You're a boomerang, you see.

I chose these pictures because of their promising light. This sunlight is what I crave all winter. I'm so glad it's finally here. We've been spending lots of time in the backyard, and things are getting better. This time of year, it's easier to remember that we are Promising Light. 

 Right before I had Chai, I wrote about how much depression and bitterness I'd observed in young (and old) parents and expressed my desire to be different than that. I even wrote something like "having a healthy baby is no reason for me to be depressed." Everyone knows everything before they have a baby, right? That disgusts me to think about now. I'm truly sorry for saying that, for thinking that. It's just so much more complex than I could have understood. Postpartum mood disorders are not some curse vested on the immature or the ungrateful. You can't inoculate yourself against them by having a great attitude. Rain simply falls on the just and the unjust. Furthermore, speaking metaphorically, not all babies "weigh" the same. You have no idea what is being carved out of someone's life. You don't know what private losses they mourn, the colors of their dashed hopes, how their experience tasted for them coming back up. Their Hard might not be your Hard, but both are heavy, and both are lonely. 

I wanted so badly to do an awesome job at transitioning to having two kids, mostly because people kept telling me how much I was going to have my hands full, how having one baby is like playing house, and the real work begins when you have to juggle. My contrary nature wanted to prove them wrong, and my lazy nature didn't want to have to learn to do something terribly hard. I was so inundated with support and love for the first two months after Sparrow was born, I felt, in addition to being a rockstar, that just like during her actual birth, I could somehow "skip transition, " and, I don't know, win at life? I didn't really start to struggle until I went back to work, and got stuck in a never-ending spin cycle, which I am a total wimp about, because I don't even work that many hours, and my job is amazing!

Now I feel like the train of my life left without me, and I'm charging after it, trying to catch up, trying to get close enough to catch the railing, pull myself up and ride. I just want the train to slow down. Maybe one day I will be ambitious enough to offer to drive, or even manage multiple railroads like Dagny Taggart, but right now, my resiliency has been worn down like the enamel on my teeth and I have no time to do anything well. I feel like I’m always rushing to collect my thoughts, my wits, my babies, to show up, to write a treatment plan, to be present in a session, to grab the diaper bag. I’m longing for still, calm waters and free hours to write and figure this all out. I cry very easily these days, I’m ashamed to admit that I get very angry and full of despair very quickly. 

Lately Jonathan and I have been talking a lot about embracing ambiguity and the concept that you can hold varying, even polarizing ideas about one thing and they each represent a facet of truth but don’t define it. I love my babies, but sometimes I resent the time they occupy. I love myself, but loathe my shortcomings and lately, my lack of organization. I love the playful, funny, friendly side of myself that loves being with people and laughing and telling and hearing stories. I don’t like the side of myself that thrashes like a caged animal. It’s not me, it is just a part of me, a mean, raw part that makes me feel I am failing, like I am a prisoner.

I was just nursing Sparrow and thought she had fallen asleep and then I looked down and she was just beaming up at me. I just adore her. She has the loveliest, open, giving smiles. I love her sweet, unassuming face, her gorgeous shining blue eyes, the way she was laying patiently awake in the room this morning when I went in the check on her and she hadn’t cried yet. She is a little challenging because she does not like to be put down, ever. Even when she’s full, changed, warm and happy she will sob when I put her in the chair or on the floor. It frazzles me and sometimes crackles my nerves and turns my muscles into taut slabs of anxiety. Other times it turns me into a martyr, and I feel no one else bears the burden like I do. It’s lonely and makes me feel like I can’t enjoy my life, but then at the same time I thrill at her warm weight and squishy milky cheeks and I love to kiss her face and hair and I know how much I will miss her when she’s not my baby anymore. She is GOOD.

And Chai! Oh my beloved little man! I put him to sleep tonight and my heart was so full to bursting with how much I loved laying next to him tonight holding his hand and having him pat my skin to comfort himself as he fell asleep. I told him all the things he did during the day, and how I much I loved him. He has just exploded into language and expression the last few weeks. I can’t believe how much he knows and understands. His feelings are so volatile and potent and he has the cutest voice EVER. “No, I don’t want it!” he chirps. “Really good!” he nods. “Hey, I need that! Outside? Bath? Warsh? Feed horses? Sparrow down? More mokey?” He calls me "Money" and "Rashell." When I saw him for the first time yesterday after he had just come home from the Lowes with Jonny and Jonathan showed him a train. He ran in the room wearing his too-small Brobee shirt and yelped, “Hey MONEY! Train! Big train! Black train!” He was so excited! He couldn’t stop saying “Big train!” I love that he is getting so independent and so funny. He is capable of pretending (tonight he climbed in the armchair with his bear and big bird and said he was going to sleep, curled up and began to fake snore) and talks in first person but still seizes me with wild, frantic hugs and clings on like a little monkey. I have to hold him and hold him because he is growing so long and strong. I love him, I love him!

