the first time. Although they slowed right down and became erratic, they kept getting stronger. Sunday morning they slowed to a halt for about three or four hours. When they started up again, it was like being back at square one.

So I kicked my husband Nick and the kids out of the house to go to a friend’s to watch the Super Bowl. Then I set out to do some serious relaxing: filled the living room with candles, put some of my favourite aromatherapy oils in a burner, put on soothing music, got settled into my super comfy rocking chair, and just…R E L A X E D.

Soon enough the contractions became steady at about 8–10 minutes apart. Nick brought the kids home and tucked them into bed late that night, and we called my best friend Lynda over to be with us.

By 3 AM I was definitely in labour. While still only about 6–8 minutes apart, the contractions were strong enough for me to need to support myself and focus on breathing through them—rocking and swaying. We called our midwife, to put her on alert that the party was definitely on. By 5 AM the contractions were still 6 minutes apart but very strong. I had to decide what to do next.

I knew that the kids would be waking up soon and really didn’t think I could deal with my labour and them. So I made the decision for us to head off to the hospital. It was too early—I knew it was—but I was so tired, having not really slept in two nights.  I just wanted to know where I was in my labour, to know how far/fast I was progressing.

I think that this is one of the worst things that most labouring women do—worry about the numbers: how many minutes apart, how many centimetres dilated, how many hours of labour…This turns so easily into a downward spiral.

When we arrived at the hospital, we were met by one of our midwives—and so started that downward spiral. She checked me at 6:30 AM. I was only 3 centimetres…3?  Just 3 centimetres?!? Oh gods!!! Immediately I became depressed, completely despondent. Three centimetres was exactly where I’d been when I’d gone to the hospital in labour with my youngest daughter Keira, and exactly where I stayedwith that labour, which this one had so far exactly mirrored. Keira’s birth ended up being a Caesarean section…

On my midwife’s advice, Nick and I started walking the hospital hallways, to try to “ramp up the contractions,” as she was convinced that I wasn’t in active labour yet—another very disappointing announcement that brought me down even further. How was I supposed to continue like this? In my opinion, my contractions were damn strong, as strong as they were when I was close to transition with Quinlin, my home-birth, vaginal-birth-after-one-Caesarean (VBA1C) baby.

So we walked the halls, stopping to lean on whatever I had available during contractions. We talked and I cried. I was so despondent, and after two nights of almost no sleep, I was completely exhausted. How was I going to make it through this if the contractions were already this strong and I wasn’t even in “active labour”!?!

Nick was a huge support both physically and emotionally. While we walked, we talked: about my fears, about the “options,” both of us knowing what the “option” was…We returned to our room and talked to our midwife about the jumble of emotions, about the labour and my fears. We decided that we would talk to the obstetrician on call. Even then I knew that we were taking the first step down the road to another Caesarean. But I was so caught up in my anxiety and despondency that I had lost hope.

When the doctor arrived finally at around 9 AM, I was desperate for some relief from the contractions. Luckily I had an OB who wasn’t a pusher. Oh, he definitely wanted me to have the C/S, to remove the “risks” of my trial of labour, and to save the staff from the obvious stress of having a VBA3C on their labour & delivery floor. But he suggested that he see how far along in my labour I was before we made the final decision. For this alone, I have much respect for the man, because at that moment I was so vulnerable that he could have pushed me right down to the operating room himself and knocked me out. I wouldn’t have uttered a peep. But instead he checked me over.

I was 8 centimetres!!!!

From down in the valley of emotional despair so dark and heavy that I could barely breathe, I flew up to the top of the tallest mountain of elation!! 8 centimetres?!? I  could do this!!!! Nick’s face lit up in what I knew was a mirror expression of my own. Eight centimetres were unimaginable.

“What do you want to do?” the OB asked. “I want to continue to labour!!!” I almost shouted in excitement.

He then started on the litany of risks, and rules I “had to” follow. He suggested that we break my water to help get things moving along. I readily agreed. Hell, if he’d suggested cartwheels while holding a bottle of nitroglycerine, I’d have eagerly agreed with him!

So he quickly broke my membranes. With a huge rush of lovely, clear amniotic fluid, I instantly felt Baby Boobalumba (as we had nick-named him) drop down a bit farther. Continuing with his sermon, the OB warned me that he’d give me one hour to show some progress, and that we would discuss “the options” when he returned.

For 20 minutes or so, the contractions eased off in severity, while coming closer together. I was laughing between contractions and joking with Nick and my midwife. That break was short-lived, though. Very soon transition fell on me like a lead curtain.

