My Ceiling is My Children’s Floor

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Whimsical, philosophical thoughts from a mother of nine.

The only thing that could kill a mother of a large family is trying to pair all the socks.

Raising children is not a default chore for women who were not successful in the world of power and wealth.

The existence of a joyful mother of nine confounds most people.

steve hanks

Children help you forget what is not important.

Relax. If it is not broken yet, it probably should be.

Laughter turns each tragedy into a comedy of errors.

My kids helped me discover who I really am.

Babies are not idiots; relate to them like intelligent people, albeit little people,

I became a baby whisperer.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Ingenuity and creativity are birthed in boredom.

Bored children never stay bored for long, so don’t worry about it. They will pick up a book or a pencil.

Ignore the bad and praise the good.

Don’t get upset over messes.

Pino Daeni

Mothers hold the future of society in their hearts.

I am not the centre of the universe but merely one part of a community called family.Discover joy in the plethora of little details that delight your children.

The joy of mothering is my call, my vocation and my witness to the modern world.

Closing the wings of my intellect and opening the wings of my heart.

This too will pass.

Let your baby love and nurture you.

All will be well in the end.

Is a Mother’s Life Her Own?

Is it true that once you have a child, you life is not your own?

A child’s whole world revolves around his mother for at least 3 years. In fact infants have no sense of an identity separate from their mother till after the “terrible two” are over. The bonding  between mother and baby is incredible; a baby’s cry is specifically designed to upset and jump-start  Mum into rushing to her infant. The milk let down reflex is even triggered by a cry which can be embarrassing if we dawdle.

This is not social conditioning; new mothers are startled to discover the joy, strong bonds and fierce protective instincts that spring into action the moment they hold their newborn. I had never held a baby, felt completely inadequate but the moment I cuddled my first-born I WAS a mother.

The first 20 minutes are crucial; having Dad in the birthing room and holding their new offspring is the reason fathers are more active in child rearing. I do not believe it is because 0f feminist influences. It is because fathers have bonded with their babies.

And the baby is wired to start this bonding practice. Nurses will point out to new parents that their newborn quickly turns towards the voices of their mother, father, siblings and even grandparents. Babies are focused on eyes and faces. Initially they can only see for about 8″ which is how far Mother’s face is while they nurse and are held.An infant’s rooting reflex kicks into gear moments after birth. Not only that, their instinctual hand grip is almost impossible to pry open.

This is not some anti-feminist rant. Even rabbits have an almost mystical bond with their babies. Baby bunnies put into a  water proof cage were submerged 50 feet down in a body of water yet the mother rabbit KNEW exactly when they woke up and cried out for her.

A demanding role for mothers but the sheer joy that comes with the job is incredible. There is nothing like it.

Scripture: John 12:24-26

24 Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.  25  He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.

By dying I did find life in Him. 

S

Protecting a Life in a Neonatal unit

Imagine that there is a gun pressed to your temple.

Pregnant with my seventh child, I was bedridden in the high-risk, neonatal wing of the maternity ward for a week while waiting for a housekeeper to come to run my home and help tend my six children. I faced 6 months of bed rest but that one week gave me perspective and kept me from sinking into self-pity. The other two women in my room were desperate to keep their babies in uteri and finally become mothers. One of the two had suffered five miscarriages. She was stuck in a ward room for months, only going home after the birth of her baby.

Secretly we all feared that we would lose our babies. Suddenly our fears materialized as a high-risk woman's baby died in her womb. That poor woman had to endure an induction and labour for hours, only to push out a dead baby. The pain in that wing of the hospital was tangible. Tears ran down women's' faces as they grieved with their neighbour. It did not matter none of us had even glimpsed her face. Nurses as well as patients mourned for a sister who was loosing her newborn. I became so nauseated with the awful vibes that pressed in on me that I ended up retching over the side of my bed with ice packs on my head to relieve a migraine. Thank God, after the delivery, they moved her to the maternity wing where she was given a free, private room. We all sighed with relief when the nurses told us that the hospital understood the need to shelter grieving mothers from others who cuddled and nursed their babies.

