Please be kind and gentle to the children!

Please, if your child is screaming and clinging to you when you drop to him or her off at pre-school or school, don’t shout at them!

There is a reason that a child screams and you screaming back at them, or losing your temper or getting cross or, even worse, threatening them, is not going to help, its just going to make their experience traumatic 

There is a reason that a child screams and clings to you when you try to leave them at pre-school or school. They’re scared! You’re putting them in the unknown, separating them from you, and they are rightly anxious and in need of your support and love, not your harsh words!

They trust you, you’re their stability and here you are, handing them over, into a situation, and with people, with whom they have no trust whatsoever. Who wouldn’t be scared?!

 Having had a child of my own suffer with separation anxiety both at pre-school and school, I know only too well how distressing it is for both parent and child, but I also know deep in my heart that losing it with them (or telling them you are going to lose it with them, as I heard one mother tell her distressed and screaming son in the playground at school drop off this morning) is not going to solve the problem. All it is going to do is harden your child to this world, scar their heart and harm their soul.

 Why is it that adults feel that they can impose their will over their children, and do so with harsh words and brute force? To me, this is all that is wrong in this world. That even as parents we can’t just be kind and gentle to those we love the most and are meant to be looking after, and caring for, in this world.

Listen to your child. Why is he or she screaming? Take a moment to think which of their needs is not being met. What is it that they are trying to tell you? Sure, it can be extremely confronting to consider the manner in which your actions might have added to your child’s distress at being separated from you in the first place (have you been giving them enough attention and attending to their emotional needs, for example), but better to do this than just yell at them as if it is all their fault (they’re children!).

There is such a pressure in this world to conform to society’s expectations, and to promote this need for separation as if that is a good thing. What’s good about separating new-born babies from their mothers immediately following birth and popping them in plastic boxes albeit by your hospital bed, or in cots in another room all on their own at home, for example? Why the need to stop breastfeeding babies simply because of working commitments or societal norms, whether the little thing is ready or not.

On it goes, the pressure to get your child sleeping through the night so that you ignore their cries and let them, ‘cry it out’ as if that’s a good thing, imposing your will over them, when all their little hearts want is some comfort in the middle of the night, when it’s dark and they have woken scared, or perhaps hungry, and are desperate for another heart to be held against. But no, you ignore their cries because that is what you are meant to do because other member of society say so, to get a good night’s sleep, and they will adapt won’t they? 

Yes, they will, but a little bit of their soul is likely to have withered in the process, as another of their needs is not met. Their heart will bear the burden too, still craving that heart-to-heart contact, a compassion – will they one day find that comfort that they sought in the when they were a helpless baby? We can only hope that that’s the case, that they consider themselves worthy of the love that their parents neglected to give them in the middle of the night, or when they were scared about going to pre-school or school and were shouted at instead. 

I’m certainly not perfect and I am constantly learning how to be a gentler and kinder and more heart-led mother. Parenthood is not easy. My youngest is a few months away from turning three, and he is testing all the boundaries and is constantly doing rather naughty things. He still wakes in the night, at least once, and he likes to lie on my chest given the choice, so sleep is not something that we get a huge amount of, still, in this household.

But I feel it is worth this short-term sleep deprivation, because at least he knows that I am there for him when he needs me in the night. And the breastfeeding too continues until he is ready to stop, his immune system benefiting by each passing month. Both are not the norm, and people do think that we are crazy to put up with all the night time waking’s and heaven forbid that I might attempt to breastfeed my almost-three-year-old in public – it’s totally out of most people’s comfort zone.

Last year, during that first term, my eldest son cried most mornings as I dropped him to school, and it was all I could do to leave him in the classroom. Fortunately, the teachers were really compassionate and I was welcomed to stay as long as I needed, until I felt that he was settled – none of the ‘leave him crying and screaming and just run’ approach of the pre-school we initially chose and thankfully had the sense to stop fairly soon afterwards, albeit much of the damage had been done (why did I not trust my intuition and leave with him?! Oh yes, because every one told me that this was normal. Normal? It’s a crazy world we live in).

 Sure, my life has had to change considerably. I recognised that I hadn’t been there for him as much as he needed, that I hadn’t been meeting his emotional needs. I had been too busy working, too busy trying to achieve. So I gave up one of my jobs, which also meant giving up our financial security as well as a (false as it turns out) sense of identity. It was a big deal for me at the time, but I haven’t regretted it since. 

 Admittedly it took some time to adapt to all the seemingly endless trips to and fro from school, so that the day passes so quickly and very little else gets done in the interim (I’ve just taken a deep breath as we get back into the routine this term). But you do what you do, don’t you, for your children, for the next generation? You find a way. A kind way. One that you hope doesn’t damage them in the long-term, or give them the impression that their needs don’t matter. 

This is even more important if you are parenting one of the wave of sensitive children who have come in to this world in the last ten years or so. True gifts to the world they are, because they don’t fit in, they’re not meant to fit in, because they are going to show us another way to live, a more conscious, calm and peaceful way to live, if we let them guide us, rather that feeling we need to knock their sensitivity out of them. If you have a sensitive child then you need to nurture him or her, and their need for quiet space, meet them rather than expecting them to change to meet your expectations of what their life should look like.

