Welcome to the Spinning Earth, Zora Peach

Peach. Zora. Zora Peach.

You are sleeping. I should be too. But there's so much I'd like to say to you to before it slips away into the corners of my fuzzy spaced out tired out brain.

We made it. You made it out. I made it through labor, whole. Exhausted and whole. You made it too, perhaps also exhausted. I will forever wonder what that labor adventure was like for you. 

Zora Peach, you have a beautiful birth story. 

Papa and I have talked a lot about how you were born. I believe we have established that it was an adventure. It was somehow just what we needed. It is a beautiful story. Not traumatic and not a disaster. We could name it those things. But we won't name it those things. It was long. And it was hard. And it was even pretty scary in the final moments. But we all stuck together very well, supported each other, loved each other, and here we are beginning our lives together as a family. I am so grateful. 

For much of labor, we were just IN it. It was interesting. It was hard. It was labor. We didn't know where we were going, but we knew we were in labor. 

We had wonderful help, Peach. Sutay and Lisa and Sarah were amazing guides. And Papa Mark was extraordinary. After the fact, Lisa said that Mark should open his own doula practice. 

After three days of contractions, I was exhausted. Just spent. I bet you were too. I bet it was pretty strange to have lived in my uterus fairly stress-free for so many weeks and then to suddenly be squeezed really really hard every few minutes. Not to mention the sounds your Mama made when those contractions were happening. THOSE were sounds you hadn't been listening to for the previous months! And then, after hours and hours, my heart rate was staying much too high. And then, yours dropped. And babies have a pretty narrow ability to withstand such a thing. Suddenly the nurses were changing my position---get on your left side! I couldn't really move because by then I'd been numbed from the waist down. Your heart rate didn't come up. Get on your right side! They flipped me again. Your heart rate didn't come up. Get on all fours! Several nurses got me on all fours. Your heart rate didn't come up. Then I don't remember what they said, but it felt frightening. I heard the word "crash". I heard something about getting to the OR. We were unplugged from the labor room hook-ups, fast. We were wheeled down the hall, fast. 

That moment is very clear to me. I thought of your Papa and the accident he was in almost four years ago. He says that when he looked down and saw his broken leg, in that crucial moment, he said to himself, "My life has changed and I need to stay present." There we were, Peach. I said to myself, "I need to stay present. We can do this, Peach. Stick with me." As we were wheeled into the OR, I heard several times "splash and crash, splash and crash!" There was the possibility of losing you, Peach. I learned later that "crash" referred to your heart rate and "splash" referred to the fact that they were not going to fully prep me for surgery---they were just going to splash betadine all over my abdomen to just do surgery as quickly as possible. Splash and crash. That didn't sound good to me. I kept talking to you. Stick with me, Peach. You can do this. We can do this. Stick with me. I am here. I am not afraid. I am here with you. I am not afraid. Stick with me. The anaestesiologist, the one medical person who stayed connected to me as a person during this emergency surgery, said to me, "That's exactly what you need to be doing. Keep doing it." I did. I asked her to hold my shoulders down-----they were shaking uncontrollably. She did this for me. I kept talking to you as they lifted you out of me. I heard something about "floppy". I heard something about respiratory distress. They brought you to my side--for about 3 seconds. They said something about there being a problem with your palate, maybe your chin---in my opinion this was a poorly timed piece of information-sharing. They whisked you away. I asked where Mark was----could he go meet you? Where was Mark??? Had they let him in to the OR to see this? Someone told me he could go meet you. Relief. I was in the OR for quite a while longer. I had to stay to have X-ray verification that they hadn't left any medical tools inside me---they hadn't had time to count the tools before surgery because of the speediness of the splash and crash. When they verified that I had no scissors or sponges sewed up inside me, I was taken to a recovery room to meet you and Papa. I discovered that Papa had greeted you with song and that it had stopped your crying immediately. You shall come out with joy. And you did. Just not exactly the way I had envisioned. You were lifted out instead of pushed out, Peach. Lifted out with love. And with song. And with joy. 

