Love-Knowledge Baby

A symbol strongly associated with babies, for some reason.

“Babies are EXPENSIVE!” someone exclaims.  Everyone nods in agreement.  Then the list begins, “Hospital bills, crib, diapers and more diapers!  Formula!  Not to mention that they outgrow their clothes in three blinks of an eye!”

That’s the current myth.  Heck, I believed it.  My pre-birth parenting skills seemed hinge on the THINGS I bought for the baby, as if buying tons of bottles, strollers, a gorgeous round crib (which I’ve been trying to sell for AGES, having never been used), pacifiers, diapers, etc. would prepare me for the most momentous life-change that I’d ever never be ready for.

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I would never have been ready for motherhood until the moment was upon me.  Even if I’d read all the AP books out there (I’d read exactly zero), gone to parenting classes, and watched every How To Care For Your Newborn video available on YouTube, I would never have been ready to be a mother.

There are some things that you can have intellectual knowledge of, but still know nothing about.  Pregnancy, birth, and parenting are very solidly categorized as such, in my opinion.  So, I was the best consumer mom that I could have been, nurturing the child in my womb by valiantly tackling garage sales and Target clearance racks.  I amassed the usual baby paraphernalia, but I was already starting to show my green tendencies.

I shopped online for the best deals (package deals, clearance items, seconds) on cloth diapers and bought 2 dozen fitteds, LOTS of prefolds, covers, and snappis.  Since I’d bought the line that babies were expensive, I figured I’d do cloth and save myself a few bucks . . . along with giving my baby’s bottom a more comfortable ride.

I pre-washed them, stacked them in their assigned bin, and waited for my home water birth (which I’d been paying for out of pocket- $$$=better birth?) to commence and conclude satisfactorily so that I could finally use my round crib with 16 piece bedding and those perfectly fluffed cloth diapers which I’d so lovingly prepared.

My life was epically derailed as I failed to progress through a long labor.  We ended up in the hospital, and my baby’s first experience in life was not on my triumphantly heaving chest covered in afterbirth, but on a neonatal resuscitation platform out of my view.  The next week introduced sugar water into his diet long before his first attempt to nurse.

The pacifiers at the hospital were plugged into his mouth over and over again as the NICU nurses called my room and waited with little patience as I made my way to that wing hobbling around an episiotomy which has forever changed the landscape of my cervix and pelvic floor.

The nurses briefly, and by rote showed us how to bathe our son, how to change disposable diapers, and asked repeatedly about whether or not we would circumcise (NO!).  It took weeks to build up the courage to snap that first cloth diaper on my son, and I’d like to say we never went back . . . but I’d be lying.  We were hooked on disposables, regimented into the use of pacifiers, and scared to do any one thing differently from the Nurse Mandate of Infant Care.

The crib that was never slept in . . .

But my hippie-mom tendencies (which I credit to being an intuitively-led person), fought their way to the surface:  It started with cosleeping.  I found nursing so much easier, and there that gorgeous crib was gathering dust.  I could have used the [WARNING: Thrifty moms avert your eyes!] $600 on something else.  The breast pump and all those bottles I bought — I thought I needed them for some reason, but I read a lot of breastfeeding books during the pregnancy and worked really hard with Bailey to have a successful and exclusive nursing relationship and thus didn’t need or use bottles.  They would have been useful, had I gone back to work.

Then my midwife suggested “E.C.” to me which blasted the disposable vs. cloth debate right out of the water.  At five months, right after introduction of solids (Never doing that again!  Child-led solids for the next kid!) Bailey developed severe food allergies which really made me aware of food content: additives, preservatives, and unrecognizable concoctions.  As a nursing mom, I had to go on an elimination diet to make sure my milk was safe for Bailey.  Cooking at home every day, I’ve come to appreciate local farmer’s markets, organic produce, and quality instead of run-of-the-mill.

I guess those hormones got the better of me, and I snowballed into the land of the hippie.  I stopped buying paper towels and replaced them with cloth.  Instead of chemical cleaning products, I use spray bottles with 50% water and 50% white vinegar (great for E.C. accidents on the carpet).  We only bought disposable diapers a total of 10 times before we quit cold turkey.  We replaced them with plenty of inexpensive padded training pants, which are easier to take off in a hurry anyways.

All wrapped up.

I can use a simple piece of fabric to wrap my baby onto my body, replacing all of the following equipment: strollers, car seat as a carrying device (only the 5-50 lb convertibles from now on), bouncer, excersaucer, walker (which all should be banned anyways), tummy time mats (because wearing in a sling is the kind of stimulation tummy time is artificially replacing), shopping cart covers, child leashes and more.  5 yards of Osnaberg fabric and a little sewing know-how can make something that can replace hundreds of dollars of equipment: a woven wrap.