For us, the changes to the way we lived, me prioritising my eldest son’s needs, seemed to work. By the end of the school year, he had settled and made one really good friend, who is a regular visitor at our house these days. He made other friends too and was OK about being separated from me, because he knew I was always there for him, that I had managed to find a way to make myself available to him. I’m grateful to his teachers too, for respecting and addressing his individual needs and doing all they could to help him settle.

Our children learn from us, and unless we can find a way to interact with them that doesn’t involve yelling at them when they do something that we don’t want them to do (like making a scene when they don’t want to go to school), then they’ll think that it’s OK to shout at, or threaten others if they don’t do what they want either. And on it goes from one generation to the next. So that this world never changes. More hurt hearts and people searching for their souls, lost and disillusioned, wondering where it all went wrong.  

This is our responsibility as human beings and as parents especially, to make the difference, to make this world a kinder and gentler and more compassionate place to live, and this has to start with how we not only treat ourselves, but equally as important, how we treat our children.

We don’t have to do things the way society expects us to do things, if that way doesn’t work for us, doesn’t have a heart, especially. Let’s face it, does this look like a happy society in which we are currently living? The rising anxiety and depression rates certainly don’t support this being a thriving society, to say nothing of the greed and quest for material wealth which is leading to exploitation of Mother Earth. No, we’re not thriving as a humanity and something will need to change.  

So if your child is having a hard time settling into pre-school or school, please don’t think that you have to act a certain way. That it needs to look a certain way. Please be gentle and kind and loving. Please don’t shout at them. Please try and find out what is bothering them and work together with the teachers and carers to find a way so that they may settle gently. Make sure you’re heard – if it doesn’t feel right, don’t leave them - and listen to your children.

And when your child wakes in the night needing comforting, please do go and give them your heart to rest their head upon. We need more awakened hearts in this world.

 xx

Mothering

It was a new moon in Gemini yesterday, and it wasn’t until a few days prior to that, when I had already started writing this blog posting, that I became aware this new moon is encouraging us to look honestly at what we want from our life and to speak our truth. On the back of this new moon energy, I share with you now my truth, but appreciate that it might not be anyone else’s truth. 

I’ve experienced a few Ayurvedic Pancha Karma in my time, but the one I had last week was probably the most intense in its release thus far. It could just have been the timing however, taking place a few days after that rather powerful Scorpio full moon and after a weekend in Glastonbury, the home of the Goddess. 

For those who don’t know, a Pancha Karma is basically a three-hour oil-based massage, which deeply penetrates the skin, loosening impurities and stimulating circulation. Hot poultices of Ayurvedic herbs are also applied, the herbs being absorbed through the pores in the skin.  

Shirodhara (my favourite) is then employed, where warm oil is poured in a gentle stream over the forehead, calming and pacifying the central nervous system, stilling the mind and senses, and allowing stress to be released (my main focus at the moment, releasing stress!). This is followed by a head and face massage, before steam treatment to help expel toxins.

 I’ve been on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster ever since, experiencing a healing crisis, where everything feels worse before it feels better. There have been many tears and my heart has been making itself known to me, clearly needing some healing. As painful as this has been at times, it has brought with it a pause for reflection, and finally some clarity, which has been a relief.

 I have felt that something has been amiss for a while now and yet I couldn’t quite put it into words, but now I feel able to do so, rightly or wrongly. My realisation will not necessarily resonate with you all, it’s just what’s relevant to me in my life right now.

Simply put, it seems to me that we women have been fed a lie, that we’re part of some big social experiment to see what happens in the name of empowerment. It is what women are pressured (in whatever way) to think they want, but has anyone actually thought about the wider cost.

Not only are women now fulfilling the role of provider (and main provider in many cases), and perching themselves on the ladder with the men, but they are also continuing, on the whole, with the role of householder and mother. There is a whole generation of women exhausted and depleted, living a life that is totally out of balance with their natural rhythm, because society deems that this is ‘the way’. 

“We’re empowered”, they shout out, “we can do everything that men do, and better too. We can run businesses, we can keep a house and raise a family. We can do it all”. 

However, no one really talks about the reality of what this truly means. No one talks about the fact that many women spend their day existing on a diet of coffee, chocolate and salad, eating on the go, never having time to properly refuel. Or the fact that women are so busy trying to hold it all together that as a society we now just accept this as a fact of modern living, “she’s just busy”, we say, “she’s got a demanding job and children”, we simply explain, and everyone knows what we mean. 

Many women are rushing through their life, from one appointment and meeting to the next, juggling all their various responsibilities and roles and trying to manage their time with their children as best they can. Some choose to do this because they want to have a career, other because they are not naturally gifted at motherhood (and don’t usually mind admitting it) and there are those who do it out of necessity as they need an income (and therefore don’t have a choice).

I suppose it is the lack of choice for many that saddens me the most, because while they might rather be at home with their children, society offers them little support to achieve this. In Sweden, for example, both parents receive 480 days’ parental allowance per child, and in the case of multiple births, an additional 180 days are granted for each additional child.

When I birthed Elijah back in 2013, I was only eligible for 3 month’s maternity leave, thankfully by 2016 and the arrival of Eben, this had increased to 6 months. However, by then I didn’t want to be dictated to by the workplace about when I should return post-baby, so I quit my job while pregnant and gave up the opportunity for maternity pay in favour of keeping my freedom to stay with my baby until I chose to return to the workplace. 

