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June 7, 2004
Poll of the Week Results:
How often to you manage to squeeze in few moments of Zen? (Total Votes: 9)
3 votes/33% - Every single day - I purposely meditate or create opportunities for private time at least once each day.
3 votes/33% - Once a week or so - life is busy, but I know I have to take care of myself in order to be the best woman and mother that I can be, so I make the time.
3 votes/33% - Hardly ever - I know I need it, but I can't seem to fit it in. I'm stressed and overwhelmed!
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Yikes, time really has a knack for getting away from me. I’m guessing you don’t care to hear the same old excuses that I’ve paraded in front of your patient eyes many times before – so I’ll just leave it as is. I’m terrible, I’m horrible, I’m unlikely to change – but I love it here anyway, so I’ll stay as long as they let me. :) So, while I’ve got you here, I’ll share a months worth of news with you, settle in and get comfy…
Bella News:
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My darling daughter is enamored with matching. This gal wouldn’t dream of pairing plaid with polka dots, or vertical stripes with paisley; such travesties of fashion would be an outrage in her young eyes. No, instead – coordination is a requirement, and autonomy is key. Her eyes always catch matching hues in her environment, whether the picture frame matches her hat, or the car in the parking lot is the exact shade as the thin stripe in her plaid dress – she does not miss a thing.
She pulled together an outfit one day this week that amazed even myself (wanna-be fashionista that I am). A pair of denim overalls with floral embroidery was the first item to be selected by her discerning eyes, and then she began perusing her closet for the necessary accoutrements to complete the ensemble. Not only did the pink T-shirt, hat and shoes she eventually (and after much deliberation) chose precisely match the main colour of the flowers on the overalls, but the large floral pattern on her Mary-Janes picked up the secondary aquamarine in the embroidery. Exactly. It was uncanny, really.
Of course, I have an inkling about the roots of this obsession. Just as an example, I was completely unnerved the other day when I found that Bella and her friend Nik, while innocently playing in her room, had mixed up the colours of Play-doh, so that what was once a collection of vibrant primary colours, all stored happily in their own separate bins (as nature and the manufacturer intended), was now a big mash of ugly brownish-purple. Honestly, I was unsettled for hours, it was just so wrong. Also – for someone who mostly lives in a state of perpetual disarray, you’d be amazed if you saw our closets. Everything is arranged by type, style, season and colour, and ALWAYS hung facing the same direction. Perhaps I’ve projected some of my anal quirks onto my innocent daughter; what on earth would a good therapist say about that?
You’d really think I put a lot of thought into dressing her, but in reality – I don’t even get a say in the matter. Bella likes to be in charge of her environment and so must choose everything. “I wanna pick” is a constant refrain in this house. She obviously realizes the power of choice, and exercises her will on the most seemingly unimportant things. Whoever said, “life is in the details” might well have had Bella in mind.
When we get dressed in the morning, I first ask if she wants a dress, or shirt and shorts/skirt. Once that decision is made we have to narrow the field. She drags her step stool to the closet and gazes at her wardrobe. “This one?” “ No…maybe this one?” “No, I don’t think so” (and so on and so on, talking to herself). We usually reach an impasse, where I have to threaten to take control (“Do you want Mommy to choose?”) and her hand will reach out decisively and select an item of clothing. This goes on every step of the way, right down to panties and socks. Even when the items of clothing in question are seemingly identical (two pairs of pristine white socks, for instance) both options must be considered, weighed, and ultimately, one rejected in favor of the other. The closest I can come to taking charge and shortening up this procedure is to pre-select two or three items of clothing from each category and give her the final say, but even that doesn’t always work.
This need for control extends beyond her clothes-closet. If we are having a sandwich, she has to choose the bread (not just the type of bread, but the actual slice). Cup of water? Bella must pick the sippy cup. Bowl for supper? Watch out if you don’t wait for her selection, if she wants pink, green just isn’t going to cut it. Ditto for spoons, bibs, snacks, music, teddy bears, barrettes, dancing suits, books, etc. etc, etc.