But, I still miss my old freedom, and my young face, with a heart-pounding desperation. I think how twisted it is that we're not supposed to be materialistic, but we are promised eternal young and beauty in heaven. What if there is no going back? (There is no going back.) Why did I give it all up so soon, why did I trade away the chance for a few honeymoon years with my Jonny for this mess, this mess of pottage that admittedly is delicious but every bite is salted with anxiety? Then I feel guilt and self-loathing for having those feelings. I have wild moments of joy and I think I've finally broken through, I Am Zen, there is balance in the Force, and I am to be commended for my efforts and I'm perfect just the way I am. Then I realize how thin and damaged my resiliency is, because some small disappointment will occur and my Zen explodes into the chaos of devastation, and I can't believe how little patience I have, how fried I feel, how fast I lose my calm. Once the crisis is dealt with I sheepishly take my emotional yoga pose again, brush it off, apologize, resolve anew that I will do better, I'll start planning meals at the beginning of the week and going running every morning before the kids get up. It's exhausting being this intense (read this link by the way, I could write a whole post just about this article). 

I don’t think I’ll be like this forever. Today I’m thinking about the SMBC comic that talks about living 11 lives and also thinking about the Mary Oliver poem that doesn’t know what a prayer is but asks “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” I want to love. I want to, as the comic suggests, dedicate my lifetimes to asking why and caring for my dear sweaty sticky-skinned smiling babies and becoming a better therapist and a birth doula, getting a PhD someday, speaking Spanish well again, being an advocate and activist for the miserable, the lonely and depressed, and maybe doing something small and intuitive with my writing, I want to listen to music, I want to walk alone outside, I want so much to find my Jonathan again and have time with him, I miss him and I want him, he’s the only one. 

Here is another embarassing confession. I used to think parents, not just my own parents, but people around my age who had kids, were sooo boring. They were always harshing my buzz and being all serious and responsible. I won't get boring, I thought. I'll be so chill and laid back, I'll remain "fun". Today while I was "out with friends", holding a screaming Sparrow and chasing an errant, gleeful Chai, the thought struck me that those people weren’t boring, they were just probably just miserable and/or miserably busy. Especially if I saw them at a party or a social activity, I was enjoying myself with all the time in the world while they were running around with a kaleidescope of quickly evolving angst and imminent duties. Probably they missed the freedom they used to have. too. They were constantly stressed out and anxious and battling that treacherous balance of creating a healthy, happy life for their children and not being crushed by disappointment when it turns out that even their already much lowered expectations were too high. I thought of the times my mother said she didn't care if she got to go on a ride, or see a movie, or have dessert, when there wasn't enough to go around or someone had to stay home with a new baby. I'm so amazed now at how I took all that for granted, how I didn't even see her. I'm so sorry.

I struggle a lot maintaining the balance between selflessness and selfishness. I may be a person who is able to sacrifice more happily if someone acknowledges my sacrifices. I may just have to let my right hand know what my left doeth. That’s where I am. So how do you balance giving with an open heart and not counting what’s given in return, not even expecting any reciprocity, how do you balance trying to be a good mother and trying to deal with the person in you who is still a child and wants to cry on the floor bleating for freedom and be given things and taken on walks? 

I’m learning a lot. I feel the way my upbringing informed my perception of parenthood has been both positive and negative, but I swallowed a lot of the pre-anti-depressants about my role as a mother being Everything. I don't believe that anymore. Being a mother is enormous and I treasure and adore my babies, but I recognize that it's part of the whole that is Me, not my destiny, not my essence, not my razon de existir or raison d'être. I’m just a human being, motherhood does not define me anymore than daughterhood does, or sisterhood, or girlfriendhood, or social workerhood (or growing up in the hood). All these things and their evolving dynamics are part of me, but I’m just a person who has children. They come through me but are not me, like this poem by Gibran. I love them dearly and I see that we’re the same, small, struggling, needy, trying, loving. I’m just a little further along in years than they are. 

I don't want to wrap this up with some kind of smug conclusion, because I haven't figured anything out, I'm just exploring, and I guess, sharing what I'm experiencing right now. It feels good to be heard. So thanks for listening. Besos.

"You're a boomerang, you see...you will return to me
You will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You, you will."

Born with a love for the wrote and the writ.

Okay so first, the title of this post is the name of a song that gets me, specifically one of the older Me's that hopefully is one of the ones that Elliot Smith promised to hang onto for me. But it's a good song and even if it's not your style you might at least find it interesting.

This is the most and least I can say about this right now. My relationship with my mother's father has always been one of the deepest, sweetest parts of my life. A few years ago, my grandfather began a "Poetry Club" in our family. One person selects a poem and writes a brief essay about why they found it touching or meaningful, and then sends it to everyone else to memorize or study it. I wanted to share the April submission from my dear Grandfather, and I included my reply to him also, where I explained through my tears at that time much better than I could now what I really meant to say. So if you don't read anything else here, read that.