Now, from what I know about trauma, the people most likely to suffer with symptoms afterward are those people who, for various reasons, are not able to do anything effective in the moment of stress/overwhelm/stress---for example someone who is held down while being robbed. Being held down prevents any possibility for being effective on your own behalf. I believe that Papa Mark had no post-traumatic stress symptoms after almost losing his leg because he was able to be effective even in the face of extreme circumstances. He had his cousin help him get in a good position to wait for the rescue team. He talked to the rescue team. He asked for less medication so that he could be present and do deep breathing. And we can name your birth beautiful, Zora Peach. I talked to you. I asked for your teamwork. I asked the anaesthesiologist for her help. I asked that they let Mark see you. And he sang to you about coming out with joy, a song you already knew. And about welcome to the spinning earth.....

Welcome to the spinning earth.
Welcome.
Welcome to the green green earth.
Welcome.

Welcome to the spinning earth. 

Welcome.

Welcome to the green green earth. 

Welcome.

Zora. Zoraland. We've been living in Zoraland for over a month now! Welcome to the green green earth, little Z. We love you. It's been an exhausting month---more on that later. Welcome to the spinning earth.

Papa's Perspective, part 2 (I want to see)

Zora arching (and throwing gang signs)

I want to see

Peach, now Zora Gloria Lockman, presented face-first.  Without the back of her head pressing on Melissa's cervix, Melissa simply could not dilate enough for a vaginal delivery.  As a newborn, she often arches backwards, trying to see ahead and above her, while her amazing, wide blue eyes take it all in.  We like to think that she wanted to come into the world seeing where she was going.

Several years ago, Melissa became trained in a therapeutic modality called Somatic Experiencing.  The idea is fairly simple.  Habits lodge in the nervous system.  The way we cope, and the way we react to trauma, is best understood as a pattern that we maintain right now in our nervous systems - not as events in our history.

This framework has made a lot of sense to us in understanding our beloved, eccentric, and otherwise incomprehensible Teacup, a dog who needs soothing and swaddling.  Now, that same framework makes sense in understanding Zora.  Here's what I mean:

Zora's go-to position is arching backwards and looking above and behind her.  Sometimes she goes to this position when she is calm.  When I rock her (and sing Baba Hanuman - now easily into the hundreds of times), she often arches her head backwards and looks straight up at me with those bright blue eyes, eyebrows straining to open her eyes as wide as possible.  When we put her on her stomach at 6 days old, she was able to lift her head and turn it to either side - quite unusual for a newborn.

Perhaps she thinks she's a dog?

Arching is also her go-to position when she is upset.  She pushes away and arches her head and chest backwards.  (Somehow, I think this means we're in for it when she's a teenager.)

Understanding this somatically, it is hard to believe that she just learned these behaviors after she was born.  It seems more likely that she's been learning to arch for a while in utero - the pattern maintained in her nervous system in response to stimulus or stress.

So for us, it makes sense that Zora Gloria Lockman was born via cesarean birth.  The doctors that we talked to engaged in (what seemed like fairly unfounded) speculation about whether Melissa's fibroid (that was not even on her uterus) or the large amount of amniotic fluid kept Zora floating and prevented her from tucking her chin and engaging the back of her head.  While those things may well have an effect, no one could provide us any evidence that this was the case for Zora or that those factors generally prevent chin tucking.

More importantly for the way that I see the world (I don't want to speak for Melissa), that model turns Zora into a passive object tossed about by the peculiarities of Melissa's internal organs.  (Incidentally, the docs framed several other aspects of pregnancy - turning head down, dropping into the pelvis - as events about which we could only be passive even though there is empirical evidence that pregnant mamas can affect those things.)  Of course Zora was affected by Melissa's internal organs, but Zora was also becoming a separate organism.  She was organized separately from Melissa.  Late stage fetuses hear sounds, recognize voices, open their eyes, and respond to movements.  And part of the way Zora's nervous system organized was to arch.

Which brings me back to one of the first ways that I can understand my daughter.  Permit me some poetic license here; I don't actually think that she had conscious intention about her birth process.  Still, it makes for a nice story to help me make meaning about who my daughter is: Zora wanted to come into the world seeing where she was going.

Papa's perspective, part 1 (Grit and Grace)

Melissa's high school track and cross-country coach gave her an award for "Grit and Grace."  That combination of traits made her a champion runner.  Those same traits saw her through a grueling three-day labor with unusual double- and triple-peaked contractions, and eventually ending in a cesarean birth.