But even then, I felt a pressure to return after 6 months, because it just felt that I should be working and earning a proper income. It hadn’t crossed my mind that I might just stay at home with the boys. I had a well-paid professional role in the finance industry, wouldn’t I be mad to just give that up? The truth is, and I didn’t recognise this until recently, that so much of my identity was tied up in my job, I didn’t know how to be any other way. 

In many respects, this is the reason that many women are leaving it later and later to begin a family, because they have invested a lot of time and energy into their careers, and their whole identity is tied into it. Many don’t want to jeopardise this by falling pregnant, and hold out until they can no longer ignore their biological clock ticking. By then many need fertility treatments to help them, if not because of age, then because of increased stress levels.

It is these women, and other women too, who have their children and return to the workplace, because it is expected of them (because they expect it of themselves as much as anything else), who are then constantly torn in two. Like me, they might not have appreciated the demands of motherhood and by then it’s too late, they have to keep working because they need the income/have become used to the income/their whole identity is tied into the income, and yet they miss their children, and are trying to manage both the demands of motherhood with the demands of the workplace. 

We just keep going though don’t we, us women, whether we enjoy it or not, whether we chose it or not, whether we want it or not. We’re empowered and we can do it all. We can run businesses, have top careers and still raise a family. Look how much we admire female entrepreneurs and look up to them as role models – giving birth to children and running their businesses the next day!   

But the question is, are we women thriving? Are our young people thriving? Is society thriving? Are we all better off for it? If the rising depression, anxiety and stress rates are anything to go by, then I think not.

All I ever wanted to be since I was little, was a mother one day. Yet society was never particularly encouraging of this, the focus was always on academic success and a career. There was a sense that to be a successful woman living in this 21stcentury, I needed to be so much more than ‘just’ a mother to fulfil my potential. Instead, I need to be up there fighting for a perch with the men, or out there with all the other women attempting to change the world by running their own businesses. 

I am slowly coming to recognise that this does not need to be the case. For me now, fulfilling my potential means being a good mum to my two boys. It’s not about earning lots of money in finance or running my own business, it’s not even about publishing books or having my own healing space. Admittedly, the latter two are dreams, but they should not be confused with what it means to fulfil my potential, because then they become distractions from the truth.

Furthermore, when we talk about purpose and dharma particularly – what are we here on this earth to do - I might talk about teaching yoga and sharing Reiki with others, writing perhaps too, but truth be told, it’s being a mum. Everything else becomes irrelevant, really, when I consider the most sacred of duties that I could ever have been gifted in this lifetime is the one of mothering my own children.

Sure, when I die, it might be nice to be remembered for teaching a couple of inspiring yoga classes, or helping someone in their life, but I’d really like to be remembered more so for being a good mum to my children.  That’s my life work. My children couldn’t care less about what I do either and regularly groan because I’m off to teach another yoga class. All they care about is spending time with me. 

It’s a relief to finally recognise this after feeling adrift for a while now, wondering what’s next. It was almost as if the children arrived (and not without some challenge and heart ache may I add) and I ticked a box, OK that’s the children done, now what? And on I went with the next challenge, publishing books, as if time was somehow running out and all those dreams needed to be achieved overnight, and because I’m an empowered woman and that’s what we do.

But it was bothering me. Something didn’t feel right. My increasing stress levels were an indication that all was not well but I just couldn’t see any other way. This was how I had been trained to live since as long as I can remember – the focus on working and results and achieving. Furthermore, society supported this and the quest for it.

As I mentioned earlier, I returned to work three months after Elijah was born, expressing breastmilk in the toilets so that he could be fed by my Mum (fortunately) while I was in the office. None of it felt right but I did it because it was what was expected of me. Not once did I sit down and seriously think about whether I might stay at home with my son, especially during those early months.

In the workplace, there was little allowance for the impact that the transition to motherhood may have had on me and my life. I was expected to show up just the same as I had done pre-baby and yet absolutely everything had changed. There were the endless sleepless nights to navigate, let alone the breastfeeding and the hormonal changes of the post-natal period (which goes on for a good two years’ post-baby). There was this relentless and constant rushing and an overwhelming sense of guilt that I wasn’t with my son at home.  

Admittedly there were bills and the mortgage to pay, but when I think back, we could have found a way. We could have made other sacrifices, gone on less trips, cut back on other expenses. Ayurveda focuses on causative factors rather than symptoms and I now know with absolute certainty that this is when the stress, with which I have been working this last year, set-in. 

 I’ve been slowly trying to unravel from this and find my balance after five years of living a life out of balance, doing too much and not being as present to my children as I might have once intended. Furthermore, I have been seeking my truth, trying to navigate my way through my societal and academic conditioning, to recognise and hear what I feel deep down in my heart.

My body has been nudging me with its physical expression of stress, and the overwhelming tiredness. And I started to make changes, to re-prioritise my life bit by bit, to spend more time with the children. But there has still been this restlessness, this panic at times, “but what if I miss an opportunity to fulfil my potential, what if I don’t make my dreams come true because I’m spending all my time with my children”.

Now I have clarity I can laugh at the irony of it. It’s like the red herring. The answer has been staring at me in the face, as if the ‘child’ angel card I’ve repeatedly received over the last few months hasn’t been enough, and the photos of my children on my altar in front of which I practice yoga every day, let alone the words of my Ayurvedic doctor and Reiki friend, trying to signpost the path ahead in their gentle ways if only I would listen (and get beyond my conditioning that makes changing my mind so difficult).