I love my Grandfather so much and am grateful he has always encouraged me to write, although I know I have disappointed him by not writing as much as he would have wished me to. He means so much to me. When I was small I was always scribbling poetry like I was Emily Byrd Starr and each time I saw him I had some new verses for him to review. He was so proud of me. In middle school I came into a savage awareness of my own mediocrity that mostly stamped out my creative spark, and every few months since then my grandfather would ask me where was my poetry. I know he was a little disappointed that I did not major in English. A few years ago in an effort to prompt me to create some poetry (and I have written poetry in more recent years, just not the kind he would enjoy!) he suggested I write a Carrol-style poem from the Jabberwock's perspective. I finally did it last Christmas--it's super lame but was fun to write. I included the correspondence he sent about that poem to the family, because it's kind of fun and also shows what a spectacularly loving and kind Grandfather he is. Although he didn't really seem to understand when I tried to explain that I haven't changed my last name, so he refers to me as "Strange." To anyone who bothers to read this I would like to extend my grandfahter's invitation to write a lullaby for your children.

April 4, 2013
 Dear Poetry Lovers:

 I asked Lorraine to allow me to make a poetry contribution for April 2013 because I encountered a poem that just couldn't wait. She graciously consented. Her contribution will be expected around the first of May and Deanna will follow that on the first of June. Have you ever been so impressed by something that you couldn't wait to share it? Mother and I just returned home from a quick trip to Mesa where we attended the Easter Pageant Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. It was beautiful. As he has done for the past 15 years, Lee provided the live sheep and lambs needed for the production. One ewe gave birth while the Pageant was going on in one of the pens in back of the stage. Lee and Carol and their children (Mickey and Jared) also played roles in costume in the Pageant. By the way, did you see the centerfold in the Church News about the Mesa Easter Pageant? There was a beautiful large picture of Jared (with a lamb) looking up at the star-- also Adam holding up the sacrificial lamb (both were Lee's lambs). In the smaller inserts were pictures of Lee and Carol and other cast members, but they were harder to see. Can you believe that Lee and Carol have 3 of their families living within 2 blocks of their home-- all in the same ward (Marylee and Jeff, Kristen and Greg, Kelsey and Randall). And Grant and Krista, Tyler and Jordann don't live very far away. We had Easter dinner all together (minus Grant and Krista and Dominic-- I think they were with Krista's family), but Grant and Dominic picked us up at the airport. Dominic is a real blondie--reminded me of Rachel at that age. So Lee and Carol have 10 grandchildren (and one on the way)-- 9 were at the dinner-- 6 were under 4 years of age, I think. I have never seen such a concentration of cuteness. You must forgive me my current obsession with little children. That, however, leads us to this month's poem:

 GOOD NIGHT, MY ANGEL
 A Lullaby by Billy Joel
 Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes
And save these questions for another day.
I think I know what you've been asking me,
I think you know what I've been trying to say.
I promised I would never leave you.
Then you should always know
Wherever you may go, no matter where you are,
I never will be far away.

 Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to sleep
And still so many things I want to say.
 Remember all the songs you sang for me
When we went sailing on an emerald bay.
And like a boat out on the ocean,
I'm rocking you to sleep.
The water's dark and deep, inside this ancient heart,
You'll always be a part of me.

 Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to dream
And know how wonderful your life will be.
Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby,
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me.
Someday we'll all be gone,
But lullabies go on and on,
They never die.
That's how you and I will be.

 I wish I had Billy Joel's musical talent, but in this lullaby he expresses so well the way Mother and I feel about our children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. And in our hearts and your hearts, I hope you know that this is the way it will "always be with you and me." William Martin (Billy Joel) is an American pianist, singer, song-writer and composer. Since releasing his first hit song, "Piano Man," in 1973, Joel has become the sixth best-selling artist. He was born May 9, 1949, and was educated in Hicksville High School in New York (honest). He wrote the following compositions: Piano Man Just The Way You Are New York State of Mind And So It Goes Shameless and Christmas in Falluja, among others. I'm sure that many of you reading this note are better acquainted with Billy Joel than I am. I invite all of you young mothers and fathers to try your hand at expressing your feelings and emotions when you are rocking your baby or cuddling your little ones. We hope you will share your thoughts with us.
 Love and blessings, Father/Grandfather