Even new items are subject to her ultimate approval before being accepted. Bella loves her friend Taylor, and just about anything that Taylor owns is automatically cool (peer-pressure already?). Well, Taylor has a pair of black clog-type shoes with chunky heels, and Bella loves to wear them whenever we visit. When I was out buying myself a pair of sneakers last week, I spotted a pair of brown shoes that were quite similar, and decided to bring them home, thinking that Bella would love them. When she woke up the next morning, and I gave her the shoebox, she tore into it with great excitement (what can I say, she is my daughter). She picked out the shoes (“They’re like Taylor’s, Mommy!), promptly put them on and went off to play. A short while later she came back downstairs with the shoes in her hands, “These shoes are brown, not black. They do not belong to me. Bring them back to the store.” and with a dismissive wave of her hand, turned to go back upstairs.
Is it any wonder I am starting to feel like hired help?
It is exasperating, amusing and time-consuming, but I like her independence and her desire to wrestle control away from the powers-that-be (that would be Sam and I, for now). I like to think that she’ll be decisive and know her own mind as she grows into adolescence and adulthood. At least, I sure hope – because otherwise this is just a pain in the butt, time-consuming irritation, all for nothing! :)
Baby Julianna
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As some of my long-time readers might remember, Julianna was one of the names we considered while pregnant with the baby who eventually became our Isabella. We’re not quite sure how she heard it, but Bella had latched on, not only to this name, but to the concept of a baby sister – and she’s pretty intrigued by the entire idea.
She talks about Julianna constantly. When we go shopping she likes to pick out presents for Julianna, she talks about what toys Julianna will like (“I think she likes my People”), what food she will eat (carrots and hummus of course), how they will play together (“We will run and run and run outside”) and where she will sleep (“In my bed mommy, we will always sleep TO-GEDDER”). Sometimes these running commentaries on ‘Life with Julianna’, keep her occupied forever!
Heaven forbid anyone suggest the baby might be a boy, or that it have a name other than Julianna - she will have none of it.
“What if our next baby is a boy, Bella?”, I ask.
“Still Julianna Mommy”, she replies – OR – “NO, I will have a little sister and I will be the big sister and I will LOVE HER”, in a tone that makes it clear there is no room for argument.
One day a while back we were driving home from a playdate, when the Martina McBride song “In My Daughter’s Eyes” began playing on the local country station.
“Mommy! Mommy! That is a song for when there is a baby in your belly”, she yelled excitedly.
“Is it?” I replied.
“Oooh Mommy” she said, in a dreamy and rapturous voice, “Maybe she will be my Julianna”.
“Maybe Bella, sometime next year we might have a baby girl, or a baby boy”
“No Mommy” (matter-of-factly this time) “I think she’ll be here on Monday.”
Sorry to disappoint, but babies just don’t come that quickly – and we have not even placed our order yet!
Kids Say the Darndest Things
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*The other week, while preparing to clean, I asked my sweet girlie if perhaps we might want to play some music. She stopped her activities for a moment to consider this suggestion, tiled her head thoughtfully to one side and said in the embarrassed tone of a teenager mortified by her parent’s total lack of coolness,
“Okay Mom. But can you Just. Not. Dance.”
Ouch!
*Yesterday Bella was playing upstairs while I was straightening up downstairs (I do that from time to time, you know). As usual, she was jabbering on to herself about this and that, and from time to time I could pick out fragments of the conversation. For the most part, she didn’t say anything all that surprising, but this one phrase stopped me in my tracks;
“That shouldn’t be a problem”, she said thoughtfully (I assume having a very important conversation with one of her dolls), “It is certainly a possibility”.
When did she get grownup enough to talk like that?
*This one actually happened a few months back, but I had forgotten to write about it. I try to be fairly good about my language in front of my wee lass (little pitchers, big ears, and all that) but obviously slip-ups sometimes occur. At the very least, I try to replace my drunken sailor expletives with a few more socially acceptable curses during those unavoidable situations where swearing just cannot be avoided (try stubbing your toe and not saying a word. Just try it. Impossible). Anyway, obviously Bella has picked up on one of my more frequent substitutions. I was talking to my father on the phone one day, and invited Bella to come say hello to her grandfather. She obligingly picked up the receiver, paused and said by way of greeting,
“Holy Crap Grampie. HO-LY CRRAAAP!”