Oh, it was  bad.

After an hour, the doctor returned and checked me again. Still 8 centimetres. “Tsk tsk tsk” is what I got, and again he started listing the risks and lecturing me on the dangers of having a uterine rupture if I didn’t hurry up and progress. I argued that Boobalumba moving lower was progress. I immediately lost my high regard for him when he began shushing me and telling me off like a naughty child.

Have I mentioned that I don’t take lightly to someone treating me as an inferior being? Hackles were raised, and Nick quickly set about to calm me down. We were given another hour.

Oh gods!!! Contractions were now never-ending waves that carried away any semblance of humanity I had left. The logical Dani was left behind by the primal Dani, who ruled unchecked over the writhing body that had been human just a few hours before.

Occasionally the logical Dani had flashes of insight that penetrated the haze of transition: thoughts of caged mountain lions screaming in rage at their captors; the lone wolf caught in a trap that gnaws its own leg off to try to escape…for I was the trapped animal, trapped by the hospital staff, policies, doctors, and my midwives. I was hooked up to a fetal monitor that inhibited my ability to move. I was suppressed by people telling me where to go and how to position myself, and reminding me of the clock that continued to tick towards the “deadline.”

Some of what happened that I’m about to relay, I learned later from Nick. At this point my chronological memory that was recording the events as they happened became seriously erratic (resulting in gaping holes big enough to drive a truck through).

At some point during my transition to a blubbering mess, my friend Lynda showed up after taking my kids to her parents’ house. Between Lynda and Nick, I had a small bit of calm to cling to. They took turns talking to me, feeding me sips of water, rubbing my back, and helping me be as comfortable as possible.

Then my second hour was up. The OB arrived and announced that I was still just 8 centimetres and my cervix was inflamed.

I begged for relief. The last piece of human Dani was ready to admit defeat. But I managed to beat back the primal contractions and somewhat coherently tell the doctor that if I could just relax for a minute, just have a moment’s respite to regain control of myself…If I’m heading down the hallway to the operating room anyways, then give me the epidural so that we can try just one last time to finish this dilation thingy that you’re all so hyper about!!

Then the human spark slipped away, having said its final piece, and the primal Dani took over again. Nick discussed it all with the doctor. They arranged to get me an epidural, and Nick bargained a further half hour to see if we could achieve the final 2 centimetres that they wanted.

Immediately the room seemed to fill with people. Two maternity nurses bustled in to set up an IV…I remember biting the head off one for even thinking about putting the IV into the back of my hand…my second midwife was there.…the noise levels rose substantially and I felt like I was in a stadium surrounded by overwhelming crowds. I vaguely recollect my midwife checking me again and saying that she thought the cervical lip could be moved…and she did something down there that wasn’t pleasant.

Then they all decided that I needed to be lying down  right now. “Take the pressure off the cervix”…“let the swelling go down”…snippets of directions, with me arguing that I didn’t want to lie down. I can’t lie down, I won’t lie down…yet somehow they had me down flat on the bed, taking away the last vestige of control that I had over this three-ring circus.

More people flooded into the room. The anaesthesiologist came with cartloads of paraphernalia. At some point they kicked Lynda out of the room on some flimsy excuse, leaving me with one fewer island of support to cling to.

At this point I remember feeling “the push.” I told “them” that I needed to push, that I felt  that pressure, that I needed to poop…and I remember “them” telling me not to push, that it was too early, that I wasn’t fully dilated to the golden 10. They rolled me to my side to get ready for the epidural, hands on me everywhere, voices ordering me to do this and do that, curl into a ball, hold still, don’t move…I tried to follow orders. The small inner voice of logic screamed at the primal me to listen: “Don’t move, you idiot!! That’s a needle in your spine!!!”

All of a sudden my primal self was engulfed by an all-consuming command to push…Out of the confusion of the moment, standing out from the roaring crowds came the scream:  “I have to push!!! I have to push!!!!!”

The crowds yelled back at me: “Don’t move!!” “Don’t push!!!”…

What came next is a moment of clarity that I will remember to my last breath. It came so clearly and so powerfully that it is permanently etched into my brain. I  pushed. With every fibre of my being. Every muscle, every tendon, every vital organ. I pushed once, then again. And I felt Baby Boobalumba burst through some invisible barrier and move down into my vagina. I felt every contour, every millimetre of his descent.

A primal growling scream rose out of me that was pure energy. I was filled with a sense of exhilaration as endorphins flooded my system. I CAN DO THIS!!!! I CAN BIRTH MY BABY!!!—only to be cut off by grabbing hands and barking orders from the madding and maddening crowds…“Stop!! Don’t push!! Don’t move!!”

