A Long OMazing Birth

At the beginning of November, I had the privilege of supporting an especially long and difficult birth.  My client was in labor for nearly three days. Along side her smart, kind husband, I supported her for almost twenty-four hours. My client’s unexpected induction began on Thursday and we met the baby on Saturday - just hours before I taught a seven hour childbirth workshop. It was a doozy of a day!

Friday was my husband’s birthday. I thought that they baby would have arrived and I’d celebrate with him at dinner . Instead, the birthday that I celebrated was a beautiful baby girl. She did not come Thursday or Friday. She took her time arriving. Her mama worked hard to birth her.

I met my client last spring. She was happy to be pregnant and knew she wanted a doula. She bought a yoga package from me as well. Over the summer, we talked about the importance of being in the body and breathing and finding sweetness in the pregnancy even when it was hard. Our friendship grew over the months.

I met her husband twice before the birth. First the end of July in my studio and then again  in October. They on the same page and clear about their birth preferences. The knew they needed to remain flexible.

My client was scheduled for induction November 14th.    Two weeks before her scheduled induction, I received a text:  “I’m at an appointment with my midwife. I’m sure everything is fine, but my blood pressure is really high.  They are sending me to OB emergency to test for pre-eclampsia.”

The next text was from her partner: “There’s protein in her urine, they have diagnosed with pre-eclampsia and are inducing today.”  A few minutes my client called me in tears.  Emotional and overwhelmed, there was a lot to process in a short amount of time.  I reassured her that I’d be there and told her to take some deep breaths.

My client was admitted to the hospital around 11am on Thursday. The doctor started her with a cervical softener.  She negotiated for the least amount. I stopped by that afternoon to talk about what to expect in the induction.  She was very calm and patient. She said that if it took “3 days” that was OK.  Hmmm.  Later I wondered, was that a premonition?

I stayed for about an hour and then left.

We texted back and forth for the rest of the day.    That evening, her cervix had not started dilating.  The doctor recommended more cervical softening medicine and inserted a foley balloon - accidentally breaking her water.  It was bedtime and I texted them to call me when they needed me.

I woke up at 4:30am on and looked at my phone. Nothing.  I sent a note: “Good Morning.” Two hours later they responded.  We agreed that I’d come to the hospital around 8:30am.

I walked back into their room and my client was rocking on the birth ball having a contraction.  She breathed in nitrous to help her cope.  The nurse told her that she was not supposed to eat.  I did not agree. I encouraged her to snack.

Over the next hour, her contractions picked up.  Every thirty minutes, we changed her position.  At 10am, struggling with fatigue and sensation, she decided to take some pain medicine.  After the effect of the medicine kicked in, she had a cervical exam.  She was 5 centimeters dilated and 50% effaced meaning that her cervix was open and thinned half-way to completion. My client took a nap. After resting, my client said, “I feel refreshed.”  Her contractions slowed down and were not nearly as frequent as they had been earlier. 

Her partner pulled out the bed. It was his turn to nap.

A couple hours later, a midwife checked in with my client.  We mentioned that the nurse said that she was not allowed to eat, and the midwife said thta was ridiculous and brought a lunch tray.  “Please eat” she said.  The old-school nurse thought because she had Pitocin, she could’t eat which is not true.

Without strong contractions, the midwife increased the amount of Pitocin. That adjustment brought on stronger contractions and more sensation.

My client continued to moved around slowly She was having a hard time coping and asked for another dose of pain medicine. She needed a break.    After the medicine, she closed her eyes. I went downstairs for a bite to eat.

Her partner reached out when I was in the cafeteria.  An epidural was inevitable.  I returned to the room and met two anesthesiologists who were setting up.  Wiped out and emotional, tears flowed from her eyes.  Relief was on its way.

My client held exceptionally still during the epidural placement.  Her partner stood by her side.  The epidural started working right away.    My client fell asleep and holding her husband’s hand.

The nurse kept coming in to the room to adjust her monitors.  She was having a hard time tracking her contractions so she inserted an internal monitor and checked her cervix.  She was 7 centimeters dilated.  She told her to rest and then she’d check she again in a few hours.

Around 11pm, she woke up feeling uncomfortable.  She wasn’t sure what had changed, but something was different. I asked if she had the urge to push.  She thought yes so she called the nurse who checked her cervix again and smiled.  “Are you ready to have a baby?”

YES!  She was fully dilated and complete.

The lights came on and the doctor walked in.  It was indeed time to push. Her birth team encouraged her every step of the way. It was a slow and steady process.   We all hoped the baby would move down but she was taking her time.

For hours my client pushed.  She never gave up. She never complained.  She was exhausted, and dug deep. Around 2:30am, the doctor talked to her about options.  Although she was pushing well, the baby was not making progress under her pubic bone.  The doctor went through the risks of both an assisted delivery with forceps and a caesarean section.  Bravely, my client chose the assisted delivery.

Two doctors had to be present to assist with a forceps delivery so a doctor on call was asked to come in.  When she arrived, she checked her cervix and agreed that forceps would likely work.  If they didn’t, she’d have to go into surgery for a c-section.

Preparations were made.  A pediatric team arrived in to the room.  Everyone in the room identified themselves.  As the doctors were cleared to begin an alarm sounded.

Oh, the drama!  The doctor ripped off her scrubs and the pediatric team ran out to assist with another birth.  My client’s contractions did not stop so she continued to push.  After the urgent situation on the floor resolved, everyone came back in and started again.

It was GO time.  My client was a warrior.  She breathed in and and gave an enormous push. Her baby made progress.  Another contraction moved her closer.  And the third contraction turned out to be the push that gave birth to her daughter.

It was 3:21am.

“Look at her red hair” was the first the first thing I heard.  The baby was placed on her mother’s belly. Oh, she was so so cute. The father cut the umbilical cord and then the baby was whisked away.   Her color was good, but her muscle tone was not. She was a little floppy and needed assistance with her breathing. The Pediatric team gave her a CPAP to help her open her lungs.  They told us that they needed to bring her to the nursery for observation.

The father followed his daughter to the nursery. When a baby is separated from the mother, I am always happy to be there.  Without a doula or a third support person, a birthing mother could be left alone which is less than ideal.

We both rested until it was time to go to the Newborn Maternal Care unit.    I said my goodbyes shortly after 6am.  My client didn’t leave for a few more days.  Her daughter spent a week in the NICU. She was released and has been home for a few weeks. .  Mama is recovering slowly and is love with her daughter.  Her partner is in awe of the strength of his wife which is easy to understand.

I told my client at the postpartum meeting that I have supported many births and I do not make a practice of ranking them by difficulty.  However, if I did, hers might be on the podium.  Her strength and resilience inspired me.  The birth was hard as was being separated from her baby. And, she was able to accept with grace and positivity.

Their daughter, born in the season of gratitude, will be their delight.  Her parents are both grateful and OMazing.

More Queen Bees

On Sunday morning, I saw a message in our dynamic, seventy-five mama Hive Family Collective What’s App group.  Our program director, Kayla wrote, “Hey everyone, there’s a trunk or treat through MOPS (Mother of Preschoolers) today from 3pm-5pm at the Mountain Life Church if anyone wants an excuse for an early Halloween celebration.”   I chimed in requesting photos of the littles in costume.  I could’t resist.  Babies in costumes are too cute.

For the next few hours, snapshots of babies sitting in pumpkins, around pumpkins and in baby costumes filled my feed.  The texts between mamas were heart-bursting.  One mama wrote, “Pretty much the reason I had a kid…to put in a pumpkin.”  “OMG, I’m dying.”  “Oh my gosh, I am living for this thread.”More Halloween events were announced, and a couple of free hand-me-downs were offered in the thread: two snow suits and a bouncer needed a new home.  A few of the mamas said they were planning on going to the Halloween event.  The vibe in Hive is a good one.

The most impactful decision Hive made in 2023 was to hire someone to help.  After two years of acting as the volunteer executive director, I was burning out.  We prioritized finding someone to assist.  In January, we posted a job for a program director.  Kayla Kantor reached out immediately.  She said that she felt like this job was divine intervention.  That’s speaking my language!  I knew she was a fit.

We won the lottery with Kayla.  She’s a beautiful, funny, and smart mother of a one-year-old boy named Ethan.  Kayla is a board-certified music therapist who previously worked at Primary Children’s Hospital.  She told me, after having Ethan, working at the hospital was too much. Both emotionally and time away from Ethan.   Hive’s part-time position was perfect.

Together, Kayla and I develop and execute all Hive programming.   Kayla is the face of Hive.  She hosts the the weekly coffees, the monthly speaker series, and the Hive Hikes.  Kayla schedules and manages our Instagram feed and tells me what she thinks the mamas need.  We work well together.

As the Hive community is growing we needed more support.  This fall, we created a board of advisors.  We hired an advisor, Mary Christa to help guide us in this process. We asked four local women to join us.  Each has unique talents and a connection with Hive or with the community that we serve.  Our first retreat was in October.  It was an awesome energy.

Together, our board will meet monthly and set goals to broaden Hive’s programming to support, educate and connect all mamas regardless of race, language, or orientation.  We know that to broaden our offerings, we need to diversify our board. This change allows my co-founders Perry and Joanna to maintain their roles as founders instead of advancing to the advisory board which is a better fit for them.

Our board will help us fundraise to sustain the free programming and our paid staff.  This Friday, November 3rd is Park City’s annual day of giving, Live PC Give PC.  Our goal is to raise $100,000 from 100 donors.  I am hopeful we will meet our goal.

The donations and grants we receive are paramount.  This last year we:

• Hosted 45 weekly MamaBEE mama social groups in person at the PC Library, monthly Hive Hikes and a Summer Soiree music in the park event.  

• Created an in person support groups called WellMama (a Postpartum Mood Disorder support group in collaboration with the People's Health Clinic) and Boob Group (a breastfeeding support group)  and a  free Infant CPR class for parents. 

• Hosted ten monthly speakers live on zoom and archived them on our website.

• Created our first Healing Circle for pregnancy and birth loss and Perinatal Resource Fair.

• Delivered delicious dinners for new families and families experiencing hardships.

I sent a few emails out last week promoting Live PC Give PC.  One mama wrote me back sharing the news she just had a second child.   She said:

“I look back to my maternity leave with (my first daughter) with such fondness because of the women I was lucky enough to connect with through Hive and have missed our coffee and chats.  I will most definitely be donating again this year. Keep doing the good work you do.”

Hive Family Collective is really special.  I’m grateful for the time and space to focus on this work and for Kayla’s support in executing our mission.

The Birth of OMazing Momma

My college roommate Christy is an interior designer.  In 2006, she started her own firm, Christy Foran Design,  based out of Chicago.  She transforms homes with her exquisite taste and built a business that makes me proud.  We had dinner this summer and I asked her about work.   She chuckled and said, “I’m barely a designer anymore.  I am a business owner.”

This truth landed with me. I started OMazing Birth in 2019 because of my passion for women and childbirth.  From the start, I followed a thread of curiosity.  Five years later, I am not only a birth doula.  I am a childbirth educator, a lactation counselor, postpartum doula, mindfulness coach,  yoga teacher and a perinatal mental health counselor.

However, to Christy’s point, I am also a business owner.

A few weeks ago, I rebranded OMazing Birth as OMazing Momma. I first dipped my toe in my new brand last spring when I started posting almost-daily messages on instagram.  I called the account OMazing Momma.  The name is more encompassing of my target audience.

Last month, I organized a prenatal and postpartum resource fair.   Instead of hosting a September speaker for Hive Family Collective, I invited local providers and expecting and new families to our Public Library to meet. I used the opportunity of the resource fair to launch my new brand.

A few weeks before the event, I designed and ordered new business cards and added all of my certifications as well as a URL to a website that didn’t yet exist.  So, I had to complete my website prior to the event.   Deadlines are effective.  As are pending births.   The day of the resource fair, I had a doula client who I thought was going to be induced.   Not certain when I’d be called in for support, time pressure forced me to move quickly.

I worked for hours and hours on my website, even on the weekend before the fair.  The stickiest part was exporting three years of blog posts to another site, then importing them to my new website.  The photos did not move with the import, so I had to replace them one by one. I wanted to poke my eye out. It took me over three hours.  It was crazy because I migrated my old Square Space site from 7.0 to 7.1. Why so hard???  I gave Square Space my feedback.

The evening before the fair, I typed the the last sentence on to the last page and gave a whoop! It was an early vision but I knew I was nearly done.  I couldn’t believe it.  After dinner, I invited my husband to come to my studio to take a look at may new website. I was excited as it loaded.