Did I mention that my father is a minister? All I could say when I had regained control of the phone was that it could have been much, much worse. My father had to agree. Thank heavens for small favours, because there was the time she dropped something in the kitchen and yelled, “SUCK! SUCK! SUCK! ”….
Stay on Your Own Mat.
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Before you read this section – take a minute and visit Brooke’s (formerly of PT and BT) Blog over at Typepad and read the entry I have linked to below.
http://urbanearthmama.typepad.com/brooke/2004/05/motherhood_isnt.html
The entry begins with these wise words:
“My yoga teacher used to say, “You won’t find enlightenment on another person’s mat”. A gentle reminder to stay with our own experience – to embrace our own challenges and abilities, sorrows and blessings, weak arms or flexible thighs. That the task at hand was to learn from the union with our only true self, not distracted by other students. To be in peaceful acceptance of our own reality and not to compare or judge what is happening on the yoga mat next to us.”
I’ve read quite a lot on the internet over the past few years, diaries and blogs too numerous to count. I’ve learned, I’ve laughed, I’ve cried, but never before has one entry affected my daily life on such a profound level. The lesson is simple, yet staggeringly deep – and for some reason, the analogy Brooke used, in combination with the tragic story she told led to one of those moments where a message seems to integrate itself into my core so quietly and seamlessly that I almost don’t remember what things were like before it was a part of me.
I have to say; I’m pretty good at most of The Ten Commandments, all things considered. Yea, number three (the whole talking the Lord’s name in vain) has tripped me up a time or two, but the other ones seem fairly straightforward (no stealing, no murder, no false witness against my neighbour, no adultery, etc). I’m no Mother Theresa, and I’m familiar with the concept of original sin, but all in all, not so bad.
Number ten though, sheesh – number ten is tough.
Thou shalt not covet.
I admit it; I’m a coveter. I covet things, I covet physical attributes, I covet personality characteristics, I covet greater financial freedom. Yada, yada, yada. On the other hand, I’m also terribly guilty of making a comparison and arrogantly patting myself on the back for coming out ahead, in an attempt to mask my own deep-seated insecurities. I’m horribly, humbly human, and I’m not at all good at staying on my own mat.
I’ve long recognized this weakness inside of me, and have often tried to fight it. Each attempt was ultimately unsuccessful, until I read what Brooke wrote that day. After reading, I sat still in my computer chair for quite a few moments, and I swear I could actually physically feel myself understanding the truth of her words, and the lesson she shared, in a way I have never been able to before. As I contemplated what Brooke had written, I could feel an internal shift – and I knew in that instant that something would change for me.
The first step was becoming aware of how frequently I strayed from my own mat. The first day I decided to try this, I was floored to realize just how habitual this constant comparing myself with others really was. The refrain “Stay on your own mat” seemed to be in almost constant rotation through my head, and provided an excellent mental check whenever I began to drift outside my own reality and into the boundaries of someone else’s life. At first, it was a struggle to force myself back within the confines of my own space. I had to continuously remind myself to not peek to see how much weight that woman could bench press, gaze longingly at the new SUV a friend just purchased, or congratulate myself for being able to get Bella to bed in half the time it takes Sam. Then I had to purposely focus inward for a time until the urge, or the feeling of jealousy or self-congratulations had passed.
As days went by, it actually got easier and easier. I’ve gotten fairly good at identifying the situations that lead me to drift off my mat (the gym is a huge one). If I’m mindful, all it takes is a quick inner cue “Stay on your own mat”, and I’m back on track, focusing on my own goals, abilities and life – and not worrying about everything else around me. It still takes work, but it is so worth it. Brooke’s yoga teacher was right, enlightenment cannot be found on another person’s mat – and it is awful easy to drive yourself crazy trying. The worst part though, is what you loose with that futile attempt.
Brooke also writes:
“Watching someone else on their yoga mat is superficial and distracting. It distracts us from their human experience and it distracts us from following our own true purpose”
When I’m not persistently evaluating and judging my reality based on how it compares to that of the person standing next to me – I’ve actually got time and clarity to go further inward, to realize identify the root of my tendency to covet and to focus on the path I am meant to take. What a realization – what another person does or says or owns has NOTHING to do with me. Nothing at all. The comparison is meaningless because their reality is not connected to my own.
