Redemption

My first "official" doula experience wasn't a great one. I didn't really go into it at the time, but I left that birth feeling useless, sad and truly questioning whether I had helped them at all by being there.

It's no wonder — the poor woman had every intervention except forceps and a c-section and there were several times during the birth where I ignored my gut instinct and allowed the situation to unravel unimpeded by me. Sure, there are always things we'd change in hindsight and who knows if anything I would have done would have changed anything, but ultimately I didn't think I helped. At all.

It was nice then, a few weeks back when I posted some article (on FB) about doula's attending births that my doula client commented that she believed she would have ended up with a c-section had I not been there.

That's something isn't it? Yes, well.

Then last month I attended the polar opposite birth. I went with my instincts, did what I thought I should and rarely questioned what I should do. The birth wasn't just totally different — my experience was, too. I walked away light as a feather, feeling fulfilled and useful and inspired.

I spoke with my midwife about this just last week. She was a doula first as well and had an even worse first doula experience, one where she cried for days after (same sort of story only it was a forceps delivery). Still, she went on to become a midwife. She was also honest in saying that, even now, there are times when women end up with c-sections or forceps that she feels she failed in some way and wished she could go back and do things differently.

This week I got an email from my January doula client. She wanted to know if I had any births lined up for April...because if I didn't she wanted to ask if I'd be there to help them welcome baby number two, who, very surprisingly, was on the way.

After my initial surprise and laugh, I couldn't help but feel somewhat vindicated, that I had helped enough, I guess, that she wanted me there again. But more than that, I feel like this time, this time I can follow my instincts and well and truly be there for them. I know I can't control how a birth happens, but I feel so much more confident now in at least being as helpful as I can when it does.

(Also, it bodes well, I think, that in just over a year into my two-year certification journey that I have a repeat client. Don't you?)

More precious than gold

I keep meaning to blog about my latest doula effort, but at my follow up meeting with the new little family they passed me a letter of reference that, really, says more about the experience than I ever could. Yes, they paid me cash, but I feel so much richer in so many other ways because of attending this beautiful birth. This was a hypnobirth, a fast birth, a stunningly beautiful, healthy, normal birth. Their words:

(edited for names, etc.)

A short time before the arrival of our second child, we decided we wanted a doula. Time was short (three weeks until the due date), and we quickly interviewed a few ladies whose names were given to us. Ms. Caddywumpus (ok, guys, they didn't really write that, I changed it) was one of these.

We connected with her almost instantly and knew that she would be a great fit for us. We had no hesitation asking her to join us on this journey. It felt really good to have an extra support alongside us. This was our second baby and we wanted to do everything within our power to make this experience a more positive one. We felt like having a doula with us empowered us even further to be prepared for what was to come.

Now that we've had our daughter, we can say for sure that it was definitely worth it to have her there. It was helpful and affirming and positive in every way.

Ms. Wumpus brought a great mix of professional and personal touch to her support of us. She has an energetic and calming presence, is knowleable and willing to address any and all issues that arise, and was available at a moment's notice. We felt quite comfortable discussing anything with her. She possesses every quality needed to thrive as a doula and we would recommend her to anyone without hesitation.

Thank you so much for your part in welcoming our daughter. It was our pleasure to have you alongside us for this memorable and special experience.

***

It makes me teary to read it again.
Namaste, y'all.

Falling back in love

It's no secret that I hibernated this winter. The return to the pavement, free weights and generally not eating/drinking myself to near bursting every night has been slow, annoying and rather painful (only in the pycho sense, not physically, although six months sans yoga is starting to show).

On Saturday I did something that I've often scoffed at - a cleanse. Let me state, for the record, that I don't believe in crash diets, juice diets, magical "cleansing" of our bodies. Our bodies cleanse our systems every single day and I really don't believe for a moment that drinking nothing but lemon juice and cayenne pepper is going to magically rid you of gall stones.

All that said, I have employed the services of a holistic nutritionist, one that is educated, level headed and rational. And, yes, she recommended a liver cleanse and I'm doing it. WTF, you may say. But this cleanse is really nothing more than more conscious eating with a few added vitamins and herbs on the side. THAT I can wrap my head around.

What this cleanse means is a few things. No booze at all, no red meat, minimal caffeine (but not none!) lots and lots of bright, colourful veggies and fruit, whole grains, lots of water, more fibre and 30 minutes minimum of exercise a day (see? I told you it's totally rational). But it also means no eating past supper, as I have to take my vitamins on an empty stomach at least three hours after eating but before bed (oh, tricky!) and it means actually thinking about what I'm putting in to my body.

And after three days, I've fallen in love with delicious food again. My typical pitfalls have always been: lack of exercise and too many carbs (which means too few veggies). Nothing major, but taking this leap of faith and swallowing some milk thistle has put me back in touch with the lovely things that grow just up the road at the market garden.

Case in point, today I made the most stunning salad. Three kinds of lettuce plus new spinach, pumpkin seeds, avocado, fresh raspberries, cooked, cool quinoa and a mustard/maple dressing I made up yesterday.

Holy doodle, I'm in love.