It’s very easy to get super busy, to work and work and work, to make things happen, to run a business, to fulfil superficial dreams, to fulfil our potential according to society, when all the while the greatest dream, the greatest miracle, the greatest potential, well they’re growing up, and if I’m not careful – if we’re not careful – I’ll miss it, we’ll miss it. 

There is a whole generation of women torn and a whole generation of children being cared for by nursery workers and child minders, grandparents too if they’re lucky. Where did it all go so wrong? Why did we feel such a great drive to get out of the home? Isn’t the home where the heart is? Isn’t this what gives stability and love to our children? Isn’t this the very root of society?

I know that I am not alone. I take my hat off to those women who make the decision from the outset to stay at home with their children. It can’t be an easy decision to make and I have noticed that there is often some reluctance in admitting that “I’m just a stay at home mum” as if that is not enough somehow. It is sad to think that in our quest for empowerment, of the modern need to be someone, that there is now a stigma attached to being at home with our children, as if that is shameful. 

 I have a friend who is a full-time mum to her children and arranges child-care so that she can have a break and attend a yoga class once a week. She sadly feels that she has to justify this to people, and I think, good on you, being at home with young children is really challenging. I used to find going to work in the office easy in comparison. 

A few days ago I was feeling really peeved about all this, for buying into the whole women’s empowerment movement, without really being conscious of what I was giving up in the process. It’s been depressing in many respects too, to recognise that I am a cliché of what it means to be a woman in the twenty first century. 

I was raised to be different, not to follow others like a sheep, to question and think for myself. Yet I never did enough questioning. Perhaps this is what saddens me the most, now realising that I’ve bought into the illusion that this is what us women want and this is the life we must lead if we are to be empowered. This being a life lived on empty and always so busy.

It’s not surprising that increasing numbers of women are turning to yoga and meditation as they seek a time out from the craziness of the life lived in their heads and look for meaning in their lives. 

It’s also not surprising that the divine feminine has appeared into our lives, infusing mainstream spiritualism, encouraging us to connect with our inner goddess. I’m all up for this, I love nothing more than yoni yoga and the more feminine approach to yoga, but I have become completely turned off with the ‘rise, sister, rise’ theme.

Where do we women think we need to rise to? Have we not risen enough? Are we not empowered enough? What more do we want? 

There is a whole genre of books written around this theme and I can’t help noticing that many of the women writing them have not yet birthed children. Because let’s face it, the divine feminine can’t get any more manifest than as the mother. She is the mother! She has been revered for centuries for her power. 

Even here in Guernsey, there are two statues in her honour from pre-Christian times, one outside St Martin’s church and the other at Castel church, known as La Gran’mère du Chimquière. When I visited this Pagan earth mother at St Martin’s church this morning, I noticed that someone has placed a  chain of sweet peas around her neck because we are still celebrating her, even today (maybe even more so today). 

She is not asking us to compete with the men, nor run our own businesses, or become female entrepreneurs. She is not asking us to work harder and spend even more time in our heads and away from our children (although sadly this is what I see, even amongst yoga teachers who are spreading ‘her’ wisdom).

She is here to ask us to get back into our bodies, to come home to ourselves, to our families and to Mother Earth. She is asking us to get back in touch with our natural rhythms, to connect to the moon and our own inner cycles. She is asking us to step up as mothers, to reclaim that which we have lost in the name of empowerment. 

Yesterday I randomly chose the Green Tara goddess card. She rescues us by empowering us to save ourselves. I couldn’t help thinking that this card was rather appropriate timing – yes, Green Tara, we need you in our lives, helping to empower us to save ourselves, our femininity, and our opportunity for motherhood. I certainly need you.

This is what the world needs, this is what society is crying out for: mothering. We need to honour the mother again.

Anyone who has lost a mother will know what a loss it is. 

Like Mother Earth, women have been exploited for too long now. 

We need to re-build the home. 

This doesn’t mean we need to stop working. I can honestly say that if I didn’t share my passion for teaching yoga and Reiki, and have a break from the children in the process, for example, then I would go slowly mad. It just means that we need to feel that we have a genuine choice again.

We need to respect the mother and all that she brings, not only to the family but to society and to the planet. 

Society needs to wake up and re-prioritise, recognise what is most important. We need to honour and respect the mother again. 

I’m really proud to be a mum. It is not only my greatest achievement, but also the most difficult job I suspect I shall ever have in this lifetime. 

It has brought me fully into myself, and I have learned more about myself since becoming a mother than I ever learned on my yoga mat in the years previous to this. Motherhood is the practice! Children help us to engage completely - and consciously – with life: it’s Tantra!

Every day my boys provide me the opportunity to try to be a gentler, kinder and more compassionate human being. I’ve become increasingly aware of the times when I am not this, when they trigger me and I react before catching myself and taking a breath – when I become unconscious. There is a certain humility that accompanies this awareness. I am constantly given the opportunity to learn how to be a better human being and a better mum.  

My boys have brought me back to earth. They have helped me to turn a house into a home. They have helped me to recognise the need to take better care of myself. They have taught me what it means to love unconditionally. They have helped me to recognise that being a mother is enough. 

