Roles and Expectations: On Being a Housewife.

So the time has come to finally start using this blog.  Like, for self expression and stuff.

Byron will be 5 months old on Friday, and oh, how he grows.  He talks and kicks and stands and bounces and is moving quickly toward sitting on his own.  He has grown slowly more independent by the day and I am in awe of his changing body, moods and mind.  I am so deeply in love with this little man.

Tim and I are doing well as a couple and parenting team.  Our communication is strong and we have worked hard to stay emotionally and mentally connected during this transition into parenting.  Last night, our fantastic neighbors watched Jack Byron long enough for us to go on a date.  We went out to watch "Guardians of the Galaxy", which both of us loved, then grabbed burgers and beer before coming home to a happy little man.  It was wonderful to have the time and space to just be "Rosie and Tim".  It has been a joy and a privilege to see Tim as a father.   I love this man.

And then there is me.  I'm a mama now.  I have this little child who is dependent on me for his every physical, emotional and social need.  I love this new role.  I love him.  But it has been a transition.  When Tim and I moved out to Madison, it was for Tim's job.  Madison gave us an opportunity for Tim to grow in his career and, initially, I thought it would bring opportunity to me as well.  I left a job I loved and felt appreciated and respected in.  We left family and friends.  It was a complete leap of faith, and while Tim is growing and thriving in his job, I have suddenly found myself a housewife.  Yeah, that's right....I'm a housewife.  I stay home with the baby, cook and clean, do the groceries, feed the cats, keep the social calender, attend much needed mommy-baby groups and live up to every expectation of a 1950s stay-at-home-mom.  This may not be politically correct, and people may argue that my role is much bigger then that, but for now, this is how I see myself.  And you know what?  I'm ok with it.  For now, this is ok.  I have decided to practice radical acceptance of my current standing.

I have some small music therapy contracts on the horizon to "keep me in the game", but I have found it difficult to balance the cost of childcare with my income potential and piecemeal schedule in private practice.  While I hold a Masters degree and several licenses...and the debt to prove it... they don't count for much in this market and professional culture.  I continue to look for professional opportunities, but for now...I'm a housewife.

That being said, I am growing in totally new ways now.  I have learned to let go of my need to follow a rigid and consistent schedule.  My schedule is now dictated by my son's needs.  I have learned to be accountable to myself for my sense of success and happiness.  I have learned to slow down and focus on the smaller things, like a smile, or the life-cycle of the wildflowers in the park, or the ecstasy of having enough time to do the dishes AND cook a full meal before Byron needs to be held again.  This time is fleeting.  In a few years, I will be in a new phase of life.  I will eventually find a job that works for our family.  Byron will not always be a helpless and endlessly delicious infant.  While I would like to contribute to the family finances, I now contribute in a different way.  I must now be comfortable with myself in totally new roles...and that's ok.  There is much joy and love in this work too.

Jack Byron's Birth Story

Jack Byron BragdonCyr was born into this world at 6:08am, just as the sun rose over Madison, WI.

The story of Byron’s birth begins with a phase of transition.  In summer of 2012 we were experiencing a great deal of change in our lives.  Tim had left graduate school the previous fall and was continuing to search for gainful employment while adjuncting, teaching, and tutoring in the Boston area.  My parent’s had sold my childhood home and were building a new house in my hometown.  Our sense of home and belonging was shifting and we found ourselves in a constant state of flux, physically, emotionally and financially.   We suddenly found ourselves on another path we hadn’t anticipated.  Tim was offered a job 1000 miles away, and we took it.  We wanted a family and some security in our financial future, and this new opportunity offered us a chance of obtaining our goals.  On January 1^st 2013, we drove off with our worldly possessions in the back of a 16 foot Penske truck.  Tim moved into a sublet in downtown Madison, WI, and I flew back 4 days later to our empty apartment to finish out the 4 months I had left in my licensing requirements at work.  For the winter, we lived half a country apart.  In May, I again loaded what I could fit in the back of my 2 door coup and made my second trip along I90 to my new life with Tim in Madison.  3  weeks later, I was pregnant. 