Something about motherhood awoke in me a fierce desire to live in an ecologically sustainable manner, to be clever with the resources at hand, and to depend on as little as possible.  I’ve still got a lot to learn from moms like the author of Raising Them Green and sites like The Green parent, but buying things used from garage sales or consignment is more fun than buying new.

I’m having a really good time, getting less and less wasteful, and working toward a lifestyle that will teach my child that the world around us is valuable, not disposable . . . and that we are the stewards of the world around us, just as we are the stewards of our own bodies.

So, what about that myth that babies are expensive?  I’ve discovered that they really aren’t.  You’ve probably already got what you need to nurture that baby in exactly the way he or she needs . . . all those extra things are just specialized tools that might be nice in one situation or another.  All a baby needs is a wealth of love, respect, and your personal time.

Only if you live by the creed that “time is money” should you find that babies are expensive.  In that way, our children represent the wealth of our future — and instead of pushing them aside, we should cherish every fleeting moment with them (as I try to remind myself while waiting out another toddler tantrum).

Take a moment and tell me what you do to make your life more green!  Share some tips and tricks because every little bit counts.  *clears throat* . . . and I was also wondering if anyone happens to want a round crib plus bedding?  I’ll trade you for something!  Offers . . . ?

Here are my requests as a pregnant woman: Above all, support me. Respect me. Allow me my dignity, my choices, and give me the benefit of your full attention.  I pledge to return these courtesies.

Support my pregnancy. Don’t voice your fears, but do encourage me to voice mine. Don’t tell me I’m too young, old, fat, skinny, rich, poor or anything else. You may tell me that I will be a great mother. You can tell me that I’m doing a great job. If you have criticisms, let them first be formed as questions and suggestions. Allow me to be in charge of my own body, my own decisions, and support my choices once I’ve made them.

Don’t tell me horror stories. Tell me joyful ones. Don’t tell me I’ll be begging for an epidural. Tell me you enjoyed yours, but that’s it. I want to hear about your experiences, and your choices, but I want to ultimately make my own. Just because you or someone you know had X, Y, or Z happen, doesn’t mean it’ll happen to me. Offer to rub my back, my shoulders, and feet. Offer to cook for me, or to take my garbage out, or to do my dishes.

Take me out to the farmer’s market for fresh produce. Cook for me, or cook with me. Take care of my older kids, if I have any. Don’t tell me I can’t eat X or Y because those alarmist fads change every year. Encourage my intuitive knowledge (especially in regards to my diet), and believe that I have my baby’s and my own best interests in mind (because assuming otherwise is insulting).

Encourage me to listen to the needs of my body and the baby within. Have faith in this natural process, and help me keep my faith in it.

Ask if I want hugs or contact. Don’t touch my body or invade my space just because you want to rub my belly. Ask first. Treat me like a physically able, healthy person . . . because I am not an invalid. Pregnant women are not weak or delicate by nature. In fact, with proper care, it is one of the strongest, physically wonderful times in our lives.

Keep inviting me out for fun things. Perhaps we won’t go bar-hopping, but I still need my friends and my social life. Ask me to go on walks, go swimming, run to the library with you, or just hang out and play games. I still want to play tabletop RPG’s. I still want to play card games or board games. I still want to watch movies and laugh until it’s hard to breathe. Keep being my friends.

Do me a favor and ask questions. I want to know what you’re curious about. I want to discuss the changes happening with me and the baby. I want to hear what you think and talk about your dreams or fears.

Love me and feel joy for me.

If I ask you to, be with me when I am in labor. If you are there for me, pay attention to my signals. Know that I might find it hard to vocalize. If you notice something is making me uncomfortable, ask me (wait until a contraction has eased) if you can help me by removing that stimulation. Be prepared to leave if I ask. Offer me comforts, but offer them one at a time, (between contractions) so that I may accept or decline with simple body language.

If you offer and I accept your touch, keep your hands firm and steady, with deeper pressure, slow and steady strokes. Quick, light touching comes across as frantic and distracting. Tell me I’m doing a good job. Avoid giving me orders, especially at the peak of a contraction when my full concentration is needed. Voice suggestions instead, and wait for me to accept. If I seem to be focusing on the pain (whimpering or making high pitched noises), tell me to think of each wave as the most interesting sensation that requires my full attention.

If a midwife or doctor wants to perform a procedure, make sure that they explain it to you along with reasons, so that you can put it into simpler language and ask me if I understand and consent. Simply translate for me, and act as my gatekeeper.