He oohed and ahhhhed.  I smiled.  He generously helped proofread the copy.  I corrected misspellings and spacing errors. I replaced “we” with “I” and semicolons with commas.  I deleted confusing text and added missing words.  My husband is an attorney and a talented editor.  I was grateful until I ran out of energy and hit a wall.

I was tired.   I thanked him for his time as we walked downstairs.   A minute later, he was grinding coffee for the next morning and said, “One thing.  If you could make all of the pages uniform, it would look cleaner.”

I stared at him.   My heart raced. I didn’t respond.  Stunned.   He kept going.  “And I don’t think the navigation tabs are clear.”

My head spun and I was mad.  Or maybe defensive.  Or both!  This website was not just some random site on the internet, it was ME. He just called my baby ugly. I retorted,  “I think it would have been a lot nicer if you had just told me how awesome it was instead.  Do you know how hard I worked on it???”  I stomped upstairs.  I barely slept that night.

I got up the next morning and went straight to my computer with a vengeance.  He was right!  The navigation was confusing.  I replaced the tabs prenatal/postpartum/offerings to support/connect/educate/yoga.  I formatted each page to make them uniform.  I deleted and revised.   I didn’t stop until it was done.

I was on fire!   I finished with twenty minutes to spare before the event and my client wasn’t in labor. I felt great. New website, check, check.

Looking back, my husband was right.  His suggestions made my site easier to navigate and more uniform.  In the end I appreciated his feedback.  But in the moment, it was brutal.

I am proud of my new website.  I hope that you find it easy to use and as pretty as I do!  Thank you for being on this OMazing journey with me!

This Moment

My friend Steph hired me last year to coordinate the details for her film premiere at the Toronto Film Festival.  I booked hotels, flights, and dinner reservations for her film crew and family.  I planned the premiere party, coordinated delivery of tickets to potential film buyers and stood by for anything else that required attention.  I wasn’t sure I was the right person for the job when we first started talking.  Steph laughed and said, “You can do this job. You can do any job. You work in birth.  You birth things.”  Turns out, she was right.  I’d make a fantastic producer because I paid close attention to the details, didn’t show stress and maintained a cheerful attitude all week.

Even if I am good at being a producer and would be highly compensated for that work, I know it’s not my calling.  It lacks meaning.  Still, I wonder. Am in the right career? Do I have a career?  Talking to my friend Heather, last week, I asked her this question.   She named my path a vocation.  I looked it up.  The definition of vocation is “…more than a career choice, vocation, in its broadest sense, encompasses every role that a person has in his or her life.”

True!  My work and personal lives are blended.  Owning my own business is like running my family.  I am the Chief Problem Solver and VP of details for both.  I sprinkle mindfulness into every conversation I have whether it is with a client, a child, or a friend.   I practice the 3 Ps of mindfulness: nothing is ever personal, perfect, or permanent.  I work on self-compassion and forgiveness.  I try to be patient, kind, and attentive.

The role of mothering evolves as children grow.  My teenage kids do not need any physical support.  I’m not scooping them up. Not a chance - my son is seven inches taller than me.   Recently, I carried a four-month-old baby from the car to my backyard.  The weight of the car seat surprised me.   I’m out of practice.  I used to carry the baby in the car seat, a diaper bag, another tote bag, my purse, and probably a water bottle or cup of coffee.  I don’t miss that exertion.  All those years of carrying them around wore me out.

Parenting older kids is difficult in other ways.  Their requirement of my physical strength is replaced with a need for my emotional support.  With teenagers, I need to be available when they want to talk.  This is usually not at a time I would choose (i.e., after 9:00 pm), but if I wasn’t available to listen, I would miss out!

I watch them carefully and listen closely in order to fully understand the nuances of what they are sharing - or not sharing.  It requires my full attention.  It’s up to me to ask questions and seek clarification.  Curiosity serves me in those conversations.  Assumptions do not.

Sometimes, I simply ask what kind of support they want me to provide.  Are they looking for advice or do they just want me to listen?  And when I am told just to listen, it forces me to refrain from sharing my thoughts.  And I usually have a lot of them!

I use similar techniques in childbirth preparation or postpartum doula support. When a client makes decisions from a place of fear, it’s my job to stay centered.  I need to remain grounded in order to maintain peace and calm.  I give my advice if asked.  Or, I just listen. I am the professional.

In contrast, parenting is trial by fire.  There’s no teenager parenting class or test.  We begin parenting with whatever conditioning we inherited.  The style of parenting with which I was raised is there for me to either accept or reject.  It’s taken me years to find my own path.  I had a lovely childhood. and I bring many of the examples of my parents into my own style.  But I am also a different mother than mine.

As an Omazing doula, I support a woman’s transition from childbirth to motherhood.  As a parent, I support my kid’s transition from childhood to adulthood.  I know that they are learning not only from what I say, but from what I do.  I consider my actions carefully.  It is a joy to watch my children grow up.   

My son is packing for college this week.  There is nothing that is more complex than the emotions of this moment.  He is excited to go. He’s ready to live in a new city and meet new people.  He can’t wait to go to his college football game and study with professors.  At the same time, he looks at me with tears in his eyes.  We hold hands.  Both of us try to be brave as we close this door.  The next one is in sight and it is cracked open. We both see the light.  I am grateful to have the emotional capacity to feel into this moment.  I feel it all.

Mindfulness & Meditation for Birth

My friend Robynne Carter’s mother died a few weeks ago.  Robynne is my teacher and mentor.  One of the most well known and beloved doula in Salt Lake City, Robynne is a true professional. She’s supported over a thousand births. Her humility, kindness and love is contagious.  I am grateful to work with her.

Robynne teaches an Advanced Doula workshop which I attended a few years ago.  I learned tools and techniques to support birth,  business tips and gained experience.  I shadowed Robynne’s co-teacher Angie at a birth the night before the total solar eclipse of 2017.  I learned so much at that birth.  It’s hard to find mentors to share industry knowledge and I’m lucky because Robynne and Angie are open and willing.  They know the world needs more doulas, and they are there to teach!

Robynne is my go-to partner in a birth.  Being a solo practitioner, I need back up.  Doulas never know how long a birth will take. If I’ve supported a birth for let’s say 24 hours, I’d be useless. Or, something will come up like in May, 2021 when I tested positive for COVID the same week I was scheduled to support two births. Robynne was my first call.  Coincidently, she too had COVID - those were the worst of days.   Though she wasn’t able to help my clients,  she worked with me to me find back ups.

In 2018, Robynne encouraged me to interview for a perinatal teaching position at the University of Utah.  She had been teaching there for years and thought I’d make a good addition to the staff.  After I started teaching I realized the brilliant synergy.  I am a better teacher because I’m a doula.  And I am a better doula because my time teaching childbirth education.

A few weeks ago, I received a text that Robynne needed a sub for her Mindfulness & Meditation for Birth class at the U. Her mom was very sick. I was happy to step in. I usually teach virtually and with both of my kids at camp, it was an easy yes.   It was a three week series down in Salt Lake.

The first nighty of class, a pregnant woman waddled into the classroom thirty minutes early just moments after I had arrived.   We both were a little confused.  Did I have the time wrong?  Nope.   It was her mistake.  She blamed her pregnancy brain.  We laughed and started  chatting.  I asked her why she signed up for the  Mindfulness & Meditation for Birth class.  She paused and then told me she had a stillbirth a year ago.  She then laughed and said that she’s had a lot of therapy and it was OK.  But she wanted to take the class because  she was very nervous about labor.

I walked over to her and asked I could give her a hug. Yes, she said.  Sweet mama. I told her she was so brave to share and also to show up for this birth class.  She knew she needed tools to rely on to remain present in the birth and not go back to the terrible day her first baby was born.  I dropped all of my preparation for class and sat with her until the class was supposed to begin.

However, no one else came..  It was kind of perfect.  We spent two hours together.  I shared with her that sadly, my niece died in utero in 2005.  I know from lived experience how horrific that experience was for my sister and my brother-in-law.  It was gut wrenching for all of us who loved them. I had just had my son three months prior.

I realized for the first time the breadth of my experience with mindfulness and birth, joy and grief.  I shared with her the importance of being present in childbirth.  I emphasized the power in the  birth following tragedy or trauma.  Her story of “what if” or “last time” could be paralyzing.  Being tangled in thought could rob her of the experience of this birth.  She will not be able to stop the thoughts, but she can recognize them.  And then ideally, she will come back to the moment, breath and soften into the labor of this baby.

In our private class, I shared techniques and visualizations to use in the upcoming birth. I shared the benefits of breath during childbirth.  By focusing on breath, her mind might be distracted her from her thoughts.  In addition, her breath relaxes her muscles, her mind, and keeps her oxygen supply up.  We practiced together.  Our time alone together was powerful and felt almost precious.

The intensity lessened the next week with the addition of another couple in class.  They also had experienced pregnancy losses and signed up for the class for similar reasons.  I reviewed the first week material and asked the mama who I taught the week before had anything to add.  She said she’d been thinking about something I shared.  I said, “Thoughts are real, but they are not always true”. She told the other couple that insight alone had shifted her mindset to help her prepare for her birth in a new way.  It was cool for me to hear what landed with her.

The third and final week of class, my colleague Aunika joined me bringing new energy once again to the group. We had a great last session practicing hands on techniques for comfort in labor.  At the end of class,  I felt emotional saying good bye.  I wished them the very best for their their upcoming births. I continue to send them love and light - and to Robynne as she navigates this next chapter of her life without her mother.  RIP Francine.

An Attitude of Gratitude

I met my client this winter in a hot yoga class.  An unusual place to meet a pregnant mama.  Most of them steer clear of hot yoga.   She practiced next to her husband – taking it slow and steady – stepping out of the room a few times.  I trusted that she knew what she needed.

After class, I stopped to chat with our yoga teacher.  She had seen my name on the upcoming PCYC schedule and asked me what kind of yoga I’d be teaching at the Collective.

“Perinatal yoga” I responded.

“What’s that?” Jill asked.

“Yoga for prenatal and postpartum mamas.” I said.

In earshot, my client’s husband asked, “You teach prenatal yoga?”  He nudged his wife, “Did you hear that?   She teaches prenatal yoga!”  He sounded like a kid just told he could watch Saturday morning cartoons.

He grinned and pointed at his wife. “She’s pregnant.”

I smiled.  “I know.  I practiced next to her.” I could tell he was excited and sweet.

I turned her and asked, “How are you feeling?”  She said she was feeling really good.

The husband blurted out, “We’re planning a home birth.”

“Cool” I responded.  “I’m a doula.”

“You are?”  The mama looked at me.  “We are actually looking for a doula. Can I get your number?”

“Of course.”  I gave her my number.

I had never supported a home birth.  I am not against it – I just hadn’t had the opportunity.

We connected over the next few weeks, and they hired me.  They lived in Park CIty part time. The rest of the year they lived in Nashville.  They’re both musicians.  She’s a country singer and he’s the lead singer of a punk rock band.

At our first meeting, I learned that my client’s mom was a midwife who had given birth to ten children - six at home in the tub.  My client knew a lot about birth and very excited to birth her baby at home.  She chose a local Utah midwife and felt very secure with her birth team. I was honored to be on it.

She was due somewhere between May 22nd and the 29th.   Memorial Day weekend came and went without any signs of labor.  My son graduated from high school the following Friday and I hosted my out-of-town parents and in-laws.  Our plans included the graduation ceremony and dinner on Friday evening and a Saturday morning party.  Since I am a solo doula, I always find back up “just in case.”  In this instance, my back-up was ready to cover me if needed between Friday and Saturday afternoons.

On Thursday, I hosted our extended family for dinner at my house. I told my mom that this imminent birth was hanging over my weekend a bit.  “I just don’t know which ten hours I will be gone from this weekend. We shall see.”  I giggled.  The mysterious timing of birth keeps being a doula exciting.  I don’t worry too much about the timing because there is nothing I can do and it always seems to work out.

And in this case, I was not wrong.   It worked out.

We celebrated my son’s gradation without a call from my client.  I attended a few graduation parties Saturday afternoon.  Walking out of the last party around 5pm on Saturday, I saw a text from my client’s husband.  Labor had started, but they didn’t need me yet and would keep me posted.

Despite being exhausted, I was also excited and relieved.  I didn’t miss any of the graduation celebrations.  While I waited for their call, I enjoyed another family dinner outside in our backyard Saturday evening. Right as everything was wrapping up, I received the text that my client was ready for me.

