the first forty days . . .

we're approaching six weeks since he made his smooth and swift entry into the world. even though he is now living, breathing and existing as his own person, in many ways it is like we're still one. he is constantly in my arms or on my chest. always feeding. warm, cozy and close. just like he was in the womb. still connected.

his birth is still fresh in my mind. it was amazing (i think all births are). i was ready and waiting. everything was prepared. when the time came it all happened quickly and calmly. i felt conscious. open. present. knowing there was something greater than me in charge. the pregnancy was challenging and the recovery painful, but the birth was wonderful. nothing compares to that intensity and power. i'm a bit sad that i won't be experiencing it again. 

it has felt so good to have energy again after being so depleted for the nine months of pregnancy. some days after breakfast, and after aila is dropped at school, i take a walk with my boys. out in the crisp fresh air. up and down hills. it's good to get moving again after so many sedentary months. the salt water has also been calling. last weekend i managed to swim a few laps of 'the pool' in the late afternoon. the best kind of therapy for my body and mind.

life with a newborn is delicious and joyful. it's also intense. we can swing from calm to chaos and back again, in the blink of an eye. sam has been away for work twice since oscar was born. just for three days each time. but those three days parenting three small people stretch me to my absolute physical and emotional limits. it makes me appreciate all he does, all the more. 

for the past few months my tendency has been to just cosy up in my hilltop hermitage. meeting the basic needs of my people feels like about as much as i can handle right now. winter is the time to go within. to rest and replenish. and that's exactly what we've been doing. 

: :

oscar is wearing a swaddle up organic ~ a gift from love to dream. those clever 'wings' look a little crazy, but work like a charm. he gets to keep his arms up (like he prefers), the startle reflex is tamed and he doesn't come unwrapped like he would with a blanket. the additional merino layer, with all the natural benefits off wool, keeps him extra snug and warm during these winter months.

 

the first week | babymooning . . .

inspecting tiny fingers and toes. a button nose. rarely venturing far from my bed {there's some healing to be done.} eating meals on a tray. i read. i knit. i sleep. mostly i gaze at my new baby. inhale that heavenly smell. friends drop by with flowers from their garden. a pot of soup. some freshly baked bread. the blind is open slightly. the light is soft. sam works in the garden. two little helpers in tow. they pop in from time to time. kisses for their new brother. a prod and a poke. a cuddle with mum. moments of chaos. moments of calm. there are phone calls and messages. a fridge full of nourishing meals. we shed a few tears. happy and sad. finding our way. a family of five. getting to know our new baby. falling in love.

introducing oscar . . .

oscar napier

born 16th may 2013

at 6:10am

9lb 10oz ~ 4.365kgs

: :

after a long wait, our gorgeous boy made a smooth and swift entrance into the world early on thursday morning.

he is divine. my heart feels full. 

oscar took his first breath just before sunrise and that night my grandfather took his last. 

birth and death. the circle of life. 

ripe and ready . . .

i've slipped into that serene space between now and baby. watching and waiting. anticipating something big and exciting on the horizon, but not knowing when. hyper sensitive to every little niggle and twinge. wondering if it will be hours, days or weeks away. 

: :

the acupuncturist thinks there's a baby girl inside {he's known around town for his accurate predictions}.

the year that was . . .

in 2010 i moved to a little town by the sea. grew a human. drank lots of tea. became a mac convert. experienced an empowering home birth. walked on the beach. grew some veggies. discovered and relished in the steiner rhythm. got back to nature. found joy in the simple stuff. was uplifted by new friends. swam in the sea. walked in the forrest. dreamed and sketched up house plans. watched in wonderment as my babies grew. delighted in my husband's new work arrangements. moved house twice. wondered what i'd do without my mum. enjoyed being a country girl again. found my happy place.

: :

his story...

i read a lot of birth stories

in the lead up to elliot's birth

tales of courage and strength

beauty and triumph

today you can read

elliot's own story

over at the ever inspiring

marvelous kiddo

: :

this is his favourite place to sleep

on me, head nestled between my {his} boobs

everybody needs a bosom for a pillow

swim ...

he's 5 months old today

we took him for a swim

this morning

and he loved it ~

my little water baby

: :

The birth of Elliot James...

Elliot, my baby boy, this is the story of your birth-day. That wonderful winter’s day when you came into our life . . .

I was sure you would arrive in the last week of May. Your big sister was born a week early and I imagined you would be too. I was certain you would come with the full moon and we made sure everything was set up, ready and waiting.

… and wait we did.

I imagined you would arrive in the night. During stormy weather. My winter baby. So every night I lay wide awake imagining signs of your imminent arrival, convinced that every twinge was it.

We were very lucky to have your Nanny (my mum) staying with us. Our very own, live in, natural therapist. We try to coax you out in almost every way possible. Acupressure. Reflexology. Bowen Therapy. Pineapple. Clary Sage. Raspberry Leaf Tea. Hot Curry. Long walks.

“Don’t push the river, it flows by itself” Words pinned to the wall as a constant reminder. . . but I was anxious to meet you. We all were.

Your Nanny and I knitted and sewed the days away. A futile attempt to distract ourselves from the waiting.

Then after three weeks of intense Braxton Hicks, and six days after your due date, I feel that first real contraction. It is 8am on a beautiful crisp blue sky winter’s morning.