My generosity petered out after a few weeks at home. My only outing was to a high-risk appointment every week. Church was even out of the question, so Michael brought home communion and the readings each Sunday. I remained in prone position, eating while propped up on one elbow with my food cut into small pieces. The high-risk doctors let me use a regular toilet and have a quick shower every morning. In those days, we had one large, heavy T.V. in the living room, a black dial-up phone on the hall wall, no stereo system, no computer and the bedroom window was cloudy, so I could not look outside. In frustration I phoned my doctor one morning after my shower,

"But I don't feel sick. I feel fine and my kids need me!", I wailed.

My usually laid back, jovial doctor explained my situation in graphic detail,

" You have a huge clot, 4 cm thick, 6 cm, wide from the top of your womb where the placenta tore down your entire right side. The last time this happened at the Civic was two years ago to a woman who had four kids at home. They both almost died . We had to call the archbishop in to explain to her that it was more of a sin to her remaining children if she foolishly died along with her unborn child."

Listen to me. Keep this image in your mind. Imagine that here is a gun pressed to your temple, cocked waiting only for the slightest movement to set it off. Lay in bed and do not move!"

Well that got my attention.

The hardest aspect to my forced "vacation" was letting go of control of how strange women cleaned my home, washed laundry and made meals. I endured terrible cooks and inept, lazy house cleaners but at least my kids could still lay down beside me as I read to them and helped with homework. It almost seemed orchestrated because God seemed to delight in my inactivity; He had ample time to teach me to let go, trust and to allow others to serve me.

The end result of my confinement was a beautiful baby girl with huge black eyes and black hair that stood straight up. She is now a gentle artist/ philosopher whose dark eyes sparkle with life and joy.

A Conversation With My Doctor

After moving to the Ottawa  Valley with our first child, I became the patient  of a very feminist Doctor who was childless, although she did have tropical fish and a  parrot.
I was an enigma to her as she was to me. The waiting room was filled with well off, professional women needing gynaecological care and women in their late thirties or early forties pregnant with their first child. Then, I would walk through the door, at first pregnant with a toddler on my hip and by my last visit with three or four other children clustered around me. Even though I switched doctors to combine a family doctor/obstetrician, this woman went beyond the call of duty for all four births.

Enshrined on this doctor's desk and encased in glass waere birth control devices that glared at me every time I sat across from her.

After one visit, my obstetrician said, in a teasing tone, "Would you quit bringing your beautiful children to my office. Someone always wants a reversal (from tubal ligation) after you leave."

A similar comment about our kids came from a priest who said, "You and Michael are nice looking but you make absolutely beautiful babies!"

Pregnant with my fourth child, I came for a scheduled appointment even though labour had begun. I preferred to see her right away rather than wait for her at the hospital because I wanted to go home after visiting her office and put everything in order and arrange childcare.

Apparently babies are born faster, after a few pregnacies. I was not expecting my doctor's reaction, "This baby is coming soon. You don't have time to travel all the way home. Use the phone in the office, get a hold of your husband and get someone to meet him with the kids in the hospital parking lot and you go straight to admitting ahead of him."

I walked into the waiting room, called my brother-in-law and explained the situation, laughing at my self as I apologised to him. A contraction hit, I breathed through the pain and then gathered all the kids together and left her office for the hospital.

An hour later she bustled into the delivery room and announced, "Well you sure impressed my entire waiting room! Everyone thinks you are super woman."

Two hours later, standing with assistance and enduring long contractions that were turning my baby completely around,  I was anything but super woman. I wailed , "I thought you said this delivery was going to be fast!"

It didn't help that seven or eight student nurses, obstetrical residents and medical students stood in a half circle around me, watching a woman give birth without drugs or an epidural, to her fourth child. (I was not trying to be super mom, natural  birth was better for delivery because I could work with my body and therefore prevented tearing and stitches. I could sit cross-legged on the bed right after and feel wonderful and much lighter.)