After an easy and uneventful pregnancy, I found myself at 41 weeks with signs of impending labor.  I had read about natural childbirth extensively throughout my pregnancy and knew that I wanted a completely un-medicated childbirth experience with no medical interventions.  My “birth plan” was clear and I was absolutely SURE that labor and birth would go as I wished.  I envisioned going into labor in the darkest hours of night.  I would listen to quiet music and pace through our peaceful home, singing, petting the cats and baking wholesome banana muffins for the hospital staff.  We would call our doula just after dawn and she would coach me through active labor as I toned quietly and rocked on my labor ball.  Then, just before I reached transition, I would calmly and gracefully step into the car.  We would drive to the hospital just in time for me to elegantly push our child into the world.   Yes.  Yes, of course THIS would be EXACTLY how labor and delivery would go.  I was confident of that. 

 

Well… no.  It quickly became apparent that my visions of birth and motherhood needed a hearty dose of flexibility and realism. 

At 42 weeks, after a week of daily observation and monitoring, walking, evening primerose oil and praying to the Universe, it was time to be induced.  At that point our only choice (according to our health insurance and doctors) was to be induced via pitocin or sign away our medical care.  We chose the pitocin. 

We arrived at St. Mary’s Hospital at 1pm on Friday, March 7^th after a hearty lunch of bagels and lox.  We were brought into our large birthing suite and we settled in, decorating the room with my birth shrine and filling the air with music from one of my many birth playlists.  We brought chocolate to share with the staff, a jade plant, a carved labradorite bear (my spirit animal), a Bread and Puppet print reading "Courage", and lavender massage oil.  We were set. 

At 2pm my pitocin drip was started.  Because my cervix was 3 cm dilated and soft, and the baby was still high, we decided that this was the safest induction method available to us.

The wait began.

After 2 hours on pitocin, and no signs of labor, I felt convinced that I would be the one person on earth who was immune to pitocin.  Labor would never start and I would just be pregnant forever.  We did what we could to pass the time, talking, pacing the halls of the labor and delivery unit, listening to music.  Around 5:45 we sent out doula home and I asked my mom and Tim to leave for a bit so that I could have some space.  I read quietly and centered myself, relaxing my body in hopes that things would start up without an audience.  In the following hours our new nurse, Lauren, arrived.  Mom brought back movies from home and we settled in for the long night ahead.

As night set in, I decided that it was time to watch a movie.  I had been having light, crampy sensations in my back and was looking for a distraction.  We popped in Napoleon Dynamite and I watched while bouncing on my labor ball.   Half way through, active labor began to set in.  The back pains were intensifying and I could no longer focus on the movie.  Around 10pm, I found myself kneeling over my labor ball and moaning through a contraction and Tim applied pressure to my back.  It was time.

Labor sucked and was horrible. HORRIBLE.  Each contraction came in rolling, crashing waves.  Contractions on contraction on contraction,  All in my back.  All night.  Tim applied counter pressure to my back the entire night, pushing firmly against my spine with each cluster of tsunami waves. He was amazing and stayed by my side the entire labor.  We worked together through it all and, for that, I am incredibly thankful.

Early on in labor, I began to tone in a low drone as each contraction, pushing my energy down and through my pelvis.  It gave me focus and soothed my body with sound and inner vibration.  The tub was my favorite spot to be, the warm water offering comfort and soothing the intensity of the labor pains.  In the tub, I would tone, hearing my voice bouncing off the tile walls and surrounding me with sound.  Tim would tone with me, encouraging my voice to go lower and supporting my own tones.   At one point, Tim thought he saw a pattern in my contractions and began to count out loud.  This infuriated me, and I screamed at him “NO counting, there is NO room for science here!”.   He stopped, everyone in the other room laughed. 

Tim: It really was 100 seconds total from start of the sensation—20 seconds to intense pain—80 seconds in and it would subside. 20 seconds to relaxed. Looking at the monitor when we got back, I could see the waves.  I thought we got past whatever hellish tsunami of contractions was breaking, but we had to get out of the tub for fetal monitoring. Our nurse was really understanding—all of the providers were really reaffirming and professional.  But it is necessary to continually  monitor the baby throughout a pitocin induction. They let us get by with intermittent actual signal continuously sampling monitoring. This compromise kept at bay the need to do internal monitoring attached to the baby’s scalp. I definitely fought for it with my efforts providing counter pressure massages with holding the monitor on the baby’s heart beat.

