I have had home births for my last 6 kids, so it’s fair to say I have some experience with the process. With those births, I had three different midwives, and gave birth in two different homes. I gave birth with Medicaid, MVP, CDPHP, and MVP again. I gave birth in bathrooms, a living room, and a bedroom. On a birthing stool. Labored in a tub. Cut the cord. Had my husband do it. With doulas and without. With other kids in the room and without. Gave birth with my husband by my side, and with him downstairs taking care of the other kids, thinking we still had some time before the baby came.
I have prepped my house and gone over the supply list. I have had home visits from my midwives, and I have gone to their offices. I have read birth books to prepare that left me feeling strong and ready. I’ve read birth books that terrified me, put me off, or annoyed me (and after searching for all those links, I’m sure Amazon is convinced I am pregnant again. False alarm.)
From time to time, folks who know about my experience will ask if they can give my info to a friend who is considering home birth. I always say yes. I have had overwhelmingly positive experiences with my births, and if I can encourage another person or give them the information they need to consider a home birth for themselves, I am all over it.
Recently, one such mama called me after getting my number from a mutual friend.
I remember a time when I was very little, riding in the car on MLK day with tons of tiny braids in my hair, wondering if it was ok for me as a white kid to be wearing that hairstyle on that day.
Braids are the poor man’s method of crimping your hair, and so as a child of the ’80’s, I grew up having my hair braided and practicing on myself and my sister.
I remember having my mind blown at around age 11 when I learned how to French braid.
I’ve had short hair for most of my adult life, but once I started having curly haired kids, I started braiding again with a vengeance.
It took a while to get the hang of straight parts and pulling hair tight enough to get a nice clean braid, and I’ve still got plenty of room for improvement, but I have gained some confidence. I have three girls, so I’ve gotten a fair amount of practice.
I started feeling a little insecure again when my son grew his hair out and started asking me to braid it. He shows me a photo from the internet that he wants me to copy, then mansplains what I’m looking at, but stops himself when he realizes what he’s doing.
Black History Month is a great opportunity to introduce yourself to some new literature, and these books are good as read-alouds or for silent reading.
The People Could Fly: American Black Folktales by Virginia Hamilton, illustrated by Leo and Diane Dillon.
In my experience, the travel home is easier on the kids than it is on the adults. The kids have traveled recently, so they know what to expect, and they haven’t been sleeping well. They look forward to things like the meal, juice, and the movie. They are able to sleep when they’re bored.
For us parents, we’ve also been sleep deprived, but we have to be available for help with food, toileting, and making sure none of our kids are kicking the back of someone’s seat. In our case, we typically drive to my parent’s house not far the airport a day or two before we leave on our trip. On the way home, we drive straight back home. This means our return trip is always hours longer than the trip there.
Our return flight was boarding a little after six a.m., and my husband and I got up with less than three hours of sleep. We made it to the airport without any trouble, thanks to the generosity of family and a friend who were willing to wake up before dawn to help get us there.
When the woman who was checking boarding passes saw us, her lips pursed and went off to one side as her brows lowered in annoyance.
(Photo Credit: Kimona Paramour Photography)
I only work once every two weeks. Since most people at my job work every other weekend, I see the same group almost every Friday night. When I work an extra shift, like I did this past weekend, I see people I sometimes haven’t seen in 6 months or more.
The nurse I was getting report from hadn’t seen me in at least that long. I’d been pregnant with number seven the last time we’d crossed paths.
She gave me a once over and commented that I’d lost a lot of weight. It didn’t sound like a compliment. Then, she asked if I’d had a boy or a girl.