I drove over to their home just ten minutes away. I walked in to a clean, calm home.  I found my client in her bedroom on her hands and knees draped over a birth ball. Happy to see me, she admitted she didn’t know how to relax.  I started to rub her shoulders and took a deep breath.   She released tension and followed my breath.

Serenity surrounded us.   Everything felt very intentional.  There was a mandala of candles, stones, and feathers on their bathroom vanity.  White lights lit the bathroom and James Taylor played through the stereo.  It was the most intimate birth atmosphere I’d experienced.  The full moon added a witchy element.  I thought for sure their baby would be born before dawn.

Her contractions were building - closer together, longer, and stronger. They were intense.  Her husband texted the midwife who appreciated the update and said to let her know if her water broke or she felt like she needed to push.  They planned to be in touch in a couple hours.

It was wild for me to be alone with them in labor.  Usually there is a medical staff around.  I leaned into trust. At one point, the contraction app told us that it was time to go to the hospital.  We laughed.

My client was amazingly strong through every contraction.  We breathed and I physically supported her with counter-pressure and hip squeezes.  James Taylor continued to serenade us with his sweet voice and the hours passed.

After midnight, I realized how exhausted my body felt.  Having no choice, I dug deep and continued my support.  I suggested my client take a bath.  I poured warm water on her belly through each contraction.  When she was done with the tub, she stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel and walked into her kitchen.

She commented that her contractions felt different.  She told me she was bone-tired and I suggested resting.  He husband and I followed her to their king size bed.  The three of us laid down.  I closed my eyes in between each mild contraction.

She mentioned that she has having a hard time feeling the baby move,  This comment made me nervous. We stood up and her husband gave her some orange juice to drink.  He called out the midwife who encouraged my client to rest even more if she was not feeling her contractions.  As for the baby, after the juice, she moved around again.  We were happy and relieved.

A little past 2 a.m., my client said she wanted to go to bed. Would I like to lay down in the guest room?  Yes!  I crawled under the sheets thinking that I’d just close my eyes for a few minutes until they needed me again. I fell asleep immediately.  At 6 a.m., I opened my eyes and tiptoed upstairs.  Silence.  They were asleep.

I wrote them a note and drove home. I didn’t hear from them right away so I went to my parent’s house for brunch and took a short nap.

A few hours later, I texted my clients.  The husband shared that the midwife was headed up to check on mama and baby.  He also told me that “she talked about how supported she felt all morning.” I loved the feedback.

Throughout the night and next day, I expected a call.  Nothing. That evening I checked in and heard the midwife had been there all day and night checking on the baby and mama.  My client had been back in labor but like on Saturday night, her contractions slowed after a few hours and eventually stopped.

Tuesday, she went to the hospital.  Since the midwives did not have privileges to deliver at the hospital, they’d stepped in as her doula.  My client thanked me for my care and told me she’d reach out to me after the baby was born.

I waited to hear the news.  Nothing on Tuesday or Wednesday. I prayed all was well.  I texted them on Wednesday evening around 5pm to see how things were going. I heard right away that the baby was born via c-section just a few hours before.   It sounded like my client lost a lot of blood due to a postpartum hemorrhage.   Her husband texted me ‘we are ok.”

WOW.  A sixty-hour labor is a record in my book.

I visited them the next day at the hospital.  My client was out of bed when I walked in.  We went for a slow walk in the hall.  Her spirits were high.  A beautiful light glowed despite her epically long labor.  She did not complain.  Instead, she was filled with gratitude for the care of the midwives, her surgeon and nurses.  She knew that there was nothing that could have been done. This baby was not going to be born at home or vaginally.  The way she was positioned in her body made it impossible for my client to dilate and progress with her labor.

My client’s acceptance and surrender helped her move forward without regret and despair.  I was happy to witness her levelheadedness.

We walked back into her hospital room ready to breastfeed.  Her baby had successfully latched only once.  I helped her position the baby and supported her arms, back and baby with pillows.  We waited for the baby to open her mouth and brought her to her breast. The baby latched right away.  Tears filled my client’s eyes.  She couldn’t believe it.  She experienced the magic and wonder of breastfeeding.

I loved my client even more in that moment.

We never know what to expect during labor.  Being prepared and knowing your preferences is important.  And even more vital is to remain flexible, trust the process and stay open to the experience no matter where it takes you.

Those pillars of childbirth preparation are how we create positive birth satisfaction.  My client wrote in an instagram post after her birth,  “I am in awe of both ancient and modern birthing methods and filled with gratitude for the gift of experiencing both in one birth…..I am grateful to have a healthy beautiful baby and even more grateful for my female body and the power and strength she holds.  Childbirth in an incredible rite of passage for a woman.  I’m proud to have made the journey and honored to be holding the ultimate reward.”

The small-world story is that my friend from college, is a fan of her music and saw her instagram post.   He recognized the photo of me supporting her and texted me, “there was someone who looks an awful lot like Sara Hutch helping out with the delivery.  Small world.”

Yes, this is an Omazing and small world.

A Doula Project

On a snowy Saturday, last February, I taught a couple a childbirth preparation class on line.  Shortly after the class, the mama sent me an email expressing an interest in hiring a doula.  We set up a call.  A few weeks later, the contract was signed and deposit paid.   They were my first clients who worked for a company who offered doula services as a benefit.

My client worked with the midwives at the University of Utah.  At the end of her pregnancy, the midwives recommended an induction.  On May 8th, at 11:40am, my client texted that they received the call and were headed to the U for a 12:30pm induction. At 1:30pm the mama was admitted to the hospital, hooked up to an IV and began cervical ripening measures.  The nurse gave her a pill of Cytotec and placed a foley balloon in her to soften and open her cervix.

By 7:15pm, she was 3cm dilated. Her partner reported that she had dinner and was starting to feel some contractions, but nothing painful yet.  The nurses gave her another dose of the Cytotec and waited. We texted two hours later and the plan was that the nurse would check her cervix at 11:30pm and then maybe start Pitocin.  My clients promised to keep me posted, which they did.  At 3am, my phone rang.  The mama was 5 cm dilated.  She had an epidural and was trying to get “comfy”.  I hopped out of bed and headed to the hospital.

Their baby did not wait for my arrival.  He had plans of his own.  At 3:23am, my client texted that they they were prepping for delivery. I did not see that text until I was in the elevator headed up to the second floor of labor & delivery.  When I walked in at 3:50am the partner was holding the baby!

My first thought was, “Am I in the right room?”  I was SO surprised!  Later, the dad told me that after the birth he thought of me and felt badly that I missed the birth.  Turns out, I arrived just in time.

My client had a severe vaginal tear.   A few doctors and nurses were at her feet and she was essentially alone.  Her partner was holding the baby on the couch next to her.  He was mostly focused on the baby. My client needed me and so my doula work began.

After I dropped my bag, I went to her, took her hand, looked at her directly in the eye and began breathing.  Her epidural was not effectively working and she were experiencing massive sensation.  Her tear was high up in the vagina and the provider was trying very hard to keep her comfortable.  It was not working very well. Breathing helped.

The doctors paused for a bit and waited for the anesthesiologist to come in to assess her pain.  The anesthesiologist confirmed that the epidural pulled out during the birth.  The nurse suggested Fentanyl which was not an option for my client as she did not want opioids.  Instead, she opted for a local anesthetic.  She dug extraordinarily deep.  Her baby, meanwhile slept on his dad’s bare chest.  They were very very content together.

For almost two hours, my client focused on her breath.  Amazingly strong and determined she did not complain or give up.  I know the repair was intense and everyone was so happy when it was completed at 5:50am.

I pieced the birth story together.  The baby was born at 3:36am.  He arrived into this world, very very quickly weighing 8 pounds and 5 ounces and was 19 inches long. He was born perfect.

Together, the four of us moved from the Labor and Delivery room to the Maternal Newborn Care unit.  At 6:45am, when all of the logistics wrapped up, the nurse put the baby on my client’s chest for breastfeeding.  He latched on immediately.  He looked like a natural.

I left a couple hours later and in reflection, I realized how important my role as a doula is at every birth.  No one knows if mama and partner will be separated like they were at this birth.   If they are, the birthing mama needs companionship and care.  The support of a trained doula is fantastic, but even a friend or a calm presence  in the birth room would be helpful.  This experience impacted me deeply and has me thinking about the importance of doula support and how our country can improve accessibility.

In my postpartum meeting, my client said that she would not have hired me had her work not paid for my services.   She was deeply grateful that I was with her the day her son was born  She told me that she could not imagine what it would have been like without my support.

Most Americans do not hire doulas.  I suspect primarily because of expense.   According to Evidence Based Birth, as of 2012, 6% of people surveyed used a labor doula (Declerq et al., 2013), which was up from 3% in a 2006 national survey.  While the trend is headed up and more and more doulas are used in the past decade, I know the numbers are still very low.

Birth trauma is any physical and emotional distress a mother may experience during or after childbirth.  During the birth, she may feel afraid, helpless or unsupported by those around her.  Over 45% of first time mothers report some degree of trauma during their birth. Forty-five percent! Trauma is tricky because as Cheryl Beck said in 2004 “trauma is in the eye of the beholder.”  Something that happens at one woman’s birth may be processed traumatically while the same event happening to someone else might be processed as normal.

Doula support may be that difference between a mother experiencing trauma or not. Research shows that hiring a doula helps minimize the risk of a traumatic birth.  I know my presence helped this mama and it was possible because of her company benefits.

I feel a new initiative brewing.  I want to to work with companies to increase benefits to pay for doula services.  I’d also like to collaborate with existing organizations like “The Doula Project” out of NYC to train friends or family to witness a loved one’s birth.  If a certified doula is not in the budget, I believe that having someone to hold a mama’s hand has to be more beneficial than leaving them alone.

I Believe in Angels

Shortly after moving to Park City in 2004, I met a woman named Jane.  Like me, Jane was eight months pregnant and had recently moved from the Bay Area.  Jane invited me to be in her newly formed mediation circle.  At the time, I was more familiar with the word circle than meditation, my curiosity pulled me to say “yes.”  For the next several years, I sat with six beautiful women every week, shared soulful conversations, meditation and angel cards.  I didn’t even know what an angel card was prior to joining this circle.  I soon came to love and appreciate the ritual.

Angel cards come in a deck of spiritual messages that are used to guide us through our messy lives with messages designed to connect with the reader’s intuition.  There is a guidebook that accompanies the deck that elaborates on the message.  I carry a well-loved deck with me anytime I travel with friends.  At the end of a girls’ weekend, usually on Sunday over coffee, we each take a turn and pull a card.

When it is my turn, I hold the deck close to my heart.  I fan the deck or shuffle.  Sometimes I ask a question to the deck.  And then I pull a card reminding myself that there is no good card or bad one. The card I pull may or may not resonate with me in that exact moment.  Sometimes, a few days later something will happen, I will remember my card and the message makes sense.  Or sometimes, the card I pull is for someone else in the circle.  I stay open to the message.  More often than not, the card I pulled is exactly what I needed to hear in that moment.

It doesn’t feel accidental.

I believe in angels.  I sense that I am surrounded by spirit.  I am grateful for the extra support.  My mom, a devout Catholic, feels the the same thing about her Saints.   When I lose something, my mom would encourage me to pray to St. Anthony.  I’d mumble  “St Anthony, St Anthony, please come around.  My (fill-in-the-blank) has been lost and must be found.”  Often my missing item would appear. 

I don’t know if it was an angel or St Anthony but I one of them helped me out last week.  I experienced a sprinkle of divine support in Sedona, Arizona.  After a four-hour hike in the stunning red rock desert, my friends and I drove through some traffic about 20 minutes back to the house. Exhausted, dusty, and very thirsty, I unpacked my pack and quickly realized my prescription glasses were missing.  Argh.

With an hour to spare before dinner, I hopped back into the car and returned to the trailhead. I wanted to check the parking lot and the trailhead in the hopes that I dropped my glasses.  I pulled in and looked around.  When I didn’t see them, I had a moment of reconciliation with myself. They weren’t there.  I walked across the street to the trail and again, nothing.  And then a gentleman was walking through the gate and I said to him, “I lost my glasses.  You didn’t by chance see them did you?”

He said, “there’s a pair right here.  Are they yours?”

Yes!  Yes!  I was so excited!  My glasses were hanging on the inside of the fence: dusty and intact.  I would have never seen them and I knew I was very lucky.   “Thank you!  Thank you!” I said to the hiker. “I am a hugger.  Can I give you a hug?”  In hindsight, I realize that was more than a bit awkward, but he said, “Sure, although I’m not the one who found them.”  I didn’t care. I was really happy.  And as I drove back to the house wearing my glasses, I felt very connected to the Earth and spirit.