I hear your Daddy leaving for work and decide to keep the news of your imminent arrival to myself. The twinges are irregular and not too intense. I get out of bed. Nanny and your big sister, Aila, are up and about, preparing for our weekly swimming session.

Nanny offers to take Aila swimming. I am thankful. I need some time alone to prepare the nest and prepare my mind. I hustle them out the door, not mentioning what is about to unfold. Only the two of us know you are on your way.

I get things organised. Have a shower. Put wood on the fire. Play some tunes. Most of the contractions are subtle, but we need to dance our way through a few. I put on the same dress I wore when I laboured with your sister. (I later discover that your Daddy had on the same t-shirt he wore at your sister’s birth)

At about 10.30am I call your Daddy. He should be the first to know you are coming. I tell him to keep his phone close. Things are happening, but it could still be a while off.

Nanny and Aila arrive home at about 11:15am. I walk outside to greet them. Barely able to keep the grin off my face. I whisper in your sister’s ear and she announces to Nanny “Mum’s got pains in her tummy!”

Nanny bursts into action, just like I knew she would. She’s busy getting organised and calling your Daddy home … then things start to heat up and the contractions become more intense, like my body knows it is ok to get going now that my people are there.

I leave a phone message and text for Serafine, my midwife, saying I “think” that “maybe” something is happening. Still in denial.

I assume my position on the birthing ball. Every time I attempt to move from here the contractions seem less manageable. So there I stay.

The birthing pool is filled up. I remained in denial that this is actually it. Your Daddy scampers here and scampers there. Even more of a ball of energy and busyness than usual.

Aila has her lunch then goes down for a sleep. In a short period of time I go from being ravenously hungry to not able to consider the thought of food. This must be established labour.

Then as if to confirm I am in established labour I throw up.

Your Daddy boils hot towels. Scalding hot. He picks them up with tongs and I grab them with my bare hands and slap them on my belly. Your Nanny strokes my hair.

Serafine calls and says she is on her way. About half an hour away. She arrives at around 1:30pm. At 4cm we decide I am far enough progressed to get into the water.

Relaxing, soothing water. Bliss.

… and now I decide I need cold towels. Ice cold. Can’t get them cold enough.

I moved around trying to find the best position. It ends up being on my knees hanging over the side of the pool. Serafine offers some gentle advice. I concentrate on removing myself from the sensation of the rushes and not fighting them. It helps a lot.

Your sister wakes up. She’s fine with what’s going on, kicking back on a mattress watching the show. But I find that with her there, I can’t concentrate on the job at hand. She goes outside with Nanny to play in the sandpit.

The noises are unexpected. I never imagined I could be so vocal. Moaning and groaning through each contraction. There’s no way I can not make the noises.

Another purge. A big empty out. Transition?

Waters break and some of the pressure eases.

And then not long after this the noises change. Primal noises. This must be pushing. I let my body do what it needs to.

In my mind I recall people saying second baby’s are out in a couple of pushes. But the pushing goes on. And on. I rest my head on the side of the pool between each contraction. The noises grow louder and my body pushes harder.

I reach down and can feel your head. Perhaps you’re not that far away after all.

I cling to your Daddy’s hands and can’t stand it when he’s not there for a contraction. He repeatedly makes references to running marathons. His closest association to what I’m going through. Each time he receives a “sssshhhhh” in response.

Serafine starts to build the “nest” on a mattress on the floor. From somewhere I muster the energy and words to tell her “Not the Laura Ashley sheets. The old sheets in the basket.” I figure that surely I can’t be that close to the end if I’m worried about sheets!

In spite of a whole lot of noise making, I actually feel good and in control. For one contraction I look into your Daddy’s eyes. He looks so helpless and worried for me. Close to tears. I feel the need to assure him that I’m really ok.

I remember some words from a friend. Her baby girl, born in the same pool just months earlier, had birthed quickly after she turned over into a squatting position. My body is telling me that’s what I need to do.

So I roll over and your Daddy holds me from behind under my arms. I have sore armpits for days after. Within a couple of ROARING contractions and some pants I feel the burn, and then the tear, then your head is out. We’re nearly there.

We call your Nanny and sister in from outside. The dog comes in too, wagging his tail, keen to see what all the excitement and noise is about.

One more push and you’re here. “Pick up your baby Rachel” I hear.

Then there you are. The baby boy I always knew you were. Perfect in every way.

: :

Elliot James was born at 3:45pm on 10 June 2010 weighing 9lb 8oz. The third stage was straightforward and effortless. Delayed cord cutting and then a quick trip to the hospital to deal with a third degree tear. Dinner from our favourite burger joint, then home and into our nest in front of the fire, where we spend the next week.

his story. . .

There is something so powerful and beautiful about a birth story.

I read many in the lead up to Elliot's birth.

Inspiring and empowering.

Every one unique.

... and now as I reflect and compose the story of his birth,
I feel the pure, sweet joy comes flooding back.

I'm looking forward to sharing it with you soon.

: :

introducing...

Elliot James

born at home in the water

on Thursday 10.6.10

at 3.45pm

4.3kg ~ 9lb 8oz

: :

Happy Days!

beautiful beads. . .

I put a call out last week to friends and family,
far and wide, to send beads for my Blessingway.

To be strung together as birthing beads,
for strength and focus during my labour.

This week the mailbox has been filled with beautiful beads
and heartfelt messages of support and love.

Enough to make this hormonally charged girl shed a few tears.

So good to feel connected to all the wonderful women in my life right now.

: :