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Labor
Quick primer on dilation: 10 cm = time for mama to push baby out; 5 cm often means active labor; women can walk around a few centimeters dilated for a week or two before going into labor.  Melissa was 2 cm dilated at her check up a few days before starting labor.

First day and sleepless night:
Melissa thought that her water broke on Thursday (5/5) morning.  She became crampy, and had her first identifiable contractions around 1 pm.  Because we thought the water broke, we assumed we were on the clock for the birth (there is a concern of infection when labor takes too long after water breaking).  Melissa labored into the evening and night.  We went to the hospital at 4 am when her contractions were roughly 5 min apart (though still somewhat uneven).  Her water had not broken; in fact, there was so much amniotic fluid that Peach was floating too high and not engaged into Melissa's pelvis.  Melissa was 4 cm dilated.

Second day and (mostly) sleepless night:
Melissa has always been sensitive to people and emotions around her.  During her labor, this manifested by her body shutting down contractions when there was bad news or when medical personnel were not terribly sensitive.  So, around noon on Friday, when Melissa discovered that she was still only 4 cm dilated, her contractions stopped.  The hospital gave us the choice, and we decided to go home to continue her labor.  The doctors prescribed sleep medication, so Melissa got a couple of 30-45 minute stints of sleep in the afternoon.  At night, she had one blessed 4 hour stretch with no contractions; otherwise, they came every 15-20 min (making sleep difficult).  Melissa also couldn't eat (perhaps 12 crackers in 24 hours) because she was vomiting during some contractions.

Third day and sleepless night:
On Saturday, we returned to the hospital per instructions for tests to ensure that Peach was tolerating the contractions.  Lo and behold, Melissa was 7 cm dilated at 11 am, so the hospital told us to stay.  Melissa's water still hadn't broken, and the doctors refused to break it (concern that the baby was too high, so the cord could come down first).  They wanted to give her Pitocin to stimulate stronger contractions, but she refused this intervention.  Then came the killer contractions...

Melissa earned her appellation, Grit and Grace, in these hours.  Though we don't like the term, her contractions were "dysfunctional," probably as a result of so much fluid distending her uterus.  She had double and triple-peaked contractions, often lasting 4+ minutes.  There was generally no break between these monster contractions.  (Normal is 60-90 sec contractions w/ as much break in between).  Melissa was at her edge and could have broken down.  She didn't.  Melissa put her head down and made these low-pitched growls and roars, sounds I have never heard from her before.  We would call and repeat: I can do this; every contraction ends; opening; relax what you can; and occasionally, fuck Pitocin.

At 10 pm on Saturday, Melissa was still only 7-8 cm dilated.  Melissa was terribly discouraged and somewhat delirious from two nights of no sleep (on top of the marginal sleep for the last month of pregnancy) and no food.  Again, her body just shut down the contractions for a couple of hours.  The doctors still refused to break the water, and urged Pitocin.  Melissa agreed.  They kept upping the dose, but Melissa said that the Pitocin-induced contractions were mild in comparison with what she had been through.  It was hard to see how this would dilate her enough to deliver Peach.

Then, around 1 am, after 60 hours of grueling natural labor, Melissa was done.  I was concerned because her heart rate was riding very high, even between contractions.  We asked the doctor if she could get sleep medication to rest (or just try to rest naturally).  The doctor refused, reasoning that her labor needed to be progressing.  Thus, her choices were becoming increasingly steered by exhaustion and the yay or nay of the doctors.  The only option for getting some relief and rest was an epidural; at this point, Melissa heartily agreed.  She knew, and her support team knew, that she had reached the end of her extraordinary natural labor.

Interestingly, before the epidural was in, the doctor broke Melissa's water, without asking for her consent.  (More on this in another post.)  The contractions began coming hard and fast - and with regularity.  Alas, Melissa was into her third night of no sleep after many hard hours of contractions.  These were too much.  After a number of strong contractions, naturally induced by the broken water,  the epidural took effect.  It was 2:30 am.

At 5:30 am, I awoke to the doctors talking with Melissa.  Despite three hours of contractions - spurred by the water breaking and additional Pitocin, Melissa was still only 8 cm dilated.  Peach was presenting face first, and without the back of her head pushing on Melissa's cervix, it simply would not dilate.  The doctor tried to move Peach to get the back of her head to come down.  It may have been during this procedure (or perhaps something else - a little foggy here) that Peach's heart rate dropped.  We moved Melissa to her other side, then back to the first side, then hands and knees.  Peach's heart rate was still down.