Voices tumbled overtop each other. “Is the baby coming?” “Can you see the head?” “I can see the head!” “Turn her around!” “Lie on your back!” Voices bellowing at me…

The human Dani fought with the primal Dani to take back control. The human Dani  knew logically what she needed to do. Knew that she needed to retake control of her body, not just from the primal Dani, but from all of these people who were trying to control her.

I needed to get up. I needed to get off my back and upright. I needed to find my voice and make these people all shut up and  listen to me.

Another contraction and another push. This time my midwife cheered me on: “Push!!!!!” and I did, feeling the baby’s head start to crown, the burning that brought with it that all-encompassing need to keep pushing—only to have it all come to a crashing halt. The epidural kicked in, to block all sensation of the contractions.

The voices yelled at me to push, but the urge was simply gone. Along with the realization that my guide had disappeared came the awareness that I couldn’t breathe. “They” kept yelling at me to push, to lie back and grab my legs and pull them back…but I couldn’t find my centre, couldn’t breathe in the air deeply enough to get a full breath, couldn’t feel the contractions to cue me to push…I needed to get up. I  had to get up, I tried to tell them to let me up…but they just kept pushing me back down and telling me to grab my legs…

“Tsk tsk tsk we missed another contraction.” “Dani, you have to  push,the baby’s head is half way out!!! You have to push!!!”

HELLO?! I’m perfectly aware of exactly where the baby’s head is, thank you very much!!!!

I tried again to tell them that I couldn’t feel the contractions, that I couldn’t breathe…but the crowds drowned me out with their incessant commands and annoying nattering verbal diarrhea.

I reached down and felt the top of my baby’s head, and ran my fingers through the masses of soggy hair. Someone pushed my hand away and forced me to grab the back of my thigh. The human Dani sighed in resignation. They couldn’t hear me, they wouldn’t listen. I had no choice but to do it “their” way. So ignoring the roaring of the masses surrounding me, I breathed in as deeply as I could and P U S H E D.

The relief of his head coming fully out is one that every woman who has given birth can no doubt relate to. Again I reached down. I wanted to birth my baby. I wanted to grasp his slippery body as it came out of me, as we started our journey as two separate beings. I wanted to be the first to hold him. Then someone pushed my hands away again and forced them back to my legs. And so again I pushed as “they” ordered, and Baby Boobalumba was born.

Strange, but as soon as he was delivered onto my belly, the human Dani completely took over. I immediately reminded my midwife not to clamp the umbilical cord, and asked for a warmed blanket to put over both of us.

Once the cord was cut a few minutes later, my midwife asked me to push to deliver the placenta. At that point one of the nurses made a motion to press on my belly. I immediately slapped her hand away and told her No, then told my midwife that I did not want any cord traction applied. As the epidural was now firmly in place and I had no feeling at all, I concentrated on muscle memory and pushed… hard, delivering the placenta in one quick swoosh.

When one of the nurses tried to rub Boobalumba down with a towel, I pushed her away again. After that, no one interfered with me and the baby; no one tried to weigh him or measure him or clean him. They left me alone to be with my baby.

Now that clarity had returned, I could concentrate on him and interact with the people around me as a rational being again. I immediately started asking Nick for details and found out only then that Lynda had been kicked out of the room and he had run out into the hallway as soon as Boobalumba was born to grab her and bring her back in. He also told me that the nurses wouldn’t allow him to take a picture as our son was crowning. That made me so angry.

Oh, I was  mad, really mad!!!

But on the surface I was able to enjoy the victory for what it meant to me personally: a validation that I was not broken. Though the birth had not gone even remotely as I had wished, and my birth plan was basically trampled on by galloping hordes,  I did it.

Writing this down now, a little over a week later, I am able to verbalize many things that at the moment were just notes stored away for later analysis. The basic need for understanding and support for the VBAC mother. Support and care that are different from what other birthing mothers need.

My personal story is one of vindication of a VBA3C mom. We are not broken. We are perfectly capable of birthing our babies without the surgeon’s knife. My story will, I hope, inspire those that were there—the OB doctor, the labour & delivery nurses, my midwives—to realize that it is possible if only women are given the choice.

I wasn’t given the “choice.” I  demanded that they allow it. I didn’t have their support or their understanding. I had to rely solely upon myself and my husband, knowing that if we wavered even for a moment, as we came so close to doing several times, we would be engulfed by the medical machine and processed as yet another number.