I shall end this post with a poem from Hafiz:

And still, after all this time,

The sun never says to the earth

“You owe Me”.

Look what happens with 

A love like that,

It lights the whole sky”. 

This Motherhood Malarkey!

Wow, it's hard to believe that my youngest, Eben, turned one today.  That was some year and some introduction to son number two with him arriving six weeks early, my water's breaking on the super full moon half way through a yoga retreat I was running in Herm...

...a year on and my poor little man was sick on the October Herm retreat, which brought with it its challenges.  I was a little bit sick too, a combination of pre-school bugs, sleep deprivation and Reiki healing.

All in all this set things up for a fairly rocky road this last week with the new moon energy building and definitely encouraging a huge letting go, bringing us to our knees...or in my case onto my back on the road at Petit Bot, in despair, tears flowing, feeling deserted by my guardian angels and all the strength and support of the Universe.  My lying on my back was me trying to ground. And because I was just too tired to keep going a moment longer.

I thought I'd got it out my system but back at home, and preparing for the first birthday party I had a message to call the bank.  There followed a frustrating 40 minute experience, which found me crying, yes crying, on the phone to the second person I spoke to when I failed the security test and he told me I'd need to phone back.  "but do you not realise I have a birthday cake to make and a party to run in 20 minutes", I sobbed in despair.  "Madam, I'm very sorry but you will need to telephone again, you've failed security".

So I telephoned again, trying to compose myself and lo and behold it turns out I was talking to the business people and needed to be speaking to the personal client people, so it's not surprising I failed the test, and so more waiting, me in tears, my Mum arrived and gave me a much needed hug, stress levels going into overdrive and finally I spoke to the fourth person and issue resolved.  

So suffice it to say that today I conclude that this this motherhood malarkey is exhausting. It's not just the sleep deprivation but the endless concern and, hmmm, dare I say worry.  Yes I know I know, I'm a Reiki teacher and practitioner and one of the Reiki principles is "for today, do not worry", because as we all know worrying just wastes energy and changes nothing...other than your stress levels and facial lines. But it's difficult not to worry sometimes.

This week Elijah's been testing because Eben's been ill with an ear infection was it happens.  So this meant he had to have antibiotics, which go against everything I stand up against...I've spent a year trying to heal his gut from the antibiotics he was prescribed at birth and now here a year on, another dose, and all because we're flying tomorrow and we couldn't risk the infection getting worse.  As it was he was hitting his head and rubbing his ears and vomiting with the coughing.

Then because Eben's been poorly and clinging to my waist or my breasts, well suckling from my breasts, but you know what I mean, Elijah's been even more challenging than usual because he wants attention.  He also loathes preschool, or at least he loathes the idea of it so that's got me thinking...and pondering...because another thing I'm passionate about is education, and not education like we currently know it, at least not here in the UK.

And then of course the packing for India.  Okay the list could go on.  I feel much calmer now. Birthday party went well, cake was eaten, a walk in nature, children fed and bathed and into bed, a lovely relaxing lavender bath and then a quiet and gentle yoga practice in silence, with the patchouli oil burning and the calming sodalite bracelet on my wrist.  It's good to be reminded of our humanness sometimes...there's another day tomorrow and let's face it, "all is well". x

Part 29 - The Light of Surrender

Our lives were filled with light that Thursday morning; as if the surrendering brought with it a rush of support from the Universe.

There were Earth angels everywhere as I was assigned the most beautifully funny and reassuring midwife who was the embodiment of compassion and understanding.  She was supported by another midwife who happens to be the best friend of my cousin-in-law.  It was perfect.  Ladies who cared and who were in part familiar to me.

My parents kindly rushed around collecting some things for me from the cottage and dropping them into the ward as we hadn’t brought anything with us that morning.  While I was deemed an emergency, we had time, and all I asked was the opportunity to take a shower, which was granted.

I enjoyed standing bent over in the shower cubicle, the water washing over my back and cleansing me. I needed to feel clean ahead of the surgery.  It also gave me time and the space to be on my own too, processing events and coming to terms with my present reality.

The contracting had eased at this point, and I was feeling decidedly calm about everything. After some time, I dried myself and sat quietly, holding my precious lump of rose quartz, dropping awareness within and noticing how it felt; was there any residual fear and could I let go of this? I then sat with my breath until I felt aligned and centred.  I checked my pendulum, yes, now I was ready.

While I was showering, E was shown around the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit (“NICU”) for babies, which I’d been shown around when I’d been in hospital a few days earlier. I hadn’t been too interested, because back then I hadn’t expected the baby to arrive at 34 weeks.  Even now I wasn’t too fazed, there was mention that the baby may need support in the delivery room, but my sole focus was on the birth.

Back at my bed the final arrangements were put in place. I had asked to keep my placenta and a tub was found for this.  I’d also asked for vaginal seeding to take place although this was refused me – the specialist almost laughed that I’d suggested it in the first place.

One of the reasons I had resisted a Caesarean birth was due to the increased risk of health conditions in childhood as the baby is deprived of the bacteria that live in the mother’s vagina.

One way around this is to collect the mother’s vaginal fluid on a piece of gauze prior to the birth and wipe this gauze over the baby’s mouth, face and body directly after birth.  This will help to kick start the baby’s immune system and gut by exposing the baby to a diverse mix of bacteria.