Dear Grandfather,
I'm sure you will get a lot of emails about your last message, but I wanted to tell you how deeply the lyrics of that song, and your words, touched my heart tonight. I'm sitting here crying because I'm thinking of all the beautiful babies and the sweet way we love them, and how lovely and sad it is that babies grow up, and how unfair it is that we ever have to say goodbye. I want you to know that I put the little poem you wrote down for me about the pajaro in a treasure box for Sparrow, and one day I will show it to her and tell her how you read me the Jungle Book, and the Inchcape Rock, and the Yarn of the Nancy Bell, and how we went hiking and had adventures and how you believed in me and encouraged me to write poetry and sent me long letters from foreign lands, and how you were patient with me at silly stages of my life. I love you so much, thank you for sending the song. I understand the obsession with little children. Thank you for being obsessed with me when I was a little child. My life will always be more beautiful because of that. I will try to express my feelings about my babies and share more later. I love you very much!
--Rachel

Jan. 28, 2013
Dear Poetry Lovers and Family:

A number of my grandchildren were blessed with gifts at birth. Some were blessed with a gift of the ability to write poetry. I have always tried to encourage the development of this gift, along with others, and have with some sadness watched it fall into disuse. When I have attempted to encourage use of the poetic talent I have been told that families and school keep one very busy and there just isn't the time there used to be.

Nevertheless, I have persisted and very pleased to receive from Rachel Brown Strange, a poem without title . I need to explain that the last time I talked to Rachel about poetry she said she didn't know what to write about. It was then that I reminded her of "Jaberwocky " which Lewis Carroll wrote as part of "Alice In Wonderland". I asked her if she had ever thought about writing the Jaberwocky story from the point of view of the Jaberwocky's mother. That explains this poem of Rachel's. Before reading it may i suggest you read the original Jaberwocky, first.

 This is a note which accompanied Rachel's Poem: " Para Mi amado abuelito-with apologies that it has taken me a year-and that it is written in couplets, which I know is a most juvenile form, but I'm a little rusty. I know you always wanted me to be more literary-please take comfort in knowing that I still write often and love poetry. I love you. Signed: heart: Rachel"

 Please note how Rachel's poem picks up the story, geography, flora, fauna, and newly created words as in Carroll' s original offering. I think Rachel has created a marvelous response to "The Jabrwocky" I wanted all of you to have an opportunity to read it and enjoy it as I have. Thank you, Rachel.

 UNTITLED
 Let me tell you of the Tulgey Wood,
 A dear place, oft misunderstood
Where tumtum trees thrum with the rush
 Of creature brayling, shake and gush.
The jubjub,s tender song coils out
Young jabberwocks preen and flance about
Their roaring could seem fierce to most
But it's jubilance that fills their throats.
Alas, the way one shouts his joy
Seems but dread cry to man and boy.
To them the sunbloomed wood is murk
Where many nightsome terrors lurk.
 For this, jabbmothers often croon,
"Be cautious, lest man spell your doom.
He's hasty, Knavish, oft as kind.
 Fear makes him to your beauty blind.
I see you, sweet one, beastful-bright,
 but to man you're a grueful sight.
Keep close to those who understand
The choylings of our merry band
Though strangers sinistrings ascribe
You're safe at home within your tribe."

Despite wise counsel, one day roamed
A dreamish jabberwock, far from home.
Though mother's words are proved forthwith
Malice seemed to him a myth.
His eyes glowed with playful earnest flame,
When whilst wand'ring, upon a man-child h came.
He blumbered toward the tumtum tree,
Burbling, "Stranger wont you play with me?"
 The man-child swung round and caught the 'wook
 First with cold eyes, then vorpal hook.
The young one fell, in meek surprise
 Confusion, shock , in sightless eyes.
The Man-child, grimbrave, struck, cruelly smote
and stilled the last cry in the throat.
He fled, once head from neck he tore
In blood- triumph to his father's door.
As smug father with chortling rejoiced
A mournsome mother raised her voice
 Wept for the murdered child she bore
 Whose face was lost forevermore.

 Let me tell you of the tulgey wood
A dear place, oft misundrstood
Where tumtum trees thrum with the rush
Of creature brayling, shake and gush.
 Alas, the way one shouts his joy
Seems but dread cry to man and boy.

 Rachel Brown Strange.
 NOTE; How many words are there in this poem that Apple's dictionary couldn't spell?

Empowering Fearless Birth Event

I never blog about anything when I plan to, because I'm the total worst. If you only knew the circus parade of posts I plan in my mind but eventually abandon because time rushes on too fast before I get around to writing, the waste of brain-paint would make you weep. But even though I'm writing this almost two months later, it was too important not to document here, and I want my friends to receive public credit for their work. Most sincerely, every link in this post is a doorway to a beautiful and cherished part of my life, with friends who I love dearly. 

 So, my friend Sarah Asay is The Entrepreneu-est and has a thousand successful businesses. One of her many talents is videography, and in the last few years she has become dedicated to filming birth stories. She ended up coming to Chai's birth very last minute; I hadn't intended to have my birth filmed, but oh! I was so happy it worked out! Laurel asked me while I was in labor if I wouldn't mind Sarah coming and taking some footage, since at the time she was planning on making a documentary about birth. I knew how busy Sarah was and expected it might be years before I saw the footage, if ever, and I kind of forgot about it, except for the happy result that Sarah coming to Chai's birth really bonded us and created a friendship.