Thus came the step at which medical teams excel: fast emergency procedures to save the baby (and mom).  They wheeled her down the hall to do a "splash and crash" - an emergency cesarean birth with the goal of 4 minutes from decision to baby out.  They said that I could come to the operation if things were settled.  They never called me.  I just stared down the hallway, wondering if our daughter would make it, if my wife would be okay.

Peach emerged from Melissa's belly at 5:51 am.  She was just fine, if a little bruised and scraped from being face first into Melissa's cervix.  She was under a warmer and crying when I came in to see her (Melissa was still being closed up).  I put my face to her forehead and sang, "You shall come out with joy," a song we sang to her in utero.  She stopped crying and looked around with those wide blue eyes - and hooked her Papa for good.  Melissa, you did it!  You birthed a wonderful baby girl, and there is nothing passive about this birth story!

Mother

Peach. A human in a human.

We've got some time yet. The doctors had our "due date" wrong. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew this, but it didn't become that important until I realized we were going to be pushed to have induced labor, which I really did NOT want for either of us. Induced labor can be harder on both of us and can end up in more problems than if we declare labor naturally. Which is what I hope we'll do sometime soon! Anyway, due date was yesterday instead of last week. So we have almost 2 weeks until that critical 42 weeks where it's important to get you out of me. I'm feeling like you'll come before that--things are definitely shifting in many ways.

This continues to be an amazing and contemplative time for me as I watch my belly literally quake and quiver with your movements. I sing to you and you move more. You push one of your appendages outward and Papa Mark pushes back on it and you push back even harder. Play. Let's play! And I swear Teacup enjoys having her face pressed up against your home more than she ever used to. This old dog seems to be hanging around to meet you. Come soon, Peach. She's an old old dog.

Peach, I've been thinking so much about my own Mama. Debbie. Deborah Jean Lockman. She carried me around in her belly for 40 weeks, just like I've done for you. I was the human in the human! She breathed for me for 40 weeks. She pumped blood for me for 40 weeks. She ate and drank for me for 40 weeks. 40 weeks, I have come to understand, is quite a good long time to stay dedicated to something. Mama built me out of her own tissue and energy. I can hardly believe she did that for me. And that was just the beginning. She did a lot more than that. She and my Papa loved me. They did their very best. And for whatever complaints I have voiced, mostly in some rebellious adolescent years, their very best was good. I am so grateful. So amazed. I was the human in the human, Peach, just like you now are the human in the human. And now 38 years later I feel like I'm realizing so vividly, so poignantly, what my mother did for me. She breathed for me for 40 weeks. Peach, I've been breathing for you for 40 weeks now. So gladly. So willingly. And this is just the beginning. I hope my very best efforts at parenting will be enough to launch you into a life of love and laughter and happiness.

Mama Debbie recently found the baby book she kept for and about me for the first five years of my life. She sent it to me in the mail. It is called "My Growing Up Book". I look at my mother's handwriting "Melissa finally (finally) rolled over today!" It is the same handwriting that I know so well from the many notes and letters I've seen over the years from my mother. But she was 24 when she wrote those words. I almost can't make sense of the fact that it is the same person who wrote those words 38 years ago who also wrote me a note last week and sent me some gifts for you. She was my mother when she wrote so excitedly about me rolling over. And she was my mother when she sent the care package last week. Same mother, same handwriting, same mother. Then. Now. Always. She documented all of those things that a mother might be excited about---first teeth, first time walking, what I got for my first birthday. She glued the pictures into the designated spots. Melissa at 1 year old, at 2, at 3......Me, a baby. I was the human in the human, Peach, just like now you are my little Peach human in a human. My mother did this too, this pregnancy adventure. All of our mothers did this. We were ALL the human in the human. ALL of our mothers breathed for us for 40 weeks. And birthed us. And began the journey of parenting us. So much hope. Babies give us so much hope. That we can get it right, that we can do just a little better, or a little different than our own parents. Yes, so much hope.  That you'll be happy. That you'll be happy to be alive, to be our child, to give this Planet Earth your best effort. That you'll live long. That we'll be friends long into our lives and beyond. 