However, I was told that this would be extremely risky given that I had an infection and the baby was being born so early. I accepted this easily, the baby’s wellbeing was paramount and I had to respect the knowledge and experience of the medical team, even if this went against my own understanding of things. 

By late morning they were ready in theatre for me and I was ready to meet my baby. I walked to theatre this time, which made a huge difference psychologically, as if I was giving my full consent to the process and not being pushed in a bed as had happened previously.

Arriving at the theatre it was still a relatively alien environment to me, although this time I had none of the fear that had gripped me previously. The theatre nurse assigned to me was another Earth angel who did all he could to care for me.

I knew with certainty that the Universe had my back and that I was being truly supported. I also had my mantra running constantly thought my mind, “love not fear” and it was this that I repeated to myself as the spinal block was applied.

It was actually a relief to be anaesthetised because the contractions had started up again and it was a challenge to stay present to these and do what was asked of me in terms of my positioning on the bed.  The theatre nurses were very kind and I held one of their hands as I focused in on my breath. 

The spinal block soon took effect and we went through the usual checks.  I had made the anaesthetist aware of the issues I had experienced with Elijah’s birth and she was another angel who kept talking to me and making sure that I felt ok. Before I knew it E was beside me wearing his blue theatre attire.

It all seemed to happen very quickly after then and we held hands as our son was born at 12.21pm on Thursday 20 October 2016 with E watching on. Here he was safely Earthside, our little grounded warrior, Eben Ron McInnes, whose name had chosen itself months earlier.

We liked the name when we were looking at names for Elijah and we just had a sense that if we had another boy he would be called Eben. The name is Hebrew and means “stone of help” and this felt rather appropriate to me because in utero he felt grounded.  Furthermore, I had this sense that this was a healing baby and would help in the world as he was now helping me.

As we had named Elijah after E’s Dad, Iain, we had agreed that if we had a boy, he would name him after my Dad, Ron. The name comes from Old Norse and means “warrior”, and he seemed to be living up to this name already.

Eben weighed 5lb 1oz, which was a brilliant weight for a baby born six weeks premature, but he needed oxygen upon delivery and while I got a glance of him, he was immediately whisked away to the Neo Natal Intensive Care Unit, while I was stitched up again.

I was jubilant, we had another son, a gift from above.  And his birth too was a gift, for I had been given the opportunity to embody surrender. This was all I had ever wanted to experience; the surrender that accompanies the birthing process.  I too, felt re-birthed.

There was nothing to fight against. There was just this incredible sense of peace and calmness. The Universe had our back. We were bathed in love and with that came the realisation that that’s all there is.  We are all heart, just like our babies had shown at their 6 week’s scan. There is nothing to fear and nowhere else to be but in the moment.

We were in the flow and that meant constantly surrendering to the present, whatever it may give. And I was grateful for this realisation over the coming week ahead.

Part 28 - Dancing with the Moon

I started contracting during the facial treatment.  I didn’t realise what it was at the time, I just thought it was some cramping.  The sensation increased during the evening to the point that I found it difficult to sleep.

I was jubilant, I was finally contracting!  I had longed to experience this sensation, ever since it was denied to me with the planned delivery of Elijah three years earlier.  This time around, I had wanted the baby to choose it’s birthing date, and here it was, making that choice.

I loved every moment of that evening; it was one of the most intimate experiences of my life. I shall always treasure the insight it provided, of my breath, of sensation, and of the opportunity to be joyfully present.  Pain brings this gift to us, and here I was able to rejoice with it.

I spent some time on the sofa, dipping in and out of Facebook, aware of the time changing because the new day brought with it new birthdays.  I shall never forget that, because I felt so pleased with myself being one of the first people to congratulate a friend on her birthday.

When I had tired of that and the sensation demanded otherwise, I wrapped myself in a blanket and spent time outside in the darkness of the night with the waning moon and the stars above me.

I squatted on the Earth where Elijah’s tree grows with his placenta nourishing it, and where I’d bled prior to conceiving this new life growing inside me, and felt an incredible oneness with everything. It felt poignant, as if I was stepping into a portal that connected me to the mysteries of this world.

And then the moment came as I always hoped it would, when all I wanted to do was sway my hips and dance.

I danced with the moon shining her light over me as I held my baby within me. Together we danced around the garden and I couldn’t stop smiling because I was on my own and I was having the most amazing time. 

I felt overwhelming love for my baby and for Elijah and E asleep inside, and for the world, and this oneness that goes as quickly as it comes.  I felt truly aligned.

I danced with the moon until I knew it was time to go inside again.

Here I lay in the bath, cleansed by the water, focusing on breath and sensation and on and on it went.

At some point during the early hours I released my mucous plug and while I was aware that if I was in labour I was meant to telephone the ward immediately, I felt that I didn’t need to do that just yet. 

All fear had finally gone and there was this sense that perhaps I could just wing it.  Perhaps I could just stay at home like this and see what happened, see whether I could birth my breech baby all on my own. I still hadn’t given up on that hope. But I was aware that if it was meant to be, it would be, and that the baby would arrive quickly.

However, by 5.30am there was no baby and I began to realise that I had to do something about my situation. E was awake by then and I noticed that the discharge had started to change colour, it wasn’t a clear/pinkish colour anymore, so I knew it was now time to telephone the hospital.