I’m actually getting to like my own mat. Funny how I never noticed just how wonderful it was, not until I stopped trying to see what all the others looked like.
Thank you Brooke!
This is what fit looks like.
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My quest for fitness continues, and I couldn’t be happier with my decision to join the YMCA. It has all the pluses of membership at a big commercial gym, with none of the drawbacks. I’ve been going to the gym three to six times a week, using the cardio machines for 45 minutes, taking yoga, spinning and abdominal classes and using the free weights. After a week or so as a member, I decided to splurge on one session with a personal trainer, and got more than my money’s worth.
Cathy is probably in her forties, but you’d never know it. She’s in incredible shape and is absolutely stunning (and wow, is she ever strong). On our first meeting, she measured my body fat (ugh) and talked to me about my goals, my schedule and the types of exercise I enjoyed. When we met again a few days later she supplied me with a 3-day/week workout, a 2-day/week workout, a 1-day/week workout (so I could fit in a full body exercise routine, no matter how busy my week was), a functional strength-training workout and an abdominal workout, all personalized to my fitness level and goals. We went over each exercise, with Cathy demonstrating the exercises I was unfamiliar with so that I could get comfortable with the movements. She will also do periodic body fat measurements, and adjust my program every six weeks so that I do not stagnate. Also included in the program was a weekly monitoring of my food diary (which I have not taken her up on – too embarrassed to be truthful on that one), and she’s promised to create an at-home workout for me to do when I am in Canada this summer. The only way I have to pay again is if I want her to actually hit the floor with me and oversee my workout – all the rest (regular updates and body fat analysis included) is built into the initial fee. Now that was money well spent.
With a plan in place, I was able to really commit to working out, and have not looked back since. My body has changed; I’m visibly more toned, and I’ve lost a few pounds. My energy level is greater, my mood has improved, my clothes fit better, and I’m just a tiny bit easier on myself. The biggest change of all, however, is in my mind.
I’ve written before about my struggles with body image. I’ve long held this vision in my head about what my own version of physical perfection looked like, and it has not changed much over the years, even though I have changed tremendously. I’ve grown, gotten married and had a child, but I still expected, on some level, that I should have maintained that pre-adolescent dancer look. Just like all the glossy images that shine back at me when I open a fashion magazine, I thought that fit only looked one way.
The Y has changed that for me.
One only has to look around in the morning at the Silver Sneaker Brigade to get it. These seniors come in, day after day, without fail. Some are thin and frail looking, some are that cuddly plump shape that the very best grandmothers always seem to be, some are more than slightly overweight, and a few are in darn good fighting shape. They’ve got gray hair, bifocals, canes and walkers, a few sprightly and spry, but most showing at least some of the physical effects of their age.
But they come.
They come for exercise class where they lift weights and get their hearts pumping, they come for the water-aerobics, the come to run (yes run) on the treadmill and lift weights in the weight-room. They would never make the pages of Shape or Men’s Fitness, but I dare anyone to tell me that they are not fit. And here is the clincher for me, they’re not trying to look like an image from a magazine, their motivation is much more significant than my eternal quest to fit into a certain size. They are there for their health, for the companionship provided by their fellow members, and for their spirits. It shows.
This is what fit looks like.
There is one woman in particular who has been an inspiration for me. She is one of those women of indeterminate age, she doesn’t look young by any means, but I’d be hard pressed to tell you exactly how old she might be. Mid-sixties? Seventy? Older? Impossible to tell. She has interval cards that she sets up on the treadmill to guide her workout, and she works it like you wouldn’t believe. She runs, she pumps up the incline, she sweats - and I am in awe. She hasn’t got a lick of fat anywhere on her upper body, and her arms are more defined than most women at that gym. My trainer told me that she started doing push-ups this year, does some almost every day. She can do 50, man-style, now. I can do five.
This is what fit looks like.