One of the many things I love about my work is being in the room to witness birth.  It’s Holy and humbling - a miracle.  It renews my love and belief in Spirit, angels and the Divine.

A Little Divine Intervention

Early October, 2022, my client arrived in my backyard on a Monday evening to practice yoga.  She was happy to be pregnant and open to the experience and wanted to learn everything she could about birth and postpartum.  In addition to being her doula, I was her teacher. I taught her and her husband a few classes: childbirth preparation, breastfeeding and newborn care. She continued to practice yoga with me each week.  Her dedication to a healthy pregnancy and education was clear. A couple of weeks ago, she came to my comfort in labor class distracted.   That day she learned at a doctor’s appointment that she might be induced the following week because of a complication with her pregnancy called preeclampsia.  She wasn’t quite 37 weeks pregnant.

I know induction was not ideal for her.  She and her husband had a bunch of questions about induction for preeclampsia and were interested in gathering all the information available to make this decision.  I asked around and sent them responses. Everyone said basically the same thing: the baby needed to come out. 

A few days later, she was back at the doctor and the decision was made based on her lab results.  Induction was inevitable.  At 1:15pm she texted me that she needed to goto Labor & Delivery. An hour later, she was admitted and the induction began. Her cervix was dilated 1.5 centimeters.  They started her induction with a cervix softener, Cytotec and a foley balloon.  Around 8pm she texted me that her contractions had started but they were not too sensational.  She thought that the nurses would begin Pitocin which is the synthetic oxytocin (the contraction producing hormone) at 8am and suggested that I wait until morning to join her at the hospital.

In the middle of the night, she called me, distressed, saying she was 4 centimeters dilated and they wanted to start the Pitocin soon. She questioned the safety of Pitocin and told me she did not want it. I assured her that what she felt was normal and in most inductions, Pitocin is standard. I suggested that she ask them to begin with a small amount and wait patiently as they increased the dosage.  I knew it was stressful. I suggested that we take a few deep breaths.  While we were on the phone breathing  together, her water broke.  We hung up quickly.    She texted me shortly after that she’d still like me to come in at 8am.

About an hour later, at 4:45am she texted me again “Hi.  Can you actually come now :)”  Contractions had picked up and she was ready for my support.  I didn’t see the text so her husband called.  I hopped out of bed, grabbed my doula bag and drove to the hospital.

I arrived about 5:45am, and found her in bed contracting.  I suggested moving to the birth ball. I massaged her shoulders and breathed with her. For the next couple of hours, she labored continuously and handled the contractions with focus and breath. In between one of her contractions, she told me that they did not give her Pitocin.  I smiled.  It was divine intervention. She didn’t want it. And her body didn’t need it.   It went into labor without it which is highly unusual for an induced labor.

Before the nurse shift change, my client had her checked her cervix.   She was 90% effaced and 7 cm dilated.  Contractions continued and they were getting closer together, longer and more intense. An hour later, she claimed “this is crazy”. The pressure felt made her feel shaky and nauseous.  I suggested she lay on her side and we started talking about pain relief.  She didn’t want an epidural and so she decided on a dose of Fentanyl.

At 8:15am her nurse administered the medicine through the IV and it immediately helped take the edge off.  She relaxed in between the contractions and even fell asleep for a few short minutes.   She was exhausted and so was her husband.  He took a nap on the pullout couch and thanked me later for the rest.

The medicine was exactly what she needed to soften and relax.  She told me, “this is so much better.”  We placed a peanut ball in between her legs.  She didn’t like it.   We found another motion which worked better.  I moved one leg a like a bicycle which provided relief briefly. The intensity of the contractions increased and even with a second dose of Fentanyl, she was in extreme sensation.   At 10:30am she said “this is too much” which I know are words from a laboring mama who is almost done!

And she was almost there.  Fifteen minutes later, at 10:45am, her nurse checked her again and she was complete: 10 centimeters dilate and 100% effaced.   We set up for pushing.  She looked at me with wide eyes filled with concern and overwhelm.   I reminded her of her power.  She nodded and rolled to her side and started pushing.

Shortly after, she moved in to a semi-included position which was more effective.  With each contraction, she took a breath of air, dropped her chin to her chest, and pushed to a count of ten. She did this three rounds and then rested.  It took a few contractions for her to figure out the hang of pushing but she was a quick learner.  Her baby was moving down.

At 11:50am, the nurse called the doctor and instructed my client not to push, which was hard!  We needed the doctor. Despite the sensation, my client was polite and patient. Three rounds of contractions passed before the doctor arrived.   He wore a flat rimmed hat and a Jackson Hole T-shirt. He’d told us he’d been at a local ski shop buying new bindings for his DPS skis.  Classic Park City doc.

My client continued to push. With each round of contractions, she was closer to meeting her baby. The end was very intense.  As she felt the baby’s head, her husband set up to help deliver.  At 12:20pm on March 18th, my client gave one last push and her baby was born!

The doctor called out  “Boy!”  since the gender was a surprise.   The nurse placed the baby straight on his mama’s chest. He cried announcing his arrival.  That moment hearing a newborn cry is the miracle of all miracles.  A new soul joining us. 

The baby’s coloring looked good and he was alert. Right from birth, he was a beautiful baby.  Tears streamed down my client’s  face.  I imagined that she felt relief, gratitude, and wonder.   She did it!  As they gazed down at their son. I watched the transformation of two adults turn into parents.

The baby needed an oxygen treatment that was completed in the delivery room.  He tolerated it very well and he returned to his mother’s chest thirty minutes later.  It wasn’t long before he was rooting around, looking for his mother’s breast and latched on for his first time.

I was so proud of my client’s strength and resilience.  The factors leading up to this birth were stressful and she took them in stride.   When the day came, she knew what she did and did not want in for the birth.  Some things are not in our control, however, I believe the universe provided her with just what she wished for.

I bid them farewell and drove home around 2pm feeling like I’d been on a redeye flight.  My daughter and I went out to lunch and I kept thinking about the birth and how another little baby began his beautiful life journey.  And here I was in the restaurant like nothing was different. Once again, I witnessed an Omazing birth.

Another Sweet Birth

I met my client November, 2022.  A single mother by choice,  she moved to Utah from Pennsylvania during the Pandemic with her one year old son.  She hired me as her a doula for her daughter’s birth in February.

We immediately connected.   She was brave and calm.  I liked her style - very direct, professional and intentional.  And we bonded over the love of travel.  She shared her son’s birth story with me and highlighted the role that her Pennsylvania doula served.   I usually support both the birthing mama and her partner, and in this case, I’m the partner. I was excited to support her and looked forward to the birth of her baby girl.

A few months later, I returned to her apartment for our second prenatal appointment and we reviewed the birth details. She was scheduled for an induction for February 16th.   My plan was to meet her at the hospital at the start of the induction.

She updated me after each prenatal appointment.  After her final appointment on Valentine’s Day, she was  1.5 centimeter dilated and 70% effaced.  The hospital told her that the 16th looked like a busy day and they may move her induction to the next day.  We thought Friday was the day until Wednesday when they told her to plan on Thursday.  While we both were flexible and ready, I recognized this was challenging.

I woke up early on Thursday, February 16th ready to go to the hospital.  We initially thought she would be admitted between 5am and 9am.  At 7am, they told her to call at 10am.  At 9am, they told her to call at 1pm.  By noon, they told her that they’d admit her at 3pm, that evening or the next day.  I texted her that I felt like our flight was delayed!

I went to bed around 10pm on Thursday evening and woke up at 11:57pm to the call.  She said in a hurried voice, “They are ready for me.  I’ll meet you there.”  Her mom gave her a ride to the hospital and I later learned that they asked her how quickly she could get there.  We laughed because after waiting all day, her induction seemed quite urgent!

I arrived a little before 1am.  The nurse started the induction.  My client was still 1 centimeter dilated and 70% effaced.  Hooked up to an IV and beginning a drip of Pitocin, there was not a lot to do but wait.  We turned off the lights and napped.  Every  half hour, the nurse came in to turn up the Pitocin.  At 4:30am, she gave her another cervical exam and she was 3 centimeters dilated and 60% effaced.  She gave my client Tylenol for her cramps and we again napped. It felt like a redeye. We both slept a little, but not well.

At 7am, there was a shift change we started over with a new nurse.  Less than an hour later, we were discussing breaking my client’s water which is a method of induction that helps progress labor. She agreed and at 8:30am, the doctor on call broke her water.  The baby was positioned up high and my client was still 3 centimeters dilated.

Thirty minutes later, her parents arrived for a visit.  They dropped off her son at day care and drove ver. They were happy to sit and talk until 11am, when my client’s contractions picked up, she told them she was going to nap and she’d call them later.  They left and she laid on her side and rested. I appreciated her ability to ask for what she needed.

At 12:30, the nurse turned up her Pitocin.  She was receiving 16ml of Pitocin per minute which is quite high. No wonder her contractions became more intense.   I suggested that my client sit on the birth ball and I applied counter pressure on her back to relieve some of the sensation felt during the contractions.

Over the next two hours, the contractions came consistently in waves.  My client focused and breathed.  At 2pm, she wanted to talk to her nurse about an epidural but the nurse was in another birth. We waited and the contractions picked up in intensity and duration. My client did not have much break in between.

The next hour was very intense for my client.  In hindsight, productive for her labor as well.  She labored sitting on the ball with her head resting on a pillow on the bed.  She focused and remained calm despite the intense sensations. No complaints.  Finally the nurse arrived and called the anesthesiologist.    I know she needed relief. About 3pm, it was placed and shortly afterwards, she was numb from the chest down.

At 3:30pm, her cervix was dilated to 6.5 centimeters.  Those contractions opened her up! She laid on her side with the epidural. The baby was not very happy so the nurse came in and watched the monitor to make sure that the baby’s heart rate tolerated the contractions.  The baby was OK and mama rested.

An hour later, the nurse checked my client again - more progress.  She was at 7cm and the nurse called her cervix “squishy”.   We sat my client up in a throne position with one leg under a peanut ball and she felt the baby move down.  We switched sides with the peanut ball and at 5:15pm, the nurse checked her again and announced that she was complete at 10 centimeters!

The doctor on-call came into the room and the nurses held my client’s leg, I was standing by her head. We were all set for the birthday party.  She only pushed for ten minutes and at 5:34pm on Friday, February 17th, her beautiful baby girl was born with a head of dark hair.  She didn’t cry much at first but had really good coloring.  My client cut the umbilical cord - something I’ve never seen before.   The nurses checked out the baby and her heartbeat was strong.

My sweet client cried as she held her newborn daughter.  I captured the precious moments on film.  Five minutes later her placenta was delivered. 

My client was an absolute champion birther. I was so proud of her.

It wasn’t long until the nurses left the three of us alone.  In a quiet room without any intervention, the baby found her mama’s breast and started suckling.  Again, a first for me to witness.  That baby used pure instinct remind me of our amazing human nature.

At 6:30pm, her parents and son arrived to meet the baby.  What joy!  Her son was a little shy at first and preferred his “PopPop’s” lap and his thumb to his baby sister.  But it wasn’t long until he was up on the bed with his mom and sister.  We took photos of the three of them.  I smiled so much that my cheeks hurt.

A few minutes after 7pm, I gathered my things and gave my client a big hug. 

It was a beautiful crisp winter night.  I drove up Parley’s canyon in silence, letting the long lovely birth sink in. I loved supporting this client and witnessing the birth. 

It was OMazing.

Oh Wow!

Located in the beautiful hills of West Marin, Spirit Rock is a center that hosts both day-long and overnight residential retreats.  The teachings are grounded in Buddhist psychology, focusing on wisdom and compassion for the benefit of all beings.  I had the privilege of spending four nights at Spirit Rock last week on a silent retreat focusing on the Four Elements: Earth, Air, Water, and Fire.  This was my second retreat at Spirit Rock.  As an alum, I looked forward to the beautiful nature, amazing organic vegetarian food, and fantastic staff and teachers.  I was not disappointed.

The primary benefit of a silent retreat is the opportunity to take a step back from ordinary life.  By removing all communications and other distractions, I had the opportunity to practice presence from the moment I woke up until I fell back to sleep at night.  The longer I was on retreat, the more concentration I had to maintain presence. There is no way to stop thoughts - just notice them. On retreat, being quiet, I’d label my them as the “Top Ten Hits.” My playlist of thoughts are: planning, remembering, rehearsing and sending love to those I love. Repeat.