This new love, of course, only marginally makes up for the seven mile run yesterday that should have been nine or the two pound weight GAIN this week. But, whatever. It's the small things everyday that matter more, right? Right?

***

As an aside, Ms. Jen P is doing what I wish I could and packing up her family to move to the farm. I'm proud of her, jealous of her, but mostly, I'm sad she's moving an entire province farther away. Good thing my in-laws live 10 minutes up the road, Jen, or I'd be pissed at you.

Go on over to her blog and wish her a fond farewell and happy move, won't you?

Plugged ear of exertion

If Steve in a Speedo can have a vein of approval, then I can have a plugged ear of exertion.
I've noticed, from time to time, that my left ear gets plugged/poppy and annoying when I'm working out particularly hard. Usually that means during track workouts or a tempo run (yes, I've actually been doing both), and sometimes it happens just during a regular old run. It's how I know I'm actually getting the blood pumping. It's how I know I'm nearly spent. It's usually accompanied by me talking myself into just finishing another few minutes because at this point I want to quit.

Today (and this is me climbing back on the wagon) I ran 8 miles. Sure, I should probably have done this weeks ago, seeing as my half marathon is a measly 8 weeks away, but whatever. Life has no rewind button, so it's onward and upward from here, OK?

It wasn't a hard run, really. I wanted to average 10:15 to 10:30 minute miles and by mile 3 had to tell myself to slow it down (I ended up averaging 10:14 and felt strong until the last .5 miles. go me!).

A few things I thought about during this run:
- 8 miles used to seem forever. Now I loop around until I get it done and it's no biggie. Maybe this is a sign that my fitness is slowly improving again.
- iPods really do read minds (this isn't news, but I did think about it)
- Black cats in tall grass look a lot like skunks
- That realization can make you run REALLY fast up an embankment
- Shade and flat ground makes the first 4 miles much easier
- Finding saskatoons on a run is always a bonus. At mile 7.5 out of 8 they're a bloody godsend


And finally
- I didn't get the plugged ear of exertion until 7.6 miles in to my run.

Woot woot!

Toy butter, dragons and Afghan food

Things I never thought I'd say but have now, in all seriousness, simply because I am so blessed to be a mother:

"Butter is not a toy."

"No, we don't put dragons in our vagina."
"Or our bums."

"We don't touch poop. We stomp on it."

"Don't drink from the dog's dish." SIGH. "Whatever. Go ahead."

Everything is now "special" in order to appeal to Chou. "Here's your special dinner!" "Mummy bought you special panties!" "Here's your special chair!" Why is everything an exclamation! Because it's special!

I am so tired of special.

Oh, and the Afghan food? I'd never had any until tonight. It's amazing. As is the tea. It's too bad the country is essential a crater that people fight over or I'd want to go visit.

Next blog: How I managed to climb back on the wagon. To which I am clinging to for dear life, but still, I'm on there.

Role model

In an effort to keep upbeat and positive here's a list of things I'm loving these days:

Chou loves to "go running." She dons my hat and headband and takes off.

She's taken to hanging off every bar at the park trying to do chin ups (she's more successful at it than I am).

Chou says, "Let's stretch" and "I'm stretching, mama!" And then promptly does the splits.

Her favorite things to do are walk, run, jump like a kangaroo, climb the climbing wall at the park then run some more. She's also taken to tree climbing and managing to make it to the top of our porch railing. For those who know, it's darn high and she sits right on top all on her own giving me a heart attack.

Chou planted carrots, beets and peas at random in my flower bed and they're growing better than the ones I planted oh so carefully in pots.

She asks for sushi, quinoa, chickpeas, carrots (pronounced cah-rutz, emphasis on first syllable) and asparagus for dinner. I love that she knows what these things are at two.

I've managed to find a running buddy — sort of. More specifically, I'm encouraging a new mum to run and she's happy I want to run with her. It also means I've taken Chou running twice this week. It's been so long since that's happened. Today she even fell asleep in the stroller. It's been oh so long since that happened. It's been lovely.

Let's pretend this is two years ago

I was a very new runner when I got preggers - less than a year in to the sport. I had finished just one 10 km race and was planning for another. I ran my second just days before finding out I had had a running partner along without knowing it. I continued running until well into my pregnancy (more appropriately, I shuffled along in running gear), and thought that once the wee one arrived I'd wake early, kiss the little angel and head out the door for my 6 miles before breakfast. Because, well, that's just what mum's did, right?

Of course, when Chou arrived she informed me that she was a morning baby. In summer, that was up before six; in winter, shortly after. She also informed me that upon waking she expected to be nursed. Every time.

In short, I never did become a morning runner. The year on mat leave I often ran mid-morning or late afternoon with Chou tucked in the stroller. Often I'd duck out the door while dinner simmered on the stove. Sundays were for long runs around 9 am.

Then, two weeks ago, Chou weaned. It's been two weeks of horrid night time routines (or lack thereof) trying to find some way to get her to bed without it ending in tears or us staying with her for hours at a time. But there's an upside — I'm no longer "on call" between the hours of 5:30 and 7 am. Sure, the husband has to get up and get ready for work, but he can do that while Chou is up and about.

So I got to thinking that maybe it's not too late to become one of those morning runners.

Tomorrow, we find out.