Make eye contact with me. Deep, steady eye contact is sometimes all a woman needs to get over one cresting rush of a contraction. If I want it, hold my hands and look into my eyes. Encourage me to change positions. Again, offer one suggestion at a time, and don’t rush me. Suggest that I stand, or kneel, or squat. Suggest I sway my hips while hanging onto your shoulders. Put on belly dance music and shimmy your hips for me. Tell me I can work that baby down and out. Ask if I want to dance.

If I say, “I give up! I can’t do this! NOO!” say “YES! That’s what we want to hear! When women say that, it means the baby is coming soon. You’re in transition! That’s wonderful! It won’t be much longer.”

Respect my wishes at the moment. If I didn’t want an epidural, then I decide the pain is too much . . . help me into a warm pool of water, help me move, let me try different positions, ask me to endure 5 more contractions, trying different things all the while, then when the 5 are over, ask me again. Tell me I’ve done such a beautiful job, that I’m so strong, that I handled those 5 SO WELL, and ask me if I’d like to try another 5 contractions before asking for pain relief.

Don’t remind me what I said before I went into labor. That doesn’t matter any more. That person doesn’t exist. The creature I am during labor doesn’t give a rat’s behind what the left brain thought it wanted. Do your utmost to support me, and if I ask for pain medications after all of those efforts, and all your encouragement, make sure you’re looking into my eyes as I tell you what I want. If I have to get intervention that I didn’t necessarily want in the first place, praise my efforts and my choice.

“You were in a lot of pain, and it was distracting you from your real work. Now you can rest, and you’re going to open up really wide and have this baby. You did all the hard work, and you’re making the right decision for YOU.”

Likewise, if I choose to have NO pain medications, let me labor! If I have to say no to a procedure more than once, and you ask until I give in, you’re abusing me while I’m powerless. Respect my wishes, and support the natural process of my labor. I would do the same for you. I would respect your choice FOR or AGAINST pain medications or other interventions.

So, for your own sake, and for the sake of others you will come in contact with, BE INFORMED. Do the research. Don’t accept the medlore, the myths, or anything JUST BECAUSE everyone does it that way. Look it up. Read books. Hit the internet.

For your own sake, and for every pregnant woman or new mother you’ll ever encounter, shed the burdens of the myths surrounding your OWN birth, or your mother’s births.
“Her/my hips were too narrow.”
“They needed to cut an episiotomy.”
“I/the baby was stuck, and nothing could have helped it.”
“The baby was just too big to come out the normal way.”

When I hear those stories, I ask a few questions, and the answers are almost always “No”:
Was she allowed to move freely during labor?
Was she given the support of one trained individual (doula, midwife) for the duration the labor?
Was she given any of the following options: multiple changes of position, equipment such as a birth pool, birth ball, birthing stool, a rope or sling to grasp and hang her weight from, acupressure, acupuncture, massage, encouragement to vocalize as needed, a comfort object or focus, mantra, any support person(s) requested, the ability to ask disturbing simulations to cease (even if it means banishing a specific doctor or nurse), etc.?
Did she or her attending physician or care provider consider birth a normal physiological event?
Was she allowed to progress normally, and let to push when she felt like it, and HOW she felt she should?

If I ask you to be there for me during labor and birth, give me all the benefits of an unimpeded labor and birth. Fight for my right to listen to my intuitive self and birth as I know how. Even if I doubt myself, reassure me. Have faith in my body, and know that I would do the same for you. I would do everything in my power to aid you.

Value me and my baby over hospital policy. Value me and my baby over schedules. Value us more than cultural norms. I would do the same for you. Tell me to scream and moan if you want, but guide me toward low, open moans, deep noises and grunts. Watch the tension of my mouth, and suggest things to relax it. Make me laugh, smile, or suggest I make out with my husband/partner. These things will relax my mouth and likewise relax my perineum.

Have faith that I can open wide without tearing. Know that it is a normal physical event for a baby to pass down the birth canal, twisting and wiggling and changing positions, and for my hips to widen, my perineum to dilate and efface (use the words “open” and “flower” and “bloom” and “relaxing” and “widening”) without any tearing or cutting.

When the baby is coming, let me be in an upright position or laying fully on my side. Help me avoid being flat on my back or even reclining on my back, because those positions narrow the pelvic opening. Turn the temperature up and dim the lights for me (and let me know what you’re doing as you’re doing it, and why). Shush people. I don’t want anyone to yell or scream at me at ANY point. Let it be quiet, let everyone be still. Let my baby come down, crown, and suggest I touch my emerging baby’s head. Let me feel every sensation. Catch my baby or help me catch the baby, but do everything slowly and with calm. It is not an emergency. The baby does not need to be separated from me. There’s no rush. Don’t even rush me to pick the baby up, or do anything. Again, don’t give orders.