My fifth birth was even faster.  On Christmas Eve we gave the kids baths in the afternoon, a tortiere was baking in the oven almost  ready for an early dinner and I had just laid out dresses, white tights, ribbons for the girls  and outfits for the boys to wear to church when the contractions started coming hard and fast. In fact I barely could get my boots on.  Michael drove very quickly to the hospital. When I stepped into admitting, the lights were dim, Christmas lights were shining on the tree and strung along the walls and two relaxed nurses were leaning against the counter.

 "So ", one of the nurses calmly asked, "Is this your first?"
" No", I gasped, "My fifth."
"Your Fifth?", her head jerked up and her eyes popped open. "Sandra, get the elevator right now and then grab a wheelchair. I'll phone obstetrics so they can get ready for her!!!"
Michael followed the parade carrying David who refused to stay with our baffled neighbour; Dad assumed he had time to take him back home.
 The obstetrical  nurse told him, You aren't going anywhere if you want to see this baby's birth. Give him to the desk clerk and tell her to give him crackers."  By the way, David thoroughly enjoyed his adoring fans out at the nurses' station. My dress was literally yanked over my head, my tights whipped off, the doctor ran in to the delivery room and Emily was born 45 minutes later.
 And my slightly baffled doctor STILL showed up within 20 minutes on Christmas Eve!!

MY Obstetrician: A Knight In SHINING Armour

Our family doctor, who was also my obstetrician, had warned us to come into town immediately with my first labour pains. My eighth child was going to be born quickly. Dr. H met me outside the hospital, helped me out of our old mini-bus, into a wheelchair and literally ran past admitting with a huge grin on his face yelling,

 “Sorry. No time to admit her. I’ll do the paperwork for her after the delivery. See you later!”
He was still chuckling in the elevator over the shocked expression on the admitting clerk’s face. We moved slowly out of the elevator onto the obstetrical floor and Dr. H peered around the corner to check the nursing station. My doctor sighed happily,
“Good. The head nurse is on coffee break and no one is in the natural birthing room. Olga is going to have a fit when she sees your stats on the board and that you are in here!”
He laughed loudly this time as we darted into the softly lit room. Michael walked in a little later, holding 18- month old Katie with her sunsuit on backwards, straps crossed across her chest. A nurse turned to me and said,
“Let me guess. Daddy dressed her.”
I smiled weakly in between labour pains because the nurse barely had time to check my vital signs before Anthony was born. Michael had pulled the curtain around my bed partly closed to block Katie’s view of the labour and delivery. Since she refused the cookie bribe offered by a nurse outside at the station, Katie was still with Michael. As soon as Anthony was born, my husband whipped the curtain open and passed Katie to a nurse so he could cut his son’s umbilical cord.
Michael turned to Dr. H and me as we beamed at each other over the birth of our beautiful baby and yet another successful, humane delivery despite the hospital’s regulations.
When I was pregnant with my sixth child, I went to my first appointment with our new family doctor and now my new obstetrician. He asked me why I was changing doctors and I sighed,
“I just can’t face my old obstetrician with a sixth pregnancy.”
“And who IS this doctor?” He questioned.
“Actually it was Dr. E.”
Well, my new doctor threw his head back and started to laugh,
“She’s a good obstetrician. Her only problem is that she owns a parrot, tropical fish and an expensive horse but doesn’t have any kids. I can understand your problem with her.”
That was the beginning of a wonderful 24 year friendship with our dedicated health care provider. Two of the next four pregnancies high risk. That meant weekly ultra-sounds and check-ups with the high risk doctor in the hospital. My doctor waited, often after office hours, for me to stop in after hospital appointments to get his weekly update. Dr. H explained,
“They would LOVE to get their hands on you. Don’t let them TOUCH you without checking in with me first!”
From my first visit with Dr. H, I no longer had to don protective armour for my emotions before each obstetrical appointment. HE protected my unborn child, my growing children, Michael but most especially me.
This doctor does not follow common procedure mindlessly but uses commonsense (learned from Newfoundland midwives), intelligence (he is an associate professor at the university, an old-fashioned sense of service (he mentors countless med students and residents and is ALWAYS on call for his obstetrical patients) and compassion (he has an uncanny ability to listen and understand each patient).
Best of all, this medical knight in shining armour celebrates each birth with incredible joy.