I started to notice not only what kind of thought arose, but I connected the thoughts to sensations in my body. Worry and fear made my heart beat faster.  Lighter thoughts felt more expansive.  I became curious.  I thought of my friend Nyitur, who is from South Sudan and says “Oh Wow” all the time.  I started saying that to myself all week when I noticed something inside or outside my body. I cultivated a spirit of wonder.

All conditions of this retreat are thoughtfully considered.  The experience is designed so that the participants do not make decisions.  Everything is laid out and served up beautifully. Around the entire campus were statues of Buddha, who to me, symbolizes calm and a sense that everything is all right just as it is.  The campus has four residential halls, a dining hall, administrative offices and a large Dharma Hall where we meditate and listen to our teachers.

The first day, we were invited to pick a spot on the floor of the Dharma Hall which is our spot for the entire retreat.  They provide plenty of cushions and props to help meditators be more comfortable.  Chairs are also an option.  I’d sit on one occasionally when I’d had enough of the floor.  Part of the practice is to let go of what we think meditation is supposed to look like. We tune into our body and make decisions based on our preference.  There’s not one way to meditate.  Siting on the floor does not make anyone a “better” meditator.  The practice is find a position stay still which proves to be difficult after hours of meditation. We also practiced walking meditation.

One of my insights of the retreat was that it was OK to be uncomfortable. Once I settled in, I tried not to move knowing that the feeling (and the sit) didn’t last forever  .  My right leg kept falling asleep.  In my daily life, if my leg fell asleep, I’d automatically shake it to relive myself from the sensation.  On retreat, I zoomed into the experience of my leg.  I noticed what the physical sensations felt like: tingling, prickly, achy.  And then I’d note where exactly I felt the sensations - the outside of  my ankle up to my mid-calf.  I’d breathe,  knowing that I was not the first and only person to experience a leg falling asleep during a meditation. It’s a universal experience.  I was kind to myself.  Inevitability a few minutes later,  the tingling stopped.

Impermanence in action!  The notion of impermanence is a foundation for the Buddha’s teaching.   My beautiful teacher Kate Munding gave a Dharma talk on the importance of knowing and being comfortable with impermanence.  Everything is always changing.  We can not control most things.  When we fight impermanence, we suffer.

Part of the value of being at the beautiful retreat center was being in nature.    After the California rains, the grass and leaves were alive with various vibrant shades of green.  The creeks and rivers were flowing abundantly.  I walked everyday on the well maintained hiking paths.  We were blessed with beautiful weather. It was a nice break from cold snowy Utah.

It’s easy to fall into the routine of the day.  I woke up before 6am and enjoyed coffee at dawn.  The first sitting began at 6:45 a.m. Our day included  seven sitting and six walking periods of 30-45 minutes apiece. Each morning one of our three teachers offered meditation instructions for the day. As stated on the Spirt Rock website, “The whole retreat is a succession of mindfulness training, breathing practices, deep awareness of the body and environment, meditations on the nature of feelings, and awareness of mind and the laws that govern it. “ I used themes of the Four Elements to ground myself deeper in my practice and noticed the true interconnectedness of everything around.

This type of retreat is called “Vipassana” which translates to “seeing things as they really are”.   These are my insights from my retreat:

• Slow down.

• It’s possible to be intentional with everything I do.

• I have a planning mind and have a tendency to want to be known feel special.

• Sitting still is a practice.

• The four elements exist inside and outside of me.

• Not everything good has to be pleasant.

• Positive mental qualities: calm, interest in the mind, contentment need to be cultivated.

• Notice the five hindrances in and of the cushion: craving/desire, doubt, restlessness, ill-will, boredom/sleepiness.

• I care about people; I care about their suffering; I care about their pain. I want to help people less fortunate and those who are sick and alone.

• I can send goodwill energetically and it will effect people even without them knowing.

• Mindful speech (spoken or written in email/text) and active listening brings peace and calm. Ask myself the question: is this what I want to put into the world?

• Opportunities to practice mindfulness are everywhere. Notice hand on a door, brushing my teeth , tying a shoe, holding a baby.

I love retreat and feel grateful to have had the time, money and resources to go to Spirit Rock.  I am filled with deep appreciation and love for my beautiful complicated life.

African Magic

After two weeks traveling in South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Botswana, I’m smitten by the beautiful land, people, and animals of Africa.  I was filled with wonder, inspiration and love each and every day we were there. Every person I met - guides, servers, merchants - smiled widely and welcomed us to their country.  Relieved to have the pandemic-induced tourism drought behind them, locals greeted us warmly.  Without tours and tips, it was a long couple of years for many people. South Africa was ground zero for the Omicron variant in November 2022, so the return of travelers has been slow.     

African people are exquisitely beautiful, wise and knowledgable.

I’d been to Africa as a teenager. in the ‘90s.  I lived in London and my family travelled to Morocco, Egypt, and Kenya.  Nearly thirty years later, I returned as a parent.   My son turned eighteen on the trip.  We travelled with my family - a group of fifteen.  My parents,  sisters, their families and mine made up three generations ranging from age 12 to 80.  We all experienced two weeks of African magic in harmony - most of the time.

We met in Cape Town before Christmas.  Cape Town is arguably the most beautiful city in the world.  The Mother City has everything -  a hip urban vibe, beautiful coastal mountains and white sand beaches.    In a span of four days, we explored a few colorful city neighborhoods, Lange Township, Table Mountain, Robben Island, the Cape of Good Hope and the Wine Country.  Our local guide generously shared the fascinating history of his country with pride.

There’s a parallel between the South African truth and reconciliation process of the 1990s to that of Germany after 1945.  Both countries have recognized the brutality and persecution of an out-of-power ethnic group. Blacks in South Africa and Jews in Germany.  Both countries worked hard to deal with their dark pasts.  Now their citizens can speak openly and honestly about the shameful atrocities of the Holocaust and Apartheid.  There’s an acceptance of the past in their commitment to a better future.

Unfortunately, corruption still exists throughout many African countries including South Africa and Zimbabwe.  The hope is with future elections a more honest political party will take over and good will triumph over evil.  I will be following these elections with interest.

Race in Africa is discussed differently than it is in America. Our tour guide told us on our first day in Cape Town that in South Africa people are black, white, Indian or “coloured.”  “Coloured” means mixed-raced.  I was familiar with that verbiage after listening to Trevor Noah’s autobiography, “Born a Crime.”

American race labels are much more messy and difficult.  We can’t agree on what to call each other.  In 2021, my book club read Jason Reynold’s book Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You.  I asked my friends the question on what to call black people.  Are they Black or African-American?   They answered “Black”.   I remembered that conversation when Soleigh, our Cape Town guide expressed how strange that we call black people “African-American.”  “Why not simply call them ‘Americans?’  They are not Africans.  They are Americans,” he said.  I agreed.

He had another gripe about black American culture.  He said that African men have always had great respect for women.  Only recently, with the influence of rap music, have African men started referring to women as “bitches.”  Disgusted,  Soleigh called the music “crap” instead of rap.  He claimed that its popularity has had a degrading effect on African culture.  Ouch.

After a few amazing days in Cape Town, we flew to Skukuza, a small airport in the Kruger National Park in northeast South Africa, just a twenty-minute ride from the private game reserve Sabi Sands.  The tiny Skukuza airport terminal had the thatched roofs and open-air design of a tropical resort.  I knew we were in for an adventure when we climbed into our customized doorless safari Land Cruisers.  A soft roof shielded us from the hot December sun.   A few minutes into our drive, a family of elephants crossed the road.  We went crazy with excitement and photographs.  Moments later, we stopped again to watch a giraffe munch on a treetop. My heart pounded with amazement.  Was this happening?    What a gift to see such incredible animals in the wild!   

The Sabi Sabi Bush Lodge is hands down the most beautiful place I’ve ever stayed.  Built into the natural surroundings, the rooms were designed with every detail in mind.  Each room had a beautiful wooden bed, a window seat, a spacious bathroom and an outdoor shower.   It was safe to walk around the grounds alone during the day but once the sun went down, we needed an escort to protect us from snakes, baboons and other wildlife.  Without fences around the game reserve, anything can happen.  One night we were awakened by the sounds of baboons calling to one another outside our abode.

Our daily schedule was the same each day.  We woke up at 5:30 a.m. and enjoyed a “game drive” for three hours.  We returned to the lodge for breakfast, lunch and siesta.  At 4:00 p.m., we reconvened for a snack at “high tea” and then headed out for our evening game drive.  We stopped at sunset for a “sundowner” snack and drink and enjoyed the African landscape and incredible sky.

Over four days, our beloved guide Jonas showed us everything.  We saw “The Big Five” (lions, leopards, elephants, rhinos, and buffalo) as well as the “The Ugly Five” (hyenas, wildebeests, vultures, marabou storks and warthogs.)  We saw zebra, impalas, other antelopes, giraffes, hippos, crocodiles, countless birds, plants and insects.  Jonas took us on a bush walk one day where we passed five male lions on foot less than one hundred meters away (“very lucky” Jonas said).  Lucky?  I thought: scary!

We visited the local community and met their chief and shaman.  We listen to Jonas’s life story growing up in the bush,  He graciously and patiently answered our endless string of questions.  By the end the week together, my eyes filled with tears as I said goodbye.  I will remember Jonas and all those animals with great affection.

Question: What can top a safari? Answer: The largest waterfall in the world,

Victoria Falls was amazing in a totally different way.  We flew to Livingstone, Zambia and crossed into Zimbabwe.  The border crossing was slow, hot and a reminder we were in a third-world country.  We each paid fifty dollars for a visa.  The cash went straight into a supervisor’s shirt pocket.  Hmmm.  The woman working recorded our passport information into a notebook with carbon-copy pages by hand.  While some of my family was impatient, I enjoyed the people watching. Being comfortable in the discomfort is something I practice.  This crossing provided a fruitful dose!

Victoria Falls is one of the seven natural wonders of the world.  Part of the Zambezi river, it is located in both Zambia and Zimbabwe, just a short walk from our hotel in Zimbabwe.  The town of Victoria Falls is an oasis for travelers filled with aggressive and annoying peddlers with English pseudonyms like “Truth,” “Enough,” “Chili,” and “DJ Discount”.  They tried to sell us anything and everything - from wooden animal carvings to bungee jumping trips.  They were working hard for their money.

Our family unit visited the Victoria Falls National Park early in the morning. Being alone at the falls was magical.  Stopping at each of the 16 designated viewpoints, we imagined the surprise of early explorers who thought they could travel from the heart of Africa to the Indian Ocean from the Zambezi River.  What a shock it must have been to encounter these falls!  We laughed at the absurdity.

That evening we cruised the Zambezi river at sunset and saw a crocodile, hippos, birds and elephants swimming.  Tom, my brother-in-law chatted with our Captain, who shared some of his family story.  Captain Abel was one of fifteen children and grew up on a farm in rural Zimbabwe.  Only eight of the kids are still alive.  “What happened?” Tom asked.  Abel said that one of his bothers died of AIDS.  In their culture when a brother dies, another brother marrieds the widow.  Unknowingly, that next brother died of AIDS so another brother married her.  He died.  No one connected the eldest brother’s widow; to the illness they succumbed to.  Heartbreaking.

On our final full day in Africa we drove from Vic Falls to Chobe National Park in Botswana.  From the moment we crossed the border, from Zimbabwe, we noticed a big difference in the public infrastructure.  The border office was well-kept and air-conditioned.  Our guide welcomed us with facts about the peaceful and prosperous country.  Their trim-color flag is blue for the sea and sky; black for black people; and white for white people.  This flag is symbolic of Botswanan peace.  After years of being one of the poorest African countries, thanks to their stable government they’ve grown their economy significantly, and Botswana is praised by the African Development Bank for sustaining one of the world's longest economic booms.  We started our exceptional day at the Chobe Marina ecolodge, which felt more like Costa Rica than Africa.  We boarded a river boat and explored the park from the Chobe River in the morning and by Land Cruiser in the afternoon.

Chobe has over 60,000 elephants and hundreds of bird species.  The volume of unfamiliar species was simultaneously overwhelming and stimulating.  I was mesmerized watching the elephants bathe, run, and play together, in and out of the river.  We drove surprisingly close to the elephants.  That night we laughed reflecting on the absurdity of the situation.  My nephew had us rolling in laughter remembering how casual and trusting our Botswana guide was…or was it reckless?  We will never know but fortunately we all returned to Victoria Falls tired and safe.