Last spring, Laurel invited me and Jonathan over along with some other friends to see the final edited film of her birth with Scarlet, which was gorgeous and amazing, and then they surprised me by premiering Chai's film, too, right after. I didn't recognize it until I saw our house and I was SO touched that my friends had planned to surprise me. They had also chosen my favorite song to use in the film without knowing how much the song meant to me. A few months later, after Laura and Wendy had their babies, we had a huge girls night for the premier of their birth movies with a ton more people. We sat on mattresses on the floor, brought treats to share and told our stories until late in the night. This winter, Sarah had two more birth stories to share, Sparrow's and a little boy named Asher's. This time, Sarah, Laura, and Wendy decided to make the premier more than a girls' night, but a community event dedicated to promoting fearless and empowered birth.

It started out being about the films, but soon grew even bigger. Laura (who is a childbirth class instructor and owns Hypnobirthing Utah) had the idea to invite vendors to buy booth space and make the event like an expo, with door prizes, drawings, and products and services available so that guests who were interested in pregnancy and birth could connect with birth professionals. They created a committee of women with compatible strengths and we met once a week to organize and plan for the big night (March 8th). Sarah and Beth contacted vendors and sponsors, there was a sub committee that just focused on the creation of a desert bar, we all got together the night before to arrange the food and put together gift bags with promotional items for the guests, and in the weeks before we constantly promoted the event online. That night, nearly 400 PEOPLE were in attendance. It was amazing!

There were so many fantastic booths, from midwives, doulas, birth photographers, yoga instructors, massage therapists, sellers of accessories, baby clothes, cloth pads, custom skin care products and health food. The Healing Group had a booth about the therapeutic services they offer women. All of the vendors donated prizes that guests could enter raffles for. For me one of the highlights of the evening was seeing a friend from high school who had driven all the way from North Ogden to attend and make some connections that could help her plan a VBAC. I also got to meet Kristen Hodson of the SLC Healing Group, one of my feminist heros, and she had heard about the postpartum group I facilitate (The Afterbirth)! She told me that the Healing Group periodically offers postpartum support groups but that attendance is spotty, and for my group to consistently have people attending for over a year is extremely rare. She said "You must be doing something right."

The venue ended up being a little small for how many people came, but when we began the "program" everyone became very quiet and respectful. Sarah, Abby (Asher's mother) and I got to speak briefly before the films were shown. Unfortunately I don't have Abby's words, but this is what Sarah and I shared:

RACHEL (I read this verbatim since I am not to be trusted to stay on topic when public speaking, or ever, really): There is so much I could say about my little girl’s birth, and probably would, except I wrote it down so I would not deviate from the thoughts I wanted most to share with you.

Everything I could say would probably fall under two ideas: One, that it was HARD, and that reminded me that I can do hard things, and two, I wasn’t alone. I kept thinking during my surges when they were the most intense that so many, many women throughout time and all over the world have felt exactly that same way I was feeling right then.. And even though I might not have a single other thing in common with those women, that’s something we will always share, is the knowing of what that feels like and how vulnerable it makes you and how all-encompassing it is in those moments of labor and birth. . I honor every single woman who has
ever experienced that and brought a baby into the world, because it is amazing and it is hard.

I’m grateful that I had the experience of feeling completed supported during my birth by my husband and by many loving doulas and sisters. They did all kinds of wonderful, loving things for me during my labor—pulled up my hair, gave me counterpressure on my hips, back and shoulders, held my hands, pushed on pressure points to take off the edge of the surges, stroked my face, moaned with me, sang to me, told me over and over again how well I was doing, but what really struck me as the loveliest and most amazing thing they did was just how completely present they were with me. They stayed with me and they didn’t leave me alone. I felt they were carrying me through those surges.

During Sparrow’s birth I kept telling everyone that I couldn’t imagine being by myself, I couldn’t imagine going through that experience without those arms around me. I would wish that amount of love and support for everyone, because it gave me courage and light that has lasted with me for weeks. I haven’t felt lonely, I haven’t felt defeated, even when it’s gotten hard, I remember how I felt during the births of both my babies and I remember who I am. During the process of giving birth to my daughter, I found strength that assures me that even though I don’t know the answers to all my questions, even though I know that disappointment, pain, and loss will find me, I know I can do this. I am a strong person, I am a person worth listening to. I can find a way to make it work with 2 babies, I can find a way to survive the difficult moments, I can find a way to become the person I was meant to be, and I love my life and I love myself. Thank you for letting me share this with you!

SARAH: Thank you for being here. As you can imagine, the plot of these films are always the same. Though I try to show as much raw energy as possible, I take care to make sure my angles are discreet and respectful.