With E awake the sensations felt stronger because I wasn’t able to be in my space with my breath in the same way as I had been on my own.  This was an insight to me, the potential need to be alone during the birthing experience. Not that I had that opportunity because having telephoned the ward they told me to come in immediately.

With Elijah now awake, the three of us stepped out of the house into the darkness of the night, and there up in the sky ahead of us was the waning moon and the sign of a cross in the sky, made from two airline streams.  It felt incredibly auspicious and I knew in my heart of hearts that now was the time, this was a sign, this was really happening.

We dropped Elijah off at E’s Mum and went to the hospital where I discovered that its rather tricky to walk when you’re contracting at the same time!

It’s also rather tricky to lie still and be scanned.  But alas that is what happened and it showed that yes, I was contracting and a decision would soon need to be made about delivery because the specialists didn’t want me going into full blown labour and running the risk of delivering a breech baby.

A swipe was taken to test for an infection and I was allocated a bed on the ward. The specialist felt that one way or another there was a high chance that the baby would be delivered that day.  If the tests showed that I had an infection, then I would need to have the baby delivered that morning.

If I didn’t have an infection there was a chance that now it was light outside the contractions would stop and I would be monitored – the longer the baby was in utero the better for his/her development.

I was still talking about breech delivery because there was still hope.  There was still a chance that the contractions would ease and I would have time.

I was aware that the specialist I had first seen when I was initially pregnant was working the ward that morning and I was adamant that I didn’t want to see him.  He had told me I would be high risk and would likely deliver by Caesarean section and here I was about to do that.

It didn’t seem to matter anymore. By then I’d finished reading the “The Universe has Your Back” and my mantra was ‘love not fear’.  And here I was in hospital very aware that yes, the Universe had my back, and what was meant to be was meant to be.

I had to surrender.

And then came the opportunity.

My lovely female specialist was now on duty and she came to see me with the specialist who we’d seen earlier that morning to tell us that I had an infection.

She took my hand and told me that she knew this wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but there really was no choice now, the baby had to be delivered that morning by Caesarean Section.

I laughed.

I laughed because one way or another I was destined to have a repeat Caesarean Section. The Goddess of the Moon was dancing and now I finally chose to dance with her.

I surrendered.

There was no choice.  There was nothing to fight any longer.  The Universe had my back. Love not fear.

And there it was.  I finally accepted my reality.  There would be no home birth. There would be no spiritual experience in the shower as I attempted to birth my baby all on my own.  There would be none of that.

But what there was, was far more profound in many ways.  Because I was being asked to step beyond the fear and my idea of how things should be, to experience the spiritual in it. This was the lesson that I had needed to learn and this brought with it the spiritual experience and opportunity for growth that I had always dreamt of, just it was presenting itself in a way I had not expected…but that’s the way of the Universe. Our dreams always come true but not as we expect them to, that too is a lesson in surrender and acceptance.

Part 27 - Preterm pre-labour rupture of the membranes

One of the few things I had brought with me to the hospital from Herm was my laptop, so after a few hours of restless sleep, I gave up trying and researched all I could on ‘waters breaking early’ instead. 

The baby lies in an amniotic sac of fluid or ‘waters’ and ‘waters breaking’ means that the sac has ruptured or broken. Waters normally break around the time that labour is due but in around 2% of pregnancies they break early. The medical term for this condition is PPROM, which stands for preterm pre-labour rupture of the membranes and means that the waters have broken before the baby has reached full term (37 weeks).

Intrauterine infection is present in around third of women with PPROM but in most cases it happens without any infection being present. The reasons for these cases is unclear, however it has been linked to heavy smoking during pregnancy.

At that time, I didn’t have any signs of infection and I wasn’t a smoker so it was considered just ‘one of those things’. I couldn’t help thinking however that the Goddess of the Moon had a role to play in all this and certainly that role became clearer in the days ahead.

I had thought that once the waters break, the pregnant lady immediately goes into labour but I discovered that this isn’t the case, contrary to the scene depicted in many a film (the recent Bridget Jones is a classic example of this).

When waters break early, the treatment is dependant on the stage of the pregnancy. There is an increased risk of going into labour prematurely and this brings with it the health risks for the baby of early birth, which are obviously greater the younger they are. There’s also the risk that if the pregnant woman doesn’t go into labour that she and the baby are at risk of infection.

The specialists had to balance these two considerations. If the waters had broken because of infection, then there would be an increased risk of the baby getting the infection and delivery may have to be immediate. 

When the waters have broken but there is no infection present, as in my case, then while both of us were still at risk, the immediate risk is lesser and the treatment depends again on the stage of pregnancy.

It was agreed that I would remain in hospital for the initial 24 hours so that I could be monitored for infection and have steroids administered to help the baby’s lungs fully develop.  Furthermore, if I was going to go into early labour then it is more likely to happen in that 24-hour period following the waters breaking.

My body was continuously replacing amniotic fluid to protect the baby, but as the sac was broken it was not retained and was constantly trickling out of me.  It was the strangest sensation and I had to wear pads to collect the fluid, which I needed to change regularly.  The fluid was a clear/pinkish colour and I had to keep checking that this didn’t become greenish or brown, which would indicate infection. I was encouraged to drink lots of water to enable the body to use this to create the amniotic fluid.