Everyone in my family proclaimed our African holiday as a trip of a lifetime.  “Amazing.” “The Best.”  My dad had tears in his blue eyes talking about how blessed he felt to bring his family together in Africa.  The beauty cracked me open.

I look forward to another trip someday to experience more African Magic.

Why am I talking?

Every Thursday morning for the past eight weeks, I hosted a community sit in my OMazing studio as part of a requirement for my Mindful Meditation Teacher program which wraps up next month.  Each week, I wrote and shared a Dharma talk and led a guided meditation.

The Thursday before Thanksgiving, I gave a Dharma talk on mindful communication. With the holidays close, it was helpful for me to review the importance of communication.  My family of origin – my parents, my two sisters and each of our families – are traveling to South Africa for a couple of weeks to explore Cape Town, Victoria Falls and to go on safari.  We’re celebrating my parents’ 80th birthdays.

While the travel distance and overall magnitude of the trip can overwhelm me, I am leaning into this rare opportunity to be with the people I love the most.   Our days will be filled with wonder and excitement, but also fatigue and, possibly, some crabbiness.  I’m preparing to show up as my best self.

My kids are teenagers.  My parents are octogenarians.  My husband and I are in the middle.  Matt turned 50 this month, and I am just a year away from that milestone.   Fortunately, neither set of our parents require our full attention. They are in good health and sound mind.  Our kids are quite independent.  I often say to Matt, “these are the good years.”  They really are!

How can I soak in this chapter of my life?  One way is that I listen more.  My favorite podcast hosts and spiritual teachers remind me that my job as a parent isn’t about preventing pain.  Instead, it is about learning to sit with the pain.  This practice requires a special skill set that is at times challenging.

When my teenage daughter had a fit about her hair the other day, she shouted and threw her brush.   I resisted my triggered response to yell something like “STOP! It’s just hair.  Who cares?”  That reaction would be like tossing kerosene on the fire - neither good nor effective.

Instead, I created some physical distance from her, took a breath and said, “I wish you were having a better hair day.”   She agreed.  The instance was over.

I love that phrase: “I wish….”  I use it all the time.  I say it to my exhausted new mamas who struggle with breastfeeding, “I wish it were easier.”  I say it to pregnant couples I teach who are wrestling with the uncertainty of their birth. “I wish we knew how and when labor started.”

My words are both true and kind.

Like all of you, I have deep-rooted patterns of communication.  It’s hard to change them. However, when I have clarity, I reflect on conversations that linger with me like a bad taste in my mouth. If I spoke negatively or gossiped, I remember how my body constricted.  When I lift people up and be more generous in my heart, I feel more open.    

We all need a little more space and grace.

The change begins with intention. My teacher Tara Brach said when you are talking, pause and say “WAIT.”  WAIT stands for Why Am I Talking?   

It’s a valid question!  I don’t need to talk to fill space. I don’t need to fix challenges that are not mine.  What I do need to do is to share the best gift of all which is my nonjudgmental attention.  Show up and listen.  I invite you to do the same this holiday season.

Winning at Working Parenthood

A few months prior to the COVID-19 shutdown, Perry, my friend and co-founder of Hive Family  Collective called me excited by an idea.  She had just heard Daisy Dowling, founder and CEO of Workparent, interviewed on a podcast.  Perry said that Daisy’s message had really resonated with her.  Daisy encouraged working parents to build support systems and strategies to balance employment with parenting.   As she said to me on the phone, “A workshop by Daisy Dowling would be amazing for Hive families. They need this information.  I need it.”

Our other co-founder Joanna and I whole-heartedly agreed.  We engaged with Daisy and started planning an event.  A few months later, COVID hit.  Isolated at home, we knew that we’d have to postpone our event.  In retrospect, the timing worked out well - we all needed Daisy’s message even more after the pandemic.  Working and parenting at home shined a light on the difficulty of a working and parenting.

We stayed in touch with Daisy.  This past summer we dusted off our plan and committed to the workshops.  Last week, we flew Daisy Dowling from New York City to Utah.  The two workshops Hive Family Collective hosted were wildly successful.  More than fifty people walked away from the events with boosted motivation and new tools to help navigate parenting more effectively while working.

The concept of “work/life balance” never really resonated with me.  True “balance” always seemed unachievable, especially when my kids were young.  Even when working in an office, I could rarely sustain focus solely on the work.  I constantly had to manage the kids, their activities, and household needs while at work.  I sensed the scale tipped to parenting and I constantly tried to keep up with my work.  It was exhausting.

When my kids were young, I worked at Backcountry.com.  The office was less than two miles from my house which seemed ideal.  My schedule was somewhat flexible.  However, when my boss needed me, it didn’t matter what I was doing.  I had to drop everything and answer the phone. I remember taking his phone call in my bedroom, behind a locked door.  My daughter pounded on the door.  “LET ME IN” she screamed at the top of the lungs.  Horrified,  I moved as far away from the door as possible trying to maintain professionalism. I ended up crouched  in my shower.

After taking a work call from my shower stall, I knew I had to make a change.  Keeping two personas afloat was too stressful. I either needed more daycare, fewer hours, or both.   It took some time, but eventually I left Backcountry.com and started a new role at a nonprofit which had a more “family-friendly” culture.

Instead of “balance,” I prefer the word “blend” to describe my experience as a working parent.  Even the word “blend” is tricky.  Being at a playground with the kids while “working,” I’d tell myself that I should be happy that I could “work anywhere.”  However, likely I’d spend too much time looking at my email on my phone rather and playing with my kid or complying with their demands that I watch them go down the slide.

Since then, the pressures and demands on working parents have only increased.  In Park City, there are fewer daycare options with the increase of young families in town.  It’s stressful.  Daisy Dowling validated the experience and shared several tips with our Hive community:

1. Get away from the “shoulds” - and start doing what works for you;

2. Build your network of support by taking things off your calendar and to-do-lists;

3. Set up boundaries so that you can be present and “on” in the way that you want to in both work and parenting;

4. Define your personal and parenting “brands” to feel more successful, in control and help you move between roles effectively and quickly;

5. Make time you do get to spend with your children more connective and satisfying by focusing on action (vs talking) and “R&R” (routine and rituals); and

6. Avoid working-parent guilt by getting out of “daily-score keeping” - and tame overwhelm with an Already Done List.

There’s no one-size-fits-all approach to finding balance or blend for working parents.  However, building community to share the joys and struggles is paramount.   It feels difficult to survive some days, however giving ourselves grace and space helps.   So does laughing!

I am delighted that we had the chance to share Daisy’s wisdom with our Hive Family Collective.  And it was amazing to be with our new mamas & parters in person!  It’s been almost three years since we’d hosted an in-person speaker and it’s clear that Hive is building  community.

Beware of the Thief

My week started with the news that big mountain skier Hilaree Nelson was missing in the Himalayan Mountains.  After summiting the 26,781-foot Mt. Manaslu, she and her life and alpine partner Jim Morrison skied down when she was caught in a small avalanche pushing her off the mountain.  Hilaree graduated a year ahead of me at Colorado College and the news gripped all of us from CC who knew and admired her.

For three days we all prayed that a miracle of all miracles would prevail and Hilaree would be found alive.  Tuesday we heard that they located a ski, jacket and avalanche beacon signal but bad weather prevented the rescue from continuing.  On Wednesday, the helicopter landed at 22,000 feet allowing Jim Morrison and two others to retrieve her badly damaged body.  She was announced dead.

Jim Morrison shared this on Instagram: “There are no words to describe the love for this woman, my life partner, my lover, my best friend and my mountain partner. She has been a beacon of light in my life day in and day out….My loss is indescribable and I am focused on her children and their steps forward. (Hilaree) is the most inspiring person in life and now her energy will guide our collective souls.”

The tributes to Hilaree are wide and deep.  She was bigger than life on and off the mountain.   She was a pioneer and a sponsored pro skier and adventurer.  She was also a mother to two boys.   Her friend Sage Martin told their hometown newspaper Telluride Daily Planet “Hilaree’s love of adventure was contagious. She has been a mentor and role model to adventurers around the world and a trailblazer for women everywhere. Beyond her first ascents and first descents of some of the world's most epic mountains, she set forth a lasting example for all of us.”

I’m surprised how affected I am by Hilaree’s death.  Restless at night I woke up all week thinking about Hilaree in the mountains of Nepal.  I saw and lived in the foothills of the Himalayas in 1994.  I never dreamed of climbing or exploring them.  It’s out of my comfort zone.

This dramatic trauma sparked soulful conversation between my college friends.  Whitney, one of my besties, wrote that “Hilaree’s life and death have made me think so much about risk. The risks we are willing to take or not and why or why not. And how fascinated we are with people who take big physical and mental risks and how important they are to our world and humanness. It touches something deep in all of us.”

Something deep inside me has been touched. And it has not all been easy. I’ve been comparing myself to Hilaree and other risk-takers.  It’s not necessary and it doesn’t cause joy.

I remembered the quote I heard: “comparison is the thief of joy.”  Isn’t it true? Social media does not help.  Scrolling instagram can bring up feelings of “less than” or even jealousy. I know when I compare my fantastic life to someone else, even though I have all that I want, I can still want more.  It’s not just that these comparisons are not useful, they can also be harmful.

I remind my clients and new mamas of the risk of comparisons.  I shared with a new mama who I supported last week that by comparing your baby or your experience with others, it could contribute to complicated feelings.  We are all on our own journey.

I continue to notice how compassion affects my life.  I am never going to be a high-alpine adventurer.  And, that is my choice.   I don’t have to feel like I need to do that in order to “win” at life.  I weigh risk and reward and chose what is best for my family and myself.  I know that a beautiful journey is one that is intentional.  I am working on leading an intentional life.

Hilaree will be missed by both people who loved her and many who didn’t even know her.   With any loss, it reminds me that life is precious and that the time to live is now.

Equanimity: What is it and Why does it matter?

In August, I hosted two mindful mama retreats at my parents’ beautiful home in Park City.     The title of the event was: “Start the School Year off Soulfully.”  Summer ending and school beginning shocks my system every year.  There’s real grief when summer ends.

I love summer.  I love sunshine, flip-flops, and the break in school routines.  I prefer making picnics to school lunches. I’m fortunate because my kids go to summer camp, which gives me an annual break from parenting.   Summer was so good to me.  And while I don’t like setting alarms to wake up, I was ready for my kids to go back to school.  It’s time to return to work.

The retreat started with a cup of coffee and light chit-chat.  We then moved outside and I taught an easy yoga flow class with my “silent disco” headphone kit.  A few years ago, I bought several sets of headphones and a microphone transmitter that I can use to teach outdoor yoga.  My yoginis hear music and my voice in their headphones.  This experience allows them to focus on their yoga practice.

During the second retreat last week, a male moose walked into the back yard right where we were practicing.   The yoginis were all in child’s pose with their heads down.   My friend Carrie spotted him and gingerly walked up to me and pointed to him. I brought everyone out of child’s pose and said, “we have a special guest with us”.  There were gasps and giggles.   We took our headphones off to see what he’d do. Male moose are gentler than the mamas. 

As expected, he was very peaceful. We watched him for a moment and then he moved on.  We felt blessed by his spirit.

After yoga, we took a short walk and returned to the house for a dharma talk and an intention-setting exercise.  The topic I selected was equanimity.  My first introduction to that word in a forty-day yoga challenge a few years ago.  A theme for one of the weeks was equanimity.  My yoga teacher used tree posture to describe equanimity.  She referred to equanimity as balance or the middle way.  When we are in tree pose, we stand on one foot.  When we fall out, we’re invited back in, non-judgmentally.  The concepts of constantly seeking, losing, and regaining equanimity stayed with me.

I’ve learned equanimity requires a capacity to be with what is - without clinging or resisting.  It’s the practice of not moving towards something and not moving away from it.  It’s just being balanced in the middle.

Equanimity is not a common word or value in our culture.  Americans love drama.  We are addicted to the highs and the lows of life.  Rarely do we prioritize (or even notice) balance.  But I really try.   For instance, this summer when my flight was delayed, I intentionally handled the situation with patience and grace.  But I didn’t reflect and say, “I really handled that situation equanimously.”  It’s not something I name.

It’s a quality that requires practice.  Equanimity allows me to be more flexible and stretch, rather than restrict.  Instead of being “bent out of shape,” a state that means that something in my life is rigid and brittle, I am fluid.

Why does it matter?  It’s important quality when raising kids in a life and world that is always changing, My best days are those that I am in the flow.    