It was such an honor to be at the births of Asher and Sparrow. Abby, Asher’s mama, was patient and strong over the course of her 48 hour labor. She was patient with her body and connected to her baby. Labor started the day before Josh’s birthday on December 29thand Asher was born on the 31st. Being the accountant he is, I bet Josh was thrilled with his new little tax deduction. And be sure to notice in the film how Josh never leaves Abby’s side.

After Asher was born, Abby insisted that the midwife wait to cut the cord, wait to put medicine in Asher’s eyes and wait to weigh him. And the midwife and hospital respected her wishes all the way. Way to go, Abby!

Exactly a month later and on Sparrow’s daddy’s birthday, I got the call to go witness Sparrow’s birth. Rachel is such a beautiful person- inside and out- those of you who know her love to tell the story of how at her first birth, she graciously thanked those in the room for helping her through each surge. Her second birth was no different, and we felt drawn into her peaceful presence. She even had a breakfast spread for her birth team to enjoy during her labor. She labored beautifully and never had a moment when someone wasn’t holding or caressing her.

I can’t tell you what an honor it is to be in your presence and share with you something so close to my heart. I believe birth is sacred and probably one the most empowering moments in a woman’s life. Birth must be protected. Birthing women must be supported and loved during the entire journey- both during the labor and the weeks after. Notice I didn’t say “natural birth”. While I’m personally so afraid of needles that I’d do natural birth over an epidural every day, that is not the sentiment of many women. No matter how a woman gives birth- in home, in a hospital with an epidural or by c-section, it needs to be a respected and fearless experience. Since birth is not generally revered in our culture as the awesome experience it can be, many women need to see birth portrayed this way in order to change the stigma. Think Inception. Loved that movie! Changing the way birth is treated by the healthcare industry won’t happen until women are confident and empowered enough to demand to be treated respectfully and gently during birth.

I had two traumatic births with my first two children and then two empowered and peaceful births with the second two. The 3rd birth was healing beyond belief and the fourth changed my entire being. What those births have done for my marriage, my mothering, and my confidence! My soul feels at peace. But it took a lot of time and work to heal. The journey to healing was really rough. Really really rough. It hurts to see other women wresting with the trauma from similar experiences.

The Healing Group is not here by mistake. They support my vision of healing birth trauma. Birth trauma is no respecter of status, and sadly sometimes the women who need it the most can’t afford the care they need. Please consider donating to the Healing Group tonight to help defray the cost of mental health services for women who desperately need them. I will personally match every donation dollar for dollar up to $200 this evening.

And now the films.

Here are  the links to Asher's and Sparrow's films, so you can kind of follow along at home. :)

When the films were shown, everyone went totally silent, and many people were in tears afterward. I stood next to my friend Kelli, squeezing Jonathan's hand and holding my lovely baby who was one of the stars of the evening (she didn't care, and fell asleep during Asher's film). Our friend David was also with us and my sister and my parents behind me. My mother cried and hugged me and said "It's so beautiful, the birth of a child, it's a miracle every time." I remember thinking as I was watching the screen, I never expected anything like this to happen to me in my life. It was such a unique, bizarre, exciting experience. When the films were over, there was thunderous applause and a tangible energy in the room that was unifying, soulful. We were a crowd of mostly strangers, but we were connected in bearing witness to those holy moments, silently acknowledging how much they mattered, and I believe many would agree with me that we felt a little less like strangers after that.

I had so many people come up to me afterwards and tell me they loved the film, and then begin to talk about their own births and pregnancies, their hopes and disappointments. I LOVED THAT! That was my wish, for the film to be an impetus for introspection and placing more value on one's own story, that the emotions present would cause reflection.

  Some have asked me since then if showing my the film of my daughter's birth in such a public way felt intrusive, but on the contrary, I was delighted to share images of a positive, loving birth with such a large audience. I think my Sparrow's birth was beautiful and the world is in desperate need of more beauty, more hope, more intimacy with other human beings, and her birth presented all of those things. I wrote a post for Sarah's blog about why birth films can be healing for society that summarizes my philosophy on this.

My friends are amazing. I am so grateful to know them. They are the most powerful women, and their drive and ambition makes me want to do more with my life, push myself, find out what I really have to offer. They are women who will move things in this world. The fact that this event was so successful and HUGE when it was put together in exactly one month tells me that our community is hungry for things like this, and it makes me feel like absolutely anything can happen, as far as being the change you want to see in the world, doing things that make you come alive, etc.  Sarah is already working on her next event for September.

I want to thank everyone who came that night and most especially the planning committee who were themselves MOST empowered and fearless. I know it consumed a lot of your lives during those week and I want you to know how your efforts were appreciated!

Katie Rasmussen's mouth watering skin luxuriating products. She made me a custom blend that smells like sunshine and all of my dreams. Jonathan calls it "Essence of Racher."

Ruthie's cloth pads, featuring Shannon of Eco-Cotton Baby!  