Whatever I need to do, feel, or process . . . just let us do it. Don’t cut the cord. It’s still serving a purpose. Don’t touch the baby unless I want you to. Let me pick up my slimy baby and look at her. Let me shake and shiver and press her against my bare belly and chest. Let her take her first breath, but don’t jab things in her throat and nose. The mucus clears by itself. It really does. Wrap us in a blanket, and let me savor the moment.

Start cleaning up quietly, and only take the baby for weighing and other things when I’m ready to let her go. Take care of me, and offer a warm bath for mom and baby. Offer food, drink. Get us off to a good start with breastfeeding, and let the placenta deliver itself. Treat the blood, the cord, and the placenta with respect, and ask what I would like done with them.

Always offer more support, and if you’re no longer needed, say you’re coming back to help again soon, and depart quietly. Be available. Teach me how to latch the baby on the nipple, and talk to me about the benefits of ecological breastfeeding (including natural infertility). Teach me how to give her the benefits of skin to skin contact. Teach me how to use a sling or carrier, so I can have an easier transition into motherhood. Teach me the difference between Natural Infant Hygiene, cloth diapering, and disposable diapering. Teach me about baby sign language. Teach me the difference between family bed, co-sleeping, and crib sleeping. Teach me about the “fourth trimester”, and not to listen to people who urge me to let her cry it out.

Teach me to listen to my intuition when it comes to my health and the baby’s health. When I feel like something is wrong, go to the doctor’s and don’t take no for an answer. When I feel that something is right and good for us, let me make that decision and praise me for my assurance.

Give me resources. Give me education. GIVE ME CHOICES, and respect the choices I make. I pledge to do the same for you.

As an expectant mother, I was excited to purchase the best things for my baby and the environment. I planned on using cloth diapers on my first and subsequent children, preventing more landfill waste and saving a lot of money. Then life intervened, and I had to reevaluate everything.

My son was born in distress. He had to be resuscitated, and we lived our first week in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. The first time I got to hold him was on the third day of his life. I cradled his little body gently, trying not to tangle all the wires and sensors the hung from him.

Suddenly, my plans seemed empty. We left the hospital hooked on disposables. After being taught how to use throwaway diapers by the nurses, we trembled with the fear of new parents when faced with cloth. Even my mother advised me to use disposables to make it ‘easier’ on myself.

Time passed and I was laughingly recounting my month old son’s tendency to go pee or poop when we took the diaper off him, and instead of laughing, our midwife said that we should try ‘EC.’ My response to that was, “What’s ‘EC?’

EC stands for Elimination Communication, a system in which the parent learns how their infant communicates their need to pee or poop and helps them to go in an appropriate receptacle. The majority of the world utilizes this system of natural infant hygiene.

A parent learns the baby’s cues and responds by holding the baby over the sink, toilet, or potty. At the same time, the parent makes cuing noises e.g. the ‘s’ noise for pee and another sound for poo. The baby learns to respond to the cuing noises by eliminating if he or she needs to. With this method it is possible to use very few diapers or none at all!

Some parents I’ve spoken to dismiss this method as impossible. Some declare that it is “training the parent” instead of training the baby. Others denounce it as unhygienic, and claim that third-world countries do it because they cannot afford diapers.

Like many creatures, babies do not wish to soil themselves. Anyone who has ever cared for a new born should remember the early months when taking OFF the diaper was a dangerous prospect because of the resulting stream of pee or poop. From personal experience, helping an infant go to the toilet is definitely possible. Babies are aware of their elimination and are able to consciously release the sphincters in order to urinate and defecate.

Isn’t it best to feed your child immediately when he or she signals hunger (or even before then)? Elimination Communication is merely the other side of that coin. Instead of being ‘trained,’ you are meeting your child’s elimination needs.

ECing is very hygienic. My son’s diaper rash disappeared completely once we started ECing. We flush his waste down the toilet, never coming into contact with it. Perhaps we should consider that diaper free cultures might not be motivated by poverty, but might instead consider diapering a disgusting practice.

Helping your baby eliminate should be a gentle experience. There is no punishment or reward involved, and most EC’d babies will try to get to the potty themselves once they are mobile. A conventionally diapered infant tends to lose awareness of elimination at around six months. If you help your baby eliminate even once a week, they will maintain an awareness of elimination.

Helping our son eliminate has given our family such a strong bond even though we didn’t get to hold him until he was three days old. Give it a try; you might get hooked.