There’s a reciprocal relationship between equanimity and mindfulness.  Through my mindfulness practice, I see more clearly.  I try not to constantly judge, fix it or change my situation.  Instead, I practice to be with whatever is.  Through my mindfulness practice, I build equanimity.  And, the more equanimity I have, the more mindful I am.

In our retreat, we took that idea of equanimity and balance and created intentions for the fall. I encouraged my mamas to ask themselves: How do you want to feel in this next season? Intentions are like seeds.  At the retreat we each planted our seeds of intention.  In order for a flower to grow, it needs water and time.  The same is true with intentions.  The seed is planted and our daily practice is the water.  Over time, we hope that our intentions will bloom and come into fruition.

It’s can be difficult to find space and time to plant our seeds of intention.  But it is so important.  When you have a moment, ask yourself:  What is out of balance in my life?  Where I you find more equanimity?  What I you need to shift in order to make that change?

I wish you good luck in planting and watering your own seeds of intention.

To my mom, on her 80th birthday

We’re celebrating my mother’s eightieth birthday today.  What a blessing!   I planned to be home in Lake Forest with her to witness this milestone.  I wanted to hold her hand, look her in the eye and tell what an amazing mother and role model she has been to me.

Months ago I asked her what she’d like to do for her birthday.  She asked if she could have a party for herself with just with her ladies.  My mom loves her friends.  She’s the most social person I know.

“Of course, Mom. You can have a party.”  I loved the idea.  She enjoys hosting and I wasn’t surprised that she wanted her friends to come over to her back garden on her birthday.  She’d be like a queen, holding court.

Last month we spent a few days together. We were  making the invitation for her July 18th party and I asked her, “What time are you thinking Mom?”  In my mind I thought maybe 3pm-6pm.  Or maybe 11am-2pm?  She surprised me when she answered “10am-5pm.”

I laughed.  “Really Mom?  All day?  I don’t know….that’s a lot. ” She responded with the conviction that one has earned at seventy-nine years old. “Yes Seera.” (Sara sounds like “Seera” because of her midwest accent). “I want my ladies to come when it works for them.  We’ll serve coffee, champagne and cake all day.”  I laughed.  “OK Mom. 10-5 it is.   It’s your birthday.”

She is a woman who knows what she likes.

Last week, my mom called with a scratchy throat.  “Seera, honey, I have COVID.  I can’t have the party on the 18th.  Please tell the ladies the party will NOT be cancelled.  It is POSTPONED.” Oh shoot.  I postponed the party to August 1st.  While she was disappointed, she’s always looking on the bright side. She said, “At least I am not going to Paris this week.”

My mom is incredible.  She wakes up everyday with the hope for a beautiful day.  She writes emails that usually begin, “The sky is blue. The birds are chirping….”

She’s an optimist.  She is compassionate, kind and generous.  She’s devout - to her family, friends, and her Catholic church.  She’s belonged to clubs for over forty years, including one called the “first Thursday of the month” club. She enjoys nothing more than walking life with someone.  Over these decades of friendships, they go through marriages, divorces, births and deaths.  She is right there for every step.

My mother is an organizer.  She organizes family reunions, high school reunions, and never misses a birthday.    I inherited that talent from her.  My friends call me “The Tower.”

My mom shows up - even when times are hard.  Especially when times are hard.  She is constantly making banana bread or lasagna to drop off to a friend or neighbor.  When someone needs a prayer, they call her.  She goes to church every morning when she is home.  It’s her meditation.  In the silence of her beautiful church of St Mary’s, she feels closest to God.

If there is a Heaven’s Gate and I run into any issues, I’m going to say that I am Mary Ann Fuller’s daughter.  I imagine I will be let right in.

My love of travel comes from my mom. She started traveling the world before there were international flights.   Her first trip to Europe began on a  bus from Chicago to New York, followed by transatlantic boat ride to Denmark in 1962.  It was her junior year in college and as she says “the beginning of her new life.”   She spent a month with a Danish family, a month with a Dutch family and a year in Rome.  She studied during the week and traveled Europe on the weekends.

A few years later, after graduating from St. Mary’s of Notre Dame, she taught for a year in Tokyo.   Curiosity combined with her love of culture and history, she’s explored the world.  She doesn’t say “someday, I’d like to go here.”  No, not my mom.   She plans and executes.  She reads travel books, talks to friends about where they’ve been and saves newspaper articles. She’s visited all fifty states, seven continents and probably most of the natural wonders of the world.

My mom loves taking pictures.   She’s photographed pretty much everything and everyone I know.   She often sends a copy to the person in the photo and writes them a little note always signing it the same way: “Love, Love MA.”

Like many daughters, we don’t know how hard our mothers worked until we too are mothers.  The first Thanksgiving dinner I cooked for my family took me two days. I was stunned by the effort, cost and number of ingredients required to host a traditional dinner.  After the last dish was washed, dried and put away, I called my mom exhausted.   I said, “Mom. I had no idea what a Thanksgiving meal entailed.  I don’t even think I ever once said thank you!”

Here I am on your 80th birthday. Thank you Mom.

Thank you for your  boundless love.

Thank you for modeling compassion.

Thank you for teaching me to say yes.

Thank you for sitting with me when I hurt.

Thank you for rejoicing in my happiness.

Thank you for being my mother.

Happy Birthday.  I love you.

XO

Sara B.

Circle of Life

Over the course of five days, I experienced the full spectrum of emotions.  In one week, I attended two end-of-life celebrations, sat with a postpartum mama and supported a labor. It was quite a week.

It started on Monday.  I road tripped six-and-a-half hours south to magnificent Telluride, Colorado.  I drove through the red rocks of Moab, Arches and the Canyonlands.  I turned left at La Sal Junction twenty miles south of Moab.  I continued down through Paradox Valley driving along steep switchback turns crossing into Colorado.  For the last hour, I followed the San Juan River up to the magnificent canyon of Telluride.

I arrived at Telluride’s Mountain Village after dinner and met my parents, sister, cousins, aunts and uncles at the lodge.  The family reunion felt more like a wedding weekend than a funeral.  I wished it were different.  I sought out my deceased cousin’s parents, Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Stephanie to offer deep condolences.  Tears filled my eyes and my throat tightened.  They thanked me for coming. 

My thirty-seven-year-old cousin Abbott Smith’s life was short and impactful. He lived in Telluride for more than fifteen years, and was a well-known ski coach, entrepreneur, mentor, friend, volunteer, and community member.   His wife, Joanna was both his business and life partner.  She wrote and read a love letter to him at his service.  Abbott collected sunken ship coins.  He found a ship called Joanna and bought a coin.  He wore it around his neck keeping “Joanna” close to his heart.  Abbott’s four-month-old daughter, Reagan, nicknamed “Rae” will sadly be raised by family and community never having known her father.  She’ll only know the stories.

As Joanna read her letter, I gasped for air between tears.  There wasn’t a dry eye in the people gathered together.  Half of the town of Telluride showed up for Abbott’s service.  The grief was collective.  We hurt.  We cried for Abbott’s family.  We cried for ourselves.  I put myself in his widow’s shoes and cried harder.  I was reminded that everyone I love will die.

Life is fleeting.  Some die young and some die old.  After the service, I looked around at the beautiful mountain and felt Abbott’s spirit.  His spirit is in the green grass, the flowers, and the family he left behind.

Leaving the next day, I silently thanked Abbott for the reminder that life is precious.  The only thing I can do is enjoy the present moment and savor the sweetness of this impermanent life.

I arrived back in Park City on Wednesday afternoon just in time to attend the second celebration-of-life ceremony of my week.  A previous Backcountry.com coworker and friend Hud Knight died just a week before Abbott’s passing.  Hud’s body was worn out by years of hard partying and didn’t survive a bout of pneumonia and COVID.   Like Abbott, he died too soon leaving two beautiful daughters behind, along with many friends and family who all grieve their loss.

Hud’s father’s eulogy moved me back into tears. At the end of Hud’s life, the doctor told his dad that Hud’s organs were not going to make it. But his heart was strong.  Hud’s dad reminded us that Hud had a good heart.  Gulp.  Oh, poor dad, I thought.  You are burying your son.  It slayed me once again.

I went to bed on that night, happy to be home.  The next afternoon, I worked as a postpartum doula for a  mama with a one-month-old baby girl. I welcomed the freshness of the situation  after my back-to-back funerals.  For a few hours, I sat on the couch with the mama and held her baby, smelling her newborn skin.

The mama and I talked about her birth, her family and her new life. I gave her tips on breastfeeding.  We figured her new rental pump. I prepared her some food.  I love the serenity of postpartum work.   I know I helped this mama and she helped me recalibrate.

The next day, I woke up ready to prepare for a two week trip that my husband and I were taking up to the San Juan Islands in Washington.  The plan was to leave Saturday morning.   I met a girlfriend Friday morning for a hike.  When I arrived back to my car my phone rang.  It was Robynne, my doula mentor and good friend.  She asked me if my day was packed.

It struck me as a funny word choice considering that’s what I needed to do that day - pack.  I told Robynne,  “No,  My day is not too packed.  What’s up?”  She needed help.  She had two clients in labor. I checked my calendar double checking that I didn’t have any commitments and said, “Yes, no problem. I can help.”  She texted me her client’s detailed birth plan and I headed home for a  quick shower and drove the hospital.

Robynne’s client was 5 centimeters dilated which usually meant active labor.  That was not the case.  This mama did not feel her contractions until her water broke a few hours later.  With the support of her birth partner and me, she labored through the night.  She was nearly complete and ready to push but desperately needed a break.  She opted for an epidural. At dawn, she started pushing.

At 6am  I’d been with her for 14 hours. My husband and I were planning on leaving at 10am for our Northwest road trip.  Of course, I wanted to witness the birth, but I had no idea how much longer it’d be.  I called in another doula who arrived at 6:30am.

Together we coached her to push for  two more hours. The mama stayed incredible calm and courageous.   Her spirit and determination did not falter, despite exhaustion.  I had to leave at 8:30am. I gave the mama, her mother, her birth partner and the doula a hug and left the hospital.  The baby was still on his way down the birth canal.  Oh, sweet mama,  She was pushing effectively.  It was just very slow.   

I rushed home to Park City to pack. We pulled out an hour later and headed north.  I texted the back up doula see how it turned out.  She responded with the good news that a little baby boy was born at nearly 11am.

The mama pushed for nearly six hours.  That’s a marathon!  The doula reported that mama and baby were doing well.  Everyone was exhausted.  I felt honored to be a part of the birthing team.  Although I had hoped to see a new spirit enter the world, supporting her labor balanced out my week.

I reflected on the circle of life as we drove on Saturday.  Birth and death are bookends of life.  They both require help and support of family and friends.    Both are uncertain and scary. They are celebrated.   Yet, our culture prepares more often for birth. Probably because it joyous and we have ten months to prepare. 

I recently listened an interview with Alua Arthur, a death doula on Glennon Doyle’s podcast.  The title of the talk was “How to live so we can die peacefully.” Since hearing her message, I feel an itch to explore learning more about work of a death doula.  I am not sure where that string of curiosity will  lead. What I do I know is like the the conversation of birth, talking and thinking about death makes me feel alive.

Stretch the Heart

On Sunday morning, I woke up with a sniffle. I laid in bed planning my day.  Two mamas had recently hired me to support them in their births.  One was being induced on Wednesday and the other on Thursday.  I had a prenatal appointment scheduled with one of them for that afternoon.  We planned to review their birth plan and talk about the induction on Thursday.  I knew this mama very well.  We had been practicing yoga for months together.  Every Wednesday at 5:00 pm she came to my studio and I taught her a private class.  In addition to the physical practice, I prepared her for childbirth with education and a weekly Q&A.  I encouraged her to trust her body.  I talked about surrendering.   She was nervous and often said to me, giggling, “I cannot believe I am going birth this baby.”  I told her by the end of her pregnancy, she’d be ready.  And by 39 weeks she was indeed! The baby had been hard on her body and she suffered from discomfort above and beyond what I typically see.

In addition, she was unsure about her birth team.  Her OBGYN at Park City Hospital left in the middle of her pregnancy.  She had switched both the hospitals and her doctor and was actively questioning her decisions.  I recommended hiring a doula for her birth so she’d have consistent support at her birth.  I sent her evidence-based information about the benefits of doula as well as my package of services.  She hired me.

Around the same time, another first-time mama reached out to me.  A mutual friend gave her my number.  She too was uncertain about what lay ahead with childbirth.  She hired me as a birth coach to talk about the birth with her husband. Like my yogi client, I suggested a doula to help them navigate the birth.  They too hired me.