Here are (a bunch!!!) of pictures of some of your family, Peach. Thanks to your uncle Mo for scanning these!

Mama Debbie!

Mama Melissa at about 15 months old.

Mama Melissa in the sink. 

Mama Melissa

Mama Melissa licking the cake bowl on her first birthday. 

Mama Debbie--how old? 5ish?

Mama Debbie and her big brother George. 

Mama Melissa and dog Zeek with Melissa's clothes on. Who did this?!

Mama Melissa is the baby--with Papa Larry and sisters Jody and Christy.

Family photo. Add in little brother Mark. 

Mama Debbie with baby Melissa.

Happy sisters Jody and Christy.

Hippee Mama Debbie in the garden. 

Hippee Papa Larry with Melissa on his shoulders.

Mama Debbie and Papa Larry's wedding. 

Mama Melissa and her cat Sunny.

Melissa and sister Jody.

Mama Debbie.

Mama Melissa with good old friends Jackson and Isaiah. 

Mama Melissa with Jackson.

Mama Debbie and Mama Melissa.

Mama Melissa sitting in the woodbox at Sunny Slopes Farm. 

Mama Melissa.

Mama Debbie. 

Mama Debbie and Papa Larry's wedding. 

Mama Debbie pregnant with Mama Melissa.

Mama Debbie and Mama Melissa.

Mama Debbie and Mama Melissa.

Mama Melissa sitting in the toy box Mama Debbie made for her. 

Papa Larry practicing unsafe biking with baby Melissa! Where's your helmet?!

Papa Larry with newborn Melissa.

Mama Melissa.

Family photo.

The Long Time Sunshine Song

Hello, Peach!

You are still floating about on the inside---a human in a human. It was suggested to me, by nursing staff, that maybe one reason you have not yet been sitting very low ("dropped") is that you seem to have an Olympic size swimming pool to float about in. I guess this enormous belly of mine has a LOT of amniotic fluid in it. So why would you want to lodge your head down into the pelvis when there's all this nice floating still to be had? Enjoy. I truly hope it is fun, that it feels good, that is comforts and holds you. From my perspective, the speculation about the copious amniotic fluid is reassuring--the size of my belly is not necessarily indicative of how large you are, Peach, as we together navigate getting you out of me!

Supposedly, according to our medical care team, you were due to emerge last Thursday. According to my own calculation based on menstrual cycles, you are "due" to emerge this coming Friday. What I've gathered from the friends I've made through this pregnancy is that we would do pregnant moms a favor if we would use "due months" rather than "due dates"--since it is very rare for due dates to be the day a child actually is born and in fact the average birth date for a first time momma is 40 weeks and 8 days---8 days later than the "due date". All of that said, these final days sure do have me wanting to meet you, Peach! I'm doing lots of things that are said to promote labor. I'm back at Dr. Pei's office this week as she is well known for her accupuncture being successful in inducing naturally. And while I actually feel fairly patient and I'm enjoying this little cushion of time that I have to not go to work, to read, to cook, to go to yoga classes every day, to nap with our Teacup, to do lots of walking, I also feel at every moment that it would be great to go into labor---I just have so much anticipation about who you are, who you will be, how mine and Papa's lives will change!

Peach, can I just put in my vote right now---I hope you sleep. I'm fully ready to nurse every hour for a while, to be tired tired tired, to accept that compromised sleep is part of parenthood. But eventually, I hope you are a good sleeper. I'd say there's a 50/50 chance. Your Papa sleeps like a rock. Your Mama does not. I'm thinking that if you are a good sleeper, maybe, just maybe, I'll get some too. Because it is most certainly not happening these days at all. Ah, I hope you sleep.