There’s another woman who I see from time to time. I have to admit, the first time I saw her, in her bra-style exercise top and short shorts, with rolls of flesh hanging over the waistband, and dimples of cellulite easily visible under her shorts, I was judgmental. I compared myself to her, and decided that I was somehow better. I had only been running for a few minutes when she arrived and hopped on the treadmill next to me. I was lost in my own little world, but remember being surprised when she pumped up the speed far beyond what I was capable of running (then I reminded myself to get back on my own mat). When I got off the treadmill after 45 minutes, completely spent and having used all my willpower to complete my workout, she was still running. I peered through the window some time later, as I worked through my weight routine, to see her still running, flying really, with sweat glistening over her Rubenesque figure and her hair plastered to hear head. She was beautiful, and I had an “A-ha moment”.
This is what fit looks like.
There is the morbidly obese woman who gamely lifts weights with her doting son. The hugely gravid pregnant lady who keeps herself in shape with cardio. The grandfatherly looking personal trainer who impresses me with his strength. The middle-aged woman, no string-bean by any means, who can put in an hour on the elliptical and still pump iron with the big boys. Gangly, pimply teenage boys with visions of impressing cheerleaders. Numerous stay-at-home moms doing their very best to meet their own personal goals. A few buffed and beautiful young-uns who lovingly gaze at their reflection. Couples who exercise together, friends who sweat and chat and laugh as a group. All sizes. All shapes. All ages.
This is what fit looks like.
I have learned something in the past few weeks that has eluded me my entire life, that physical fitness does not just come in one package. That bodies can be beautiful, and purposeful and healthy even when they look nothing like the celebrity ideal. That health cannot be measured by a weight range, a clothing size or a body fat calculation. I still battle my personal demons, no doubt about it, but they are quieter, at least for now, and on my good days I do a decent job of ignoring them altogether. I think maybe they’ve learned a lesson too, I know I have.
This IS what fit looks like.
Phoenix Birth Circle
Uniting Women Through The Common Bond of Birth
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That is what it says on the flyers I recently created for the first meeting of our brand new Birth Circle. I’ve long felt that Phoenix was sorely lacking in birth related resources, especially for women who wanted to empower themselves and take control of their birth experiences, or for women who needed support to process their experiences after the fact. Amy F (of Babies Today) originally introduced me to the concept of a Birth Network when she discovered a local Childbirth Collective during her pregnancy. I was immediately intrigued, but kept pushing that nagging voice that wanted me to take action to the back of my mind, there always seemed to be far more pressing things to do.
Last month, and email came through my local AP (Attachment Parenting for those not familiar with the lingo. I hate labels, but that is the easiest way to describe the group) email list from another Birth Junkie who was interested in starting a local Birth Circle. It took us forever to nail down a date when we could both fit in a meeting, but once we did things started to happen very quickly, and our first meeting is scheduled for this Thursday night. We’ve had far more interest than we anticipated, and I am so incredibly excited to play a role in bringing this much-needed recourse to local women.
To give you a better idea what the Birth Circle will be all about, I’ll include a few paragraphs from our flyer:
“The Birth Circle will be a safe, nonjudgmental forum to share experiences, ask questions, connect with members of the local birth community, or just to listen and be a part of the experience. All women with an interest in pregnancy and birth are welcome, including childbirth professionals, mothers, grandmothers, birth partners, pregnant women and those trying to conceive.
Eventually we hope to expand our Birth Circle to include classes, workshops, a referral program and much, much more – all working toward the goal of empowering women to take control of their births, to provide them with caring support, sound guidance, and evidence based information, and to create a safe place for encouragement, healing and connection.”
If you are from the Phoenix area, email me at phoenixdoula@yahoo.com for information. If any of my readers are involved in a similar organization, I would love to hear from you. I would also love feedback from anyone who wants to share what sort of information/resources you think you would have most appreciated during your pregnancy or in the post-partum period.
Bon-Voyage
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Bella and I leave on June 22nd for two months at home in Canada, I’m really looking forward to escaping this heat (110 degrees already for heavens sake). I’m excited about the trip, and about seeing family again after almost a year, but it is hard to accept that we won’t see Sam until the end of August. He is such a fantastic husband and father, we’ll miss him terribly – but he just can’t afford to take the vacation time right now. When we talk about going home, Bella always says “And Daddy too?”. When I reply that it will just be she and I she always looks sad, and a little perplexed, and says “But Mommy, I NEED him”.