Sure, our birth is a number, but a very different and more important one: the first VBA3C in Cambridge Memorial Hospital (Cambridge, Ontario, Canada) and by the Cambridge Midwives Group. I hope that through my experience they will open doors to more VBAC mothers. I hope that my story inspires others to make choices for themselves and to learn from my mistakes and my victories. We  can do it. But we have to fight for our rights and continue to fight to make changes so that other women will not have to fight the battle I did.


Check out Dani's blog Informed Parenting

Note:  My apologies for the white text background.  I have tried to the point of tears (hey, I'm pregnant) and it will not go away.


Thanks goes out to Emma Kwasnica for sharing with us the amazing story of Chloë's birth.  Chloë was born at home in October of 2009 under a full moon.

Finally ! At 42 completed weeks of pregnancy, and after a week of prodromal labour, I was OVERJOYED to have contractions for which I actually needed to lean on the table and breathe through (they were immediately regular, too - every two to three minutes right from the get-go). They began at about 10:45 pm, Saturday night.  I sent out the "IT'S ON !" e-mail to close friends and family in between two hard contractions, shortly after mum took this picture of me (because I said to her "Quick ! please take one last pic of my pregnant self !"). I also phoned Sinclair (my primary midwife) at this time, and believe it or not, told her she might even be able to go back to sleep for a bit... !?!? Yes, days of pre-labour will do this to you, ie., cause you to be in complete denial when it actually does happen, and even when everyone else around you knows it's the real deal. 

After I called my midwife and Minerva (my good friend and photographer for the birth) to let them know this was really it, I headed straight to the bedroom with Seb to begin working through hard contractions. I took a few - maybe two ? - kneeling on the floor and leaning onto the bed before I said to Seb, "Oh, Gods... this isn't going to cut it. Fill the tub - NOW !" I staggered into the bathroom once he'd got the tub filling (it's a nice big, deep soaker tub - the one in the background of all my 'pregnant belly weekly update' photos), and I took a few contractions seated on the toilet. As much as I hated going through contractions on the toilet for both of my other births, and as much as I feared the violent intensity of the position, I ultimately knew that it would help me to meet my baby sooner. With Seb in front of me, my arms thrown around his neck for dear life, we worked through several back-to-back rushes like this, just until the bath was full. And they were intense. Such power forcing my yoni open ! I almost uttered those famous words (I CAN'T DO THIS !), but I knew the bath was almost full, and we managed to get through three or four like that (and I am convinced now that the majority of dilation happened on the toilet). So into the bath I tumbled and oh ! what sweet relief to feel the warm water on my belly. I find it interesting now that I remained forward-leaning for the entire duration of my labour, but was blissfully unaware that Chloë was heading out of my womb "sunny side up", or posterior. Remembering, of course, that this labour for me was such a whirlwind, and that not even an hour and a half passed between that first real contraction and the birth of my baby.

I am not sure if it was the warmth of the water around me, or the relief of being off the toilet, but the next contractions that I experienced - leaning forward onto the edge of the bath, knees spread as wide open as the walls of the tub would allow - well... they were, indeed, orgasmic. And so the great myth is confirmed ! I was able to relax right down into myself, and the position I was in only encouraged this kind of pleasurable feeling, as it just so happened to be our preferred position for sex over the last months of pregnancy. I allowed myself to open completely to the tightenings and pressure going on inside me, and moaned loudly and deeply through each one (Seb says I was actually chanting "open, open, open" with every contraction, and he says it certainly sounded like I was heading towards orgasm by the intensity of my vocalizations...). For the record, I don't think I could have climaxed, ie., had a full-blown orgasm at any point during my labour, although the contractions I experienced at this point in the tub (and whilst pushing later on....) absolutely did provoke sexual, sensual and pleasurable sensations within me. Could they have brought me to full-on orgasm ? I'm not certain, but oh, how I would love to find out, to push that boundary, and get the chance to give birth just one last time in order to know for sure ! And needless to say, if I wasn't a birth junkie before, I sure as hell am one now.  *grin*

The contractions continued to get stronger, but it felt good. I was in control and I was staying on top of them. I felt strong and powerful and soft and open all at once. Seb was in and out of the bathroom and bedroom now (stepping out on to the back deck to snap a photo of the incredible full moon we had that night), and I reckon that I slipped off at this point into Labourland - a place where I didn't need him anymore, and one where I couldn't take him, either. Physiology had taken over. Each contraction required more focus than the last, and I realised after the fact that my body had started pushing a little with each of them. That's when my water broke. And I said aloud (because in my haze I wasn't sure) : "Something just gushed out of me.... it was more than just 'bloody show'.... oh, it's the water bag... I just broke my water, Seb". All very matter of fact. No panic. But what a bizarre sensation to feel such a strong gush of fluid exploding out of my vagina while submerged in the water; I remember feeling vaguely disappointed that none of my babies would be born in the caul (with both of my other births I had asked to have my bag of water broken for me at 9-10 cm, and I was not in the water at the time).