I've added in a song to the Peach In Utero Collection. This one is called the Long Time Sunshine Song. It is one of the gems that I have gathered at Yo Mama Yoga Studio (http://www.yomamaboulder.com/), a place where I have found so much support and collective wisdom and grounding throughout these 10 months with you, Peach. I love it that you will know, that you already know, the voices of Katie, of Kelly, of Faith, because you have listened to them teach, share, question, philosophize, comfort over and over again as they guide me and other pregnant mothers through the art of yoga and pregnancy. I will deeply miss pre-natal yoga with them---but we'll go to "Mommy and Me"--I promise! And at the end of every pre-natal class that Katie teaches, she plays the Long Time Sunshine Song. We all put our hands on the homes of our babies and we sing the song to you. And I haven't been able to sing it without tears until just very recently. I'm thinking that means I'm ready to meet you, Peach. Here is the song for anyone who wants to put this beautiful song into your heart. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1D3ejwQiVg) At the end of the song, Sat Nam, is repeated. This means I am truth.

I've been thinking about how fortunate I feel to have spent so much time already loving you, Peach. At Yo Mama, some of the teachers, and some of the second and third-time mamas have said, "You are only pregnant once." What they mean is that often it is only the first pregnancy that a mother gets to truly and deeply experience because when/if a second or third child comes along, there is much less time to pay attention to the process of pregnancy. So, Peach, you and I have had irreplaceable precious time together that will never come again. Again and again I come to gratitude. And be born soon, wouldja?

Acknowledging Team Peach

Peach,

What a fascinating transition time pregnancy has been! I know what I am leaving behind, but I can only imagine what lies ahead.

Today I was looking at the ultrasound picture of you when you were just 8 weeks old in my uterus. You were 1.7 cm long and the picture really just looks like a fuzzy blob. And then the pictures of you at 18 weeks are super-cute---a great picture of your little toes, another of your hand waving in front of your face. And now here we are. You are a little full grown human rolling around in your watery home that will be home for not more than another 2 weeks, and hopefully less! You are "due" to emerge on Thursday! 

Somehow, as this time comes closer, I keep wondering what you look like. Beautiful, without doubt! I suspect that you will be perfect, as I'm told all new parents have perfectly beautiful children!

Peach, you are loved. I want to tell you some about the love that surrounds you---Team Peach---the friends and family who will gather to welcome you to the open air. 

Team Peach consists of our friend and doula, Sutay, our friend Lisa, as well as Papa Mark and I. Our strong intention is to bring you into this world with love and support. The other part of Team Peach is are the three girlfriends who will be on call to hang out with dear Teacup while we are in Laborland. They are a key part of the team, because it would be very hard to truly let go and be fully present in Laborland knowing that Teacup were not in caring hands. 

I'd like to tell you more about this circle of love because they already love YOU. 

Sutay is an amazingly beautiful strong woman. She is married to our good friend Josh who Papa Mark and I worked with at Outward Bound back in NY. Sutay first saw birth as a women's health Peace Corps volunteer in Africa. Then she trained as a labor and delivery nurse here in the U.S. She then moved in to childbirth education and being a doula (http://www.yogasutay.com/index.html). It was a better fit for her to be part of the magic and mystery of pregnancy and childbirth rather than part of the medical procedures of obstetrics. We first met Sutay when Papa Mark was in the hospital out here in Colorado with his horribly broken leg. Sutay and Josh lived out here and they came to see us. Sutay has been a kind and informed guide for us, Peach. She has been a voice of reason and support when we've come home from prenatal "care" visits wondering if everything is OK. This pregnancy would have been much more stressful without her knowledge and perspective and love. She is eager to meet you!

Sutay with her daughter Zenlana.

The Bermans. Sutay holding Zenlana and Josh holding Shanti. 

 Lisa is a rock. We borrowed Lisa from some other friends, Jim and Claire. When we moved here to Boulder, Jim said we should meet his friend Lisa. We met her and we aren't giving her back. Lisa adores you already, Peach, and is going to be a fun and helpful part of our team. She's been at births with other friends of hers, not to mention at the births of her own three beautiful children (2 births----she has a couple of fabulous twins). Lisa is a smart, fun, creative, extroverted, exuberant, energetic lover of life. She has a beautiful smile that will be shining over your birth, Peach. How lucky we are!

Sarah, Mama Melissa, and Lisa.

And Sarah and Claire and Michelle are all going to be rotating through spending time with Teacup. Ah, Teacup. Peach, Papa and I will be better parents to you for what we've learned from these pooches, Glory and Teacup. Teacup is heroic. She has so many ailments, we really are not even sure how she could possibly still be hanging out here on Planet Earth. It truly seems like perhaps she wants to meet you. And so we are tending to her simultaneously frail and hardy form, giving her lots of love, and waiting to see if she really is going to overlap her life with yours. And what about these amazing gals who are willing to hang with the Teacup?