On a positive note, I should get to meet up with Dawn and William (Toddlers Today) and Jen H and little Andrew (Babies Today), and there is a chance I might even finally get to meet the infamous Allisun (Moms Today)!
I might get to crank out another quick entry before I leave – but if you know me by now I’ll bet you feel comfortable placing money against it. I should have internet access my entire trip, and promise to stay in touch whenever I can.
Media Darling.
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Well – for the second time since Bella’s birth, I have been lucky enough to be featured in a birth-related story in a small local paper. When Bella was around nine months, someone was doing a story on homebirths, and contacted my midwife for an interview. The reporter ended up coming to my house and speaking to Pam and I about my experience. This time, the same reporter was doing an article on doulas, and I was the lucky one who got to be featured. I couldn’t find the article online, but I’m pasting it below in case anyone is interested in reading. I was really happy with the end result, even though I’m positive I sounded much more intelligent in person!
Will the Paparazzi be next?
Oh, baby!
West Valley doula helps women in labor
By Beth Kristin Ott
Staff writer
Jeanette LeBlanc has an addiction and she acknowledges it.
There’s no patch or pill to cure her craving. Instead, she has chosen to nurture the fixation and use it to help others.
The Glendale woman, a self-described “birth junkie”, became a doula to support women and families through childbirth.
After choosing to have her daughter with the care of a midwife in her home two years ago, LeBlanc decided she wanted to help others have their ideal birth situations.
“It is really guided by the couples’ needs, “ LeBlanc said. “I try to empower them enough prenatally to make whatever choices they can.”
Doula is a Greek word meaning “trusted servant.” A doula gives emotional, physical and informational support. They are not medical professionals.
“I’m the only one at a birth with nothing else to worry about except the needs of the family, “ LeBlanc said, “I’m not in charge of anyone’s health or anything else.”
LeBlanc has trained according to the standards of Doulas of North America. That includes a weekend training session, a childbirth class and assisting with three evaluated births.
Maya Fuke of Goodyear met LeBlanc at a childbirth class. Fuke recently had moved to the United States from Japan, and was pregnant with her first child.
“I felt so scared with my first birth and the language is so different, “ Fuke said. I thought I needed her help when I had a birth.”
LeBlanc was there when little Noel Fuke made her entrance into the world five months ago at Arrowhead Community Hospital. So far, LeBlanc has assisted only at hospital births, but she has an interest in home births, she said.
Just to be there when a baby makes their way into the world is … well, there are not words for it, “ LeBlanc said. “It’s such an honor to be with people at such a sacred time.”
A doula’s work
As a doula, LeBlanc helps women use various labor positions, even if they need to be on monitors. She does everything from give massages to get drinks.
She never interferes with a father’s role or the medical staff’s role, she said. She doesn’t give medical advice or speak on behalf of the mother to medical staff.
LeBlanc has supported families at eight births since last fall. She shows up during labour, be it day or night, with her bag of tricks. She brings everything from breath mints to massage tools to make mothers more comfortable.
“Women’s birth experience matters,” LeBlanc said. “Supporting the dads is a huge role, too.”
LeBlanc visits expectant parents at least twice during the pregnancy, assists during the birth and has at least one post-partum visit. She discusses breastfeeding and newborn care with parents. LeBlanc can be reached at ------------.
“I’m still in touch with all of my clients, “ she said. “It’s not about money for me.”
Doulas typically charge about $500. LeBlanc doesn’t have set fees. She works according to how much support a couple wants and what they can afford.
“It was so nice, “ Fuke said. “I love her job as a doula. If I have another baby, I will need her again.”
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Poll of the Week
How good are you at staying on your own mat?
-Very good: I’m content with my life and what other people have (or don’t have) really doesn’t factor into my own happiness.
-Not too bad: I have my weak areas – but I try to remind myself to always be grateful for my blessings.
-Not as good as I like: I find it easy to slip into coveting or self-congratulations. I’m working on it.
-Pretty bad: It seems I spend most of my time on other people’s mats. I’d really like to change, but it is an uphill battle.
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