 Hypnodoulas Utah

 Wendy! Laurel!

Mary! Natalie!

Beth and Ruthie both worked so hard on this event that if I tried to list everything they did, I would insult them, because I know there's a lot I don't even know about...thank you both!!!!

 My midwife Richelle talking to my friend Rachel who I met in 6th grade. 

 Abby, me + Sarah

 Beautiful Crystal, and behind her, a glimpse of the desert bar!

I included this picture because unfortunately I don't have any pictures with Rachel Joy Jackson, who also helped with the event, but this is Jonny Strange talking about capitalism with her husband Keith, and that's the closest I got. You should check out her blog though. She is zealously crafty and her writing is very uplifting.

 Faby and Kelli, who are good friends with each other from their MSW program at the U and who I became friends with separately. This is the first time we were all together! It was magical! And we all had babies within about 4 months of each other this year. 

 Cara with a henna Connor belly!

I love this picture of Shannah Thunder and her little boy. 

On your back with your racks as the stacks are your load

So, it’s hard now, but not in the way I ever expected. Sparrow is not only good, she is luscious.  She has a "witching hour" like Chai did in the early evening when she screams plaintively for about an hour or so, but other than that she is dreamy and smooth and peaceful, especially if someone is holding her. She has started smiling these wonderful, shy smiles and I can hear my own voice melting when I talk to her and we’re making eye contact. I love her sweet greasy hair, I love her clever little fists, her startle reflex, I love her calm eyes, I love how much she loves to be held and how safely she sleeps in her father’s arms. I’m so glad I have her, she is my precious girl

The hard things are the jolts of missing newborn baby Chai who is no more, and the times when he is calling my name and crying out for me and I can’t hold him because my arms are full of the little bird. The mornings he wakes up so early that the day hurts him and he reaches out for me, so I reach back, but when I move from being curled up around the little girl, she cries her braying sniffly cry in protest and if I try to draw her in and nurse her, Chai screams in anguish. I can see the frustration in his eyes. I've tried to double them up and sometimes it works and it's so sweet, Chai will put one hand in Sparrow's and pat my face with the other The days he wakes up too early from a nap, screaming “Money…Money!” and wants me to cuddle him and then Sparrow starts squalling the moment I have snuggled in with him. Oh, my boy, my beautiful sweet boy. I have these lovely pictures of Chai meeting Sparrow and rubbing her feet, kissing her face, that seem so idyllic, but all I can think of when I see them is that he came home that day to a completely different life, and in a very real way, to him, he lost his mother. Yes it will teach him independence resilience the world does not revolve around him, etcetera, but he would have learned those things eventually anyway, and I am mourning our easy skinny, uncomplicated love. Laura said you can only have a romantic, "in love" relationship with one baby, and no matter how much you fight it, your relationship with your older baby changes into something else, and even though you have the occasional “in love” interaction, which I am so desperately trying to cling to, those moments get fewer and fewer and fewer and of course when the new baby is older, there’s no trace of baby left in the first one, like they quietly packed that part of their life up by themselves and turned out the lights while you were busy. It’s unbearable sometimes to thing how it could have been different. I've been trying to connect with him by building forts, making messes with him, making myself get on the floor with him and play even when I'm feeling lazy, reading stories, turning on music and dancing with him in my arms whenever the baby is sleeping, but those moments when they are both needing simultaneously just kill me. I feel like I’m falling in love with Sparrow almost surreptitiously, but there are times when I’m cooing and smiling in her face and she is doing her shy smile up at me, wiggling slightly, and I’m saying My love girl, my love girl, my belly girl, you’re a lit-tle girrrl! that I see Chai look at me with such abject betrayal. There are times he openly sobs and points at the baby and screams, Baby! Baby! No! and other times he drops kisses on her head and begs to hold her and nuzzles her face and I’ve even heard him say “Luh yoo” to her, but those sour betrayal moments are like electric shocks to my soul and I just ache for him. I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to do any better than I’m doing, scrambling to hold out warm arms for both of you, but they’ll both take everything because that’s how children are, and they don’t want to divide it. That’s how I am too to be honest, I’d rather Jonathan never go to work or school and just cuddle with me on the couch all day long forever, and I think I deserve that just as much as both my babies deserve an undivided me, but none of us will get it, and it’s not fair that it’s not fair. I can also acknowledge that we’re lucky to have as much as we do, even if it feels like it’s spread too thin. I hope my Chai can forgive me. I hope my Sparrow can forgive me.