It was then that I reached down and felt my cervix. I could feel it was really soft and stretchy around the head (what a trip for a future midwife to feel her own cervix as her very first palpation of a cervix in labour !). I was probably 8 cm dilated, or so, but I knew something didn't quite add up, as the head was not well applied, kind of coming at the cervix on a funny angle... but again, no true realisation that she could be posterior, just that the head at my fingertips did not seem to be coming straight on to my cervix.... how weird it was for the midwife in me to be still vaguely trying to assess things at this point, while ME, the birthing woman, was actually, literally, on another planet entirely. I totally get what Michel Odent says about stimulating the neo-cortex of a labouring woman, and why it's not a good idea, and why in some cases (as it was here in mine), it just won't bestimulated ! It was as if I couldn't get my 'birthing woman' head out of the fog to realise what my fingers were trying to tell the midwife in me. In any case, and in typical fashion once the waters are broken, the intensity of the contractions, the pain, the grunting and 'pushiness' (oh, all that pushiness ! another sign that I missed that should have told me she was posterior) - it all picked up after that, and the sensual, orgasmic nature of the beast had all but disappeared. Several more contractions, and I remember trying to prepare myself for the hardest part of labour, saying to myself at this point to be strong, stay open, that it's almost over, but not yet, NOT YET.... when before I knew it, the time between contractions increased, the intensity of them tapered, and then right out of the blue, and completely unexpectedly, I was having what many call the "rest and be thankful" stage. I was incredulous. I had gotten through transition, and didn't even know it, and was now saying to myself, "This can't be !? Am I resting and being thankful ? ALREADY ?" And that's when I realised my midwife had arrived, and was busy in the bedroom getting her supplies ready. "Sinclair, I think I'm pushing." "Ok," she says, "not a problem, I'll be right there." And right then I knew I wanted to get out and continue pushing on the bed. I had my first contraction since the restful phase, and I thought I'd try out the pushing a bit, so I just added slightly to the physiologic pushing my body was doing already, and it felt right. Excellent. No vaginal exam necessary (not that Sinclair had even offered); I knew I was fully dilated, and now it was time for the bone-stretching work of the second stage to begin.

I will admit to a little fear at this point (Right. Who's kidding who ? I was scared shitless), as two and a half years earlier, Sophie (9 lbs 3 oz) had been born with a nucchal arm (her arm up alongside her face). The pelvis-splitting pain of pushing during that birth will forever haunt me, and apparently the memory of it hadn't left the recesses of even my primal brain, as the fear was most definitely within me in that moment, as I looked ahead to what pushing might bring. . .

Before the next contraction began, and without a word to Seb or Sinclair, I got out of the tub and bee-lined for my bed. Straight onto my hands and knees, and buried my head into the pile of pillows and the bean bag chair at the head of the bed. More testing out of the waters, by me consciously adding a little bit to the next pushing contraction, and I felt confident I could now push as little or as much as I needed to, and began the task of figuring out the whole pushing thing all over again. Push too little with the contraction, and it hurt... push too much, and it hurt. I was into the swing of things soon enough, though, and quickly got the hang of it. With the confidence that my body was on track and doing what it needed to do, the fear had melted away. I relaxed deeply once again, and those sensuous, orgasmic feelings came rushing right back --how wonderful ! Oh, pushing felt AMAZING ! Well, as long as no one touched my lower back, that is. I winced in pain and cried out several times for them NOT TO TOUCH MY BACK (still no clue that she was posterior, of course).

I really need to say that I just loved the silence in the room while I was pushing. I am so grateful to Seb and Sinclair (and to Minerva, who was so supremely discreet - just as I knew she would be) for respecting me, my wishes, enough to just let me do what I needed to do, and to support me through it... in silence. What a gift. I was able to tune right into my body and I experienced an entirely physiologic pushing stage as a result. And that perfect silence was only broken by Sinclair, when she joyfully announced "I can see the head now, Emma. She's got lots of hair !"

To view the rest of this amazing story complete with some incredible images, and some info on placenta encapsulation, CLICK HERE.