I had never committed to support two mamas in the same month - and definitely never in the same week. I felt comfortable with the situation because my mentor who backs me up was available.  I knew it would be a lot for me to support back-to-back births, but I’d dig deep and call in my back-up if I needed her.  I’d likely have a few days to rest in between based due dates.

The week prior to their due dates, both mamas scheduled an induction - one day apart.    When I heard the news, I soaked in the information.  I arrived at the belief that I would be exhausted at the end of the births, but I would make it.  I imagined it’d be like taking a redeye two nights in a row.  In the sprit of “this too shall pass” I planned to recover over Memorial Day weekend.   

Since I was going to see my pregnant mama, and I had a runny nose that Sunday morning, I took a COVID test.  In less than one minute, I was looking at a double pink line.  It reminded me of my first positive pregnancy test, but my reaction was different.  I was in shock, but not in a good way.

I’d escaped COVID for twenty-six months.  And this was my time?  My mind went straight to my mamas. I couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t be able to support their births.

I needed to leave my house. I sat outside in my backyard digesting my diagnosis while the rest of my family took rapid tests.  My daughter tested positive.  My husband tested negative. I called my seventeen year-old son who was waking up at a friend’s campout with the news. It’d been prom the night before.   He panicked, came home, and promptly tested negative.

I called both mamas with the news. I cried.  Their concern for me was so sweet.  Of course they understood.   Living in a pandemic, we make plans and remain flexible.

I called my back-up doula and she told me too tested positive for COVID that same day.  What are the chances? I hadn’t seen her in weeks.  We found more doula support for my clients.  We were on Plan C and looking for Plan D.

My daughter and I gathered some things for the week and headed to my parents’ house, since it happened to be vacant.  As I packed the car, I noticed a couple red tulips which came up that morning.  I breathed in the fresh air, drove up the mountain to my parent’s house.  With mild symptoms and a place to hide out, I felt grateful.

When I arrived to the house, my sister texted me a local Telluride news article with a headline which made me sick.  My thirty-seven year-old second cousin died the day before in a motorcycle crash.  He was a brand-new father to a baby girl who was only four months old.  I felt a wash of grief and disbelief pour over me.  I called his brother and wife who live in Salt Lake City with their new baby.  They didn’t pick up but I received a text that they were on their way to Telluride.

My personal COVID drama took a back burner.  Consumed by this tragedy, I walked around the rest of the day numb.  I couldn’t stop thinking about my cousin’s wife, Joanna.  She’s a new mama still on maternity leave. I support so many new mamas in my work that I know well how hard it is even with partner support.  What a bittersweet time ahead for the young family.  The baby’s name is Rae and is already referred to as Joanna’s Ray of Sunshine.  All day, I cried, feeling so sad.  How can life change in one instant?  I wanted to rewind time.

I joined my Sunday night meditation group that night.  As a group, we mourned the Buffalo victims.   My teacher asked, how can there be such beauty and hate in the same world? She shared this reading:

How do we hold the dissonance between gratitude for the blessings in life, and grief over the suffering and pain in our world? 

The question is a koan for our times.

Both are true, and living in the tension and discomfort of this question invites the heart to open more fully.

It’s when we stop asking this question that I become concerned, for what are the alternatives? We either sink into despair, consumed by sorrow, or we turn away and ignore what hurts, focusing only on the goodness or distracting ourselves from the fear and pain...

The road to freedom is long and though we may feel helpless individually, we are not powerless. We can bring more goodness and love into the world through our words, actions and choices. We can speak out against violence and oppression, and work together to pressure elected officials to make policy changes for more equity, dignity and safety in our communities.

We don’t act if we’re lulled asleep by comfort or convenience, nor can we act if we’re overwhelmed with grief.

This is why we need to stretch the heart to include all of it. This is why we need both the immense beauty and gratitude for blessings in life to keep us afloat, and the deep sadness and grief to urge us to action.

I kept thinking about that last line.  I need to stretch my heart to include all of it.  I found deep comfort in her words.

Two days later, the Texas school shooting brought me to my knees.  I’ve been filled with rage.  Sadness.  Grief.

I knew I needed to stretch my heart even more.

I spent the rest of my isolated week with my daughter in a quiet house.  I woke up early and watched the sunrise.  I drank coffee and read.  Together, we watched a new series on TV.  I processed the news.   I prayed for those who loved these children.  Babies.

Over time, I slowly released the guilt I felt of missing two births.  Life goes on.  Both baby girls were born and mamas are doing well.  I visited my yogi client’s house and held her five-day-old baby this afternoon.  I listened to their birth story, bestowed some lactation wisdom, took a photo of the beautiful newborn and drove home filled with satisfaction for my work.  One baby at a time.

It’s impossible to predict the future.  The world is filled with both immense love and beauty and deep, dark sadness and tragedy.   We all need to figure out a way to stretch our hearts to include all of it.

Another OMazing Birth

A few Tuesdays ago, I received a text from a distressed client asking me to call her when I had a minute.  She was due on that coming Friday.  We’d been working together for nearly seven months.  I taught her prenatal yoga.  We had a few childbirth and breast-feeding classes and she hired me as her birth doula.  She was 39 years old and pregnant with her first baby.  She was starting to formulate a plan for her birth.  I encourage all my clients to swap out the word “plan” for “preference.”  We all know the old Yiddish proverb “We plan, God laughs.”  

Her birth preference was to not use medicine in her birth unless necessary.  As her due date crept closer, her doctor was pressuring her to be induced - using medicine to start labor.   Her doctor was not comfortable with the risk of going past her due date because of her age.  It upset her that he wanted to induce on Thursday, a day before her actual due date.  She wanted to wait to see if she would go into labor naturally. She and her husband were at odds.  In a text to me she said, “As a pilot, he is trained to avoid risk.”  She appreciated the recommendations to be induced, and it was hard.  We talked on the phone.  I do not give medical advice as a doula.  Instead, I listen and ask questions.  This is how I help my clients develop their own plan.   

I told her that regardless of whether she was induced or not, she needed to work on accepting the situation.  Going into an induction kicking and fighting will not help her open up.  I suggested seeing an acupuncturist.  I sent her evidence-based research on induction and pregnancy at age 35 and older.  I encouraged her to talk with her doctor about timing.  She knew she needed to relax into whatever decision she made.    And while she was disappointed, she came to a place of peace and scheduled her induction for Friday, April 22nd.

She had an early morning emotional encounter with her doctor at 7:30 am.  He asked her if he could break her water when he gave her Cytotec  - the medicine that is used to soften the cervix.   She was very upset.  She did not feel heard.  Her husband told the doctor and the nursing staff that she wanted to move slowly throughout the induction.  No, they could not break her water.  They had preferences and they expressed them.  The doctor had told them earlier that he had to leave at 5pm for a soccer game.  Clearly, they were not on his schedule.  What they wanted was more important than the doctor being present to delivering their baby.

I was proud of them!  I teach the importance of agency and using voice.  Being induced can be tricky. We were in touch via text all day.  At 2:30pm, her husband texted me: “The doctor has broken our water, and we are progressing.  Consensus is probably Pitocin in an hour.  Mom and baby are strong.” At 5:30 pm, I arrived at the hospital.  Mama stood by the side of the bed.   We caught up for a few minutes.  Her cervix was dilated to 3 centimeters.  Her baby’s heart rate looked good.   We giggled that her husband packed his Ford Mustang 1971 Manual in case he had time to read.  He hadn’t cracked it open.  The laughter stopped with the arrival of a contraction.  We breathed together.  The contractions continued.   She focused and coped well despite the intensity.  Pitocin, the contractions were strong and not very spaced out.  My client kept her eyes closed and breathed down low.

Before 8pm, the nurse checked her cervix and reported progress: 90% effaced and 3.5 cm dilated.  Soon after, there was a shift.  Her contractions continued and became even more intense.  I encouraged change positions each 30 minutes.  She sat on the birth ball, laid on her side and spent time on her hands and knees with her arms draped over the back of the hospital bed.  She was not comfortable.  

Running out of energy, she told her husband she wanted an epidural.  She shared the information with the nurse.  The nurse called the anesthesiologist, who lived close.  We thought he’d arrive in a few minutes but it took him an hour.   In hindsight, this time made a difference with the labor.    Her body opened up. She never complained as you waited for the anesthesiologist.  By the time he walked in, she was ready for the epidural. It was clearly the right choice.

A bit before 9:30 pm, the doctor placed the epidural.  She sat still and continued to dig deep.  When he was finished, she laid on her side.  Initially, the right side of her body was not as numb as the left.  One in ten epidurals do not work perfectly the first time.  There are three options if the epidural does not work:  1. Wait and see and don’t do anything.  2. Tinker with epidural and see if the doctor could get the right side more medicated.  3. Replace the epidural.  As it turned out, she didn’t need to choose.  Her right side became numb and she was able to relax.  We were all happy that the epidural worked and she had a break from sensation.

At 10:30 pm the nurse checked her again and her cervix was 6 cm dilated and she was 100% effaced.  Progress!   Moments later, she closed your eyes and it wasn’t long before she was asleep.  Sweet mama.   The nurse came in an hour later.  She was having a hard time detecting the baby’s heart rate and at they suggested placing an internal monitor on the baby’s head.  My client woke up and agreed.  When they placed the monitor they announced she was 9 cm dilated.  She fell back asleep.

Another hour later, at 12:30 am, her cervix was 10 cm dilated and she was 100% effaced.  It was time to push!  Pushing started out slow.  My mama couldn’t feel her contractions very well with her epidural. She was pushing into her face instead of her core.  The nurse patiently coached her.  We mixed it up with a few different pushing positions and set up a mirror which my client ignored.  Nothing worked well until we wrapped a sheet around a squat bar.  It was a game changer!  With each contraction, my client gripped the sheet, curled her belly and pushed all her breath down to the baby.  

Although she made progress, she was still so tired.  Every couple of contractions, she didn’t push giving her baby a rest.  A little after 1 am she closed her eyes in between contractions.  The nurse suggested that she rest for 30 minutes. What a gift!  She needed that rest.At 1:45 am, the nurse came in and announced that it was time to push again.  She was concerned about the baby’s heart rate and contacted the on-call OB.  The nurse wondered if he’d want to use the vacuum to assist with the end of the delivery.  The doctor arrived moments later in a jovial mood.  Kindly, he said that the baby’s heart rate recovered in between contractions and didn’t see a need for assistance.  He encouraged my client to push as her baby began to crown.  The birth team cheered her on as the baby moved closer to the world outside her womb.  The doctor told her that her baby boy would be born in be another one or two pushes.  He was right.  The second to last push he was so close.  The doctor tried to pull the baby out and until the contraction stopped he slipped back in her body.  Once the next contraction started, we all knew that this was it. 

My client breathed in deep.  She pushed, pushed, and pushed, and at 2:16 am on Saturday, April 23rd, her baby boy was born. 

Covered in vernix, the nurse put the baby boy on her chest.  Her husband’s  eyes filled with tears.  The emotion was incredible.  The baby boy they had waited so long to meet was here at last.

The doctor asked the husband if he’d like to cut the baby’s umbilical cord.  “No thanks Doc,” I heard him say as he gazed down at his beautiful wife and son.  The doctor offered me the opportunity to cut the cord.  I cut his umbilical cord, which was rubbery and as the doctor commented, healthy and strong. That was a first for me. A few minutes later, may client delivered her placenta.  

Although baby had good color, he was pretty quiet.  The respiratory team waited for him to cry or cough.  A few minutes later, they asked if they could take him off my mama’s chest and assist with removing the birth fluids from his lungs.  Her husband walked over with the baby and I stayed by my client’s side.  The nurse turned him on his belly and after a few pats, he spit out fluid.  He was back on my client’s chest in a few minutes.

The baby peacefully laid in his mama’s arms alertly absorbing his new world.   At 3:00 am, we decided he was ready for his first latch.  With help, we put him on her belly to see if he’d crawl up.  While he was close to her breast, he didn’t latch.  We regrouped and helped reposition him into a cradle hold.  Without issue, he latched and nursed for 18 minutes on one side and then she moved him over to her other side.  It was quarter after 4 am and the baby was still nursing.  I said good night leaving a beautiful scene: a brand-new family.  

It was an absolute joy to walk this journey with my clients. I was honored to have been a witness at their incredible life event.  I am really proud of the way that they both were able to accommodate the induction and relax into the birth experience.  My client let go of her expectations and present in the moment. This is the way to be. I know this skill will serve her well in parenting and life.

It was another OMazing birth.