Sarah is dear. Sarah's partner is David, and David and Mark worked Outward Bound here in Colorado together. I could not be more happy to have met Sarah. Kind, thoughtful, creative, quick to laugh, and strong and deep in so many ways----from being a gifted river-runner and talented skier, to being a steady friend and partner when those close to her need her.

Claire is a law school buddy. What Claire and I have in common is that we both have husbands who work too hard at law school. Her husband is also Mark. Claire has been a good hiking and climbing buddy and is also eager to meet you, Peach. She is thoughtful, generous, sensitive, smart. And that she would come hang with Teacup is a big gift to us.

Michelle! A spark of a woman---from "down under" with so much to give and so much to say. She has been a lover of Teacup and Glory since she stayed with them for a whole week while Papa Mark and I visited the east coast last winter. What a dear friend. Really! These old dogs are not just an easy "dog-sitting" job. Nope. Michelle followed Teacup around with a teaspoon and soft dog food trying to get her to eat for the week. Michelle is a midwife back in her home country. Here in Boulder she is a mom, a nanny, a film editor, a climber, and just a vibrant vibrant soul.

Peach, these people love you and are ready to help us make your way in to this world smooth and joyous. You are loved.

April Come She Will

My Little Peach.

I can hardly believe we'll get to meet in person soon.

About 25 weeks ago, we sent out a message to friends and family saying "April Come She Will", meaning that we knew we would birth a baby, YOU!, in April. We didn't know at that time that you were forming into a little girl, but it was fun to refer to the that sweet Simon and Garfunkle song. Some friends wrote back immediately saying they were excited for us, and especially excited that we were having a girl (an assumption they made based on the song title). We had to write back and say we actually didn't know that for a fact. Well, here you come, little girl. We are ready to greet you and love you and walk side by side with you for the years to come.

I am settling in to your pending birth being a reality. I guess you really could come at any minute-------like right now as I sit at the computer and you kick and kick to the funky music playing and the clicking of the keyboard. I'm planning on working for another week------lots of paperwork to finish up before I'm off the hook there! If you came now, my administrative director would not be pleased with my unfinished business. But you've shown no signs so far-------aside from the size of your home (!!!) and the constant movement that tells me that you are a fully formed and active human just out of my sight under this opaque flesh that separates us!

The first weeks of pregnancy brought up so many questions and it inspired my determination to have "effective worry". The middle part of pregnancy brought more peaceful preparation. This final stretch has brought much more bodily discomfort and a bit of resurgence of the worry-mind. What have we chosen to do! What a commitment! Labor is imminent. I want so much to labor naturally with you, Peach, and there has been noise and fuss from the medical community about the possible need to have a cesarean delivery. It has come up again this week simply because you, My Little Peach, have not "dropped" yet. The doctors would like to see you a bit more readily positioned for labor---put your little nogin lower in my pelvis so that if your cozy little water sac-home ruptures, your head will block the way so that your umbillical cord, your lifeline, does not fall in there first and get caught. Ugh, a very very bad scenario. Ah, all the things the doctors would have me worry about! They are wondering why you haven't dropped yet. Something anatomical in me? What about the fact that you took your time getting in to a head-down position? Maybe you are just taking your time with this whole "dropping" process too. I am choosing not to worry. And I've doubled my walking routine (Tired feet!!!! I weigh, gulp, 180 pounds!) as part of my plan to  help you drop. And Papa Mark is in agreement. He's not worried about you. He said that you are very likely going to be a Taurus, and that you are perfectly in character to take things at your own pace. And he is smiling as he says this. And laughing at his own fate as he realizes that he may very well learn some very powerful lessons as he learns to live life at your pace rather than his (Fast!). 

Drop when you are ready, Peach. I can wait. 

It is April. We have been dreaming of you for over 38 weeks now. Come when you are ready. We are ready. 

Mama and Papa in front of our little home. Teacup's wagon in the background.  I'm sure she'll be happy to have you take it over!

Mama and Papa in the Open Space across the street. 

Mama and Lisa, key "Team Peach" member who will be attending your arrival!