Throughout the night I moved from the tub, to the bed, to the labor ball.   My incredible support team gave me the freedom and confidence to move about freely and trust my internal instincts.  As labor progressed, the intensity began to overtake me.  I would scream through contractions.   The pain felt primal and all consuming.  My doula would place cool wash-cloths on my face, which I would quickly grab and whip wildly in the air. While I was still cognitively aware of myself and the situation, outwardly I appeared to be in a different zone.  I was an animal.  I howled and screamed and writhed in pain. It was the best and worst experience of my entire life. 

Music was an incredibly grounding force for me.  Tim would diligently change my playlists and make sure I had songs to focus on.  I would focus on the music while laboring on the bed, knowing that by the end of the song, I would be that much closer to meeting our baby.  In the scariest hours, a song that was not in any of my music collections came to me.  Florence and The Machine’s “Shake It Out”.  In my head I repeatedly heard “It’s always darkest before the dawn” and I clung to the lyrics like a prayer.  Tim supported my body.  My doula, Ali encouraged and inspired me to push on.  Our nurse, Lauren, provided quiet support and advocacy.  My mom stayed by my side.  There was nothing she could do for me in those moments, but I just needed her there. 

Around 4am, I gave up.  I couldn’t do it any more and I was at my absolute wits end.  I lost faith in my body and I begged for the pitocin to be turned off and for an epidural to be started.  My nurse had been turning down the pitocin all night, and by then, I was on a small dose, but the contractions were too much for be to bare.   As I had previously instructed them to do, they put me off, coaxing me to endure the next contractions as best I could.   But I broke and said my “safe word” (Valentine) and screamed for relief.  My doula encouraged me to change positions as our nurse checked me and began the process.  What I did not realize at the time was that I was dilated 8cm and too far-gone for an epidural.  I got on my hands and knees on the bed, leaning over my birth ball for support, and then, by some miracle of nature (or perhaps with the help of the previous cervical check) my water broke, all over the bed.  Wet and wild.  

Tim: It was an unbelievable transition. It was an amazing moment. Prior to this event Lauren suggested positions. One involved RoseAnna sitting on her ball; I sat on the bed, and reached down while Alli countued pressure on the lower part of her back. After her water broke, Lauren recommended a hanging position where RoseAnna would use my arms and legs to support her while I sat in the bed. This move Jack Byron further down—still 8 cm—I thought, oh wow, it could still be hours of labor ahead. I am sure RoseAnna’s mother felt the same. Before the sac bursting, I could sense Ginette’s fear for her baby, and it was really challenging to keep present for RoseAnna. The main fact that kept me from caving was Rosie’s toning. She would go through an intense contraction, and come out of it humming while she breathed and fought for rest.

The contraction suddenly stopped, and for the first time in hours, I felt a break.  I immediately wanted to know if the fluid was clear, and it was!  YAY!   It was a turning point. 

I knew that I could push on at this point.   Suddenly the whole process felt more manageable and an obvious sense of relief washed over all of us in the room.  At this point, I felt determined to get this baby OUT of my BODY.  Each contraction came in one huge wave at this point, with a minute or so of break in-between.  I even fell asleep while sitting on the birthing ball a few times. 

With each contraction, I would move my body, leaning and twisting.  Tim sat on the bed up above me and held my hands as I leaned back on the ball, moving the baby down and under my pubic bone.  Each movement was pure intuition, and while I still had control over my body, it was a far more primal force moving it.   At 5:30 I began to feel the urge to push.  I was 8.5cm dilated with the baby low in my pelvis.  I was given the go-ahead to do light pushs and breath through the pressure to help the baby continue to move down.  Soon, I started to push harder.   I would bare down, as if to turn my body inside out.  The force was incredible and empowering to feel.  At 5:56 Dr. Waters came in, thinking he had plenty of time before the baby was born.   By body’s force had other ideas.  With another push, Jack Byron’s head began to crown.  A couple pushes later, his head emerged as I watched in the mirror.  I was asked to breath through the next urge in order to unwind the umbilical cord from his neck. 

Tim: The doctor, Dr. Waters, was so casual about it, but I watched him unwind the cord. RoseAnna had an amazing ability to keep Byron there, and…

Then, an instant later, I pushed our baby into the world.  He was born at 6:08am on Saturday, March 8th, just as the sun began to appear on the horizon.  

A new life dawned.