One of us will die inside these arms

Some people think he "whispers" too much, but I have always loved Iron and Wine, ever since the first time I heard Sam Beam's cover of "Such Great Heights" which was on the Most Important of all the CD mixes I took with me to Romania ("It's Hard to Find"/"You're Easily Lost"). I listened to that song every morning on my walk to the orphanage and it was as gentle and haunting as the foreign snow ("...hope this song will guide you home") and I remember the way the streets smelled and passing the langosi stand, feeling the thin coins in my pocket, with that song padding my steps and the wispy notes comforting me. In 2005 it was on an M&Ms commercial that happened to come on while I was teaching a lesson in a trailer park in Katy to a man named Jose Corona, and my heart twisted so hard because all I wanted was to be free to listen to music again, (and think about boys. More) and I was starving for it.

Then I came home and I was still starving (more). I listened to Trapeze Swinger on a porch swing with the boy who made me the CD mixes in the first place and my sandal was broken and I was trying to fix it with one hand, not leaning down too far because we were sharing headphones. I almost saw them (or him, Sam Beam) in concert once, but found one of my dearest friends instead, and finally did see them with that same friend years later, at the Twilight Concert in SLC where we were perched in tree branches because there was no room for us at the inn. I like to "discover" Iron and Wine songs one at a time--(line upon line). A song will be completely meh to me until sudden, random moment it flares up with meaning and then I become obsessed with it. "Promising Light," I suddenly understood while I was scrubbing the bathroom floor for cleaning checks at Centennial, where I lived with my mission companions. "Passing Afternoon" was chillingly fitting during the last summer of my undergrad and described a relationship happening before my eyes. I discovered "Muddy Hymnal" on the bus on the way back from Mercado Hildago in Puebla. It was dusk and I remember the painted cartoon characters on the shops and crowds of people flicking past the bus windows as I clicked it back over and over again marveling at how I'd never liked it before that day--"it never ends the way you had it planned". "Sixteen Maybe Less" happened on a cold morning when I was walking to NuSkin from the Boulders. I could see my breath and the song in the air. (Like my sister Diana said once, "That song is a living, breathing thing!") "Upward Over the Mountain," specifically the live version from Messiah College, was my soul song with Jonathan, maybe the first song I ever had with anyone that had a piece of a real life together--the garden--rather than just pining. I remember driving in the truck and we talked about every line. In case I haven't both tmi'd and tldr'd enough already, we also had an Iron and Wine playlist we made out to. Like bandits. A menudo. For that reason, "Resurrection Fern" and "Innocent Bones," "Flightless Bird" and "Fever Dream" always conjure up images of Jonathan's messy room in the basement of the Commune and the smell of chapstick.

I love to feel music. There's a part of me that loves being in anguish because of how beautiful and tender music sounds from a place of despair. I miss a lot of the songs I used to pine to, because they spoke to me in a way they don't anymore. I'm really truly happy. There are days, moments, when I'm discouraged, whatever, and every once in awhile fear will strangle me for a minute, but most of my angst has ironed itself out and I can't pretend Bright Eyes is the soundtrack to my life story anymore. Sometimes (first world NON problem) I feel sad about that. I miss the intensity of those feelings and the wild creativity that I had when I was more troubled. So many of the songs that used to be The Truth for me don't ring the same bells in my brain because I feel safe now, I'm understood, I'm home. Jonathan says that's unhealthy for me to miss that connection because it's valuing an insecure attachment and uncertainty over a secure attachment and commitment. He says he is a secure attachment kind of guy. Like Kokoum. Steady as the beating drum. Haha! I have a point:

So, a lot of the music I used to obsess over and identify with is about insecure attachment, or loss, or loneliness. Unfortunately being married with young children isn't a situation that's seen as romantic; it's viewed  as drudging, dull, "ordinary" life. I really don't believe my life or my marriage are ordinary. My relationship with Jonathan lights up my life. It is magical to me. What I appreciate now about Iron and Wine is that several songs include among the poetry of their lyrics, references to lovers who also have children. For where I am right now, those little bits about children describe the today story and also give  me hope.

When Sparrow was born, I "discovered" the song "Naked As We Came." I've known it forever, but it never resonated before a few weeks ago. Now, it melts my heart. I've been putting it on repeat and singing it all during these cold mornings alone with the babies. Right now it feels good to be reminded of what I want to believe--that a love story can have babies in it and still be a love story independent of the babies. That the freedom of searching for the yellow bird isn't the only story of romance, but there can be romance even with what feels like less freedom. When Chai came to us I blessed him with my tears, so scared I'd never cross those few inches to Jonny's side again without that delicious warm body in between us. It was okay, the universe shifted to make room, and we found each other again. Now I'm doubly nervous because I feel I'm robbing my first baby of time with "Money" so my instinct when Sparrow is sleeping is to play, play, play with Chai and make it work and make it count and sometimes I get tragic because sometimes there is not a lot of time left in between the times when both babies need something or it just feels right to hold them. They are both so young. But we need holding, too. "We both learned to cradle and live without."

She says "If I leave before you, darling
Don't you waste me in the ground"
I lay smiling like our sleeping children
One of us will die inside these arms
Eyes wide open, naked as we came
One will spread our ashes round the yard