I found it funny – the Goddess of the Moon was up to her tricks again.  Earlier on in the pregnancy I had made a real fuss about the due date as the dating scan at 12 weeks had given me an earlier date than the clinic.  I couldn’t understand the reason the medical profession would work from the computer generated date, when I quite clearly knew the exact date of conception because of the clinical manner in which the baby had been conceived.

I was concerned, back then, of intervention at 40 weeks as the specialist I initially saw told me that he wouldn’t want me carrying the baby beyond the 40-week period.  Thus I had been very keen that the medical profession use the date given to me by the clinic as this would ‘buy’ me an extra four days of pregnancy before any talk of intervention.

Now however, the earlier due date was working in my favour because it meant that I reached the ‘safe’ 34 weeks four days earlier than if we had used the due date given to me by the clinic. Thus when Monday arrived, I’d reached 34 weeks per the dating scan and I was administered the final steroid. I could almost hear the midwives sighing with relief that we’d managed to get to that date without me going into labour.

Over the course of that initial 24-hour period in hospital, I saw three different specialists and they all agreed that I should be allowed to go home and continue life as normal, except no baths, no sex and no teaching yoga.  I was to return to the ward every other day for monitoring and to check for any signs of infection by continuing to regularly take my temperature and check my discharge. 

The intention was to keep the baby in utero for as long as possible, but no longer than 37 weeks when the baby is considered full term.  At that point I would need to have a Caesarean delivery as the baby was breech and without the amniotic fluid, there was no way it could turn now. This was far from ideal as I was still adamant that I didn’t want to have a Caesarean section and I was going to do all I could to fight for a vaginal delivery.

I raised the issue with each of the specialists in turn.  My lovely lady specialist was adamant that that wasn’t going to be an option. Another was aware that the Hannah Term Breech Trial had been flawed and that while there were risks with a breech delivery, there were also risks associated with a Caesarean Section and it was a case of seeing what happened.  The other wouldn’t give an opinion either way and left me with some hope that possibly I could convince him of a vaginal breech delivery when we got to decision day.

I spoke to the midwives at length about breech delivery too and enquired whether any of them would be able to facilitate this delivery, but the answer was a resounding ‘no’. There is now a lot of fear surrounding vaginal breech delivery and many midwives are not trained to support such a birth.

It was frustrating and yet I was still so determined. I prayed with increased vigour for a resolution that would find the baby miraculously turning and tried to keep my thinking positive. 

Around this time, I emailed my four University friends and shared with them the recent events and my desperation to avoid another Caesarean Section. One of them had had a planned Caesarean section as her son was also breech and the another one had experienced both an emergency and a planned Caesarean Section. Both were keen to allay my fears and assure me that a Caesarean birth could be both empowering, intimate and beautiful.

While I was still stubbornly resistant to the idea of a Caesarean Section, their comments did get me thinking.  I knew without doubt that my experience of Caesarean Section had not been empowering, intimate or beautiful, yet I began questioning whether that was due to the placenta previa more than the procedure per se.

I was released from hospital that Monday late morning and returned home to find the book I had ordered on the Saturday “The Universe Has Your Back” by Gabrielle Bernstein, had arrived. This book is about relinquishing the need to control our lives, to transmute fear into love, find safety in the face of uncertainty, joy in what might otherwise be pain and to recognise that the Universe has your back. It was certainly well timed.

If there was one thing I needed to be reminded of right now it was that the Universe had my back and that there was a greater plan at work here.  Deep down I already knew this, but I realised that I needed to try to come to terms with the possibility of a Caesarean Section and address all the fears that were attached to this.  I had to see the love, and strengthen my faith in a peaceful outcome, whatever that may mean.

My colleagues thought I was mad returning to work on the Tuesday with my waters broken but the specialists believed that this was the safest option for me as it meant I was sitting for most of the day.  They were all nervous though and there were jokes of a delivery in the office.

I felt fine, albeit that I was constantly leaking amniotic fluid and I couldn’t feel the baby kicking so easily now, so there were moments of minor panic. However, the more I read my new book, the more I started to realise that this was all a lesson in overcoming fear and stepping into a place of love and trust instead. 

I felt this overwhelming need to try and get on top of my workload and finish off loose ends. This feeling increased that evening and I had a fretful night’s sleep as I ran over in my mind all that I needed to do to ensure that my workload was in a position to handover to someone else.

I woke up feeling energised and raring to get on with the day. Firstly, however I needed to get in the sea, as I just felt I needed cleansing and grounding ahead of the day. We all traipsed down to the beach and I remember the intimacy of it and mentioned to E that I didn’t think I would be back again for a while and that we needed to capture this moment just the three of us.

I had to go into the hospital that morning so that my temperature could be checked and for the baby’s heart to be monitored. Basically this means that two flat devices (sensors) are held in place over the baby bump by elastic belts and the baby’s heart beat is recorded on a chart and checked for any abnormalities.

I also had to press a button each time the baby kicked so the midwives could monitor the baby’s movements.  Other than that I got to lie back and read my book, which was constantly reminding me to turn to love and away from fear.

After that I headed into the office and worked as quickly as I could to tie off loose ends.  I remember being so focused and busy that I didn’t even stop to eat anything. I had resigned from my job a few months earlier but a replacement had not yet been found.  So I wrote notes detailing all aspects of my role so that someone could easily come in and pick this up from me if necessary.

By 5pm I was finished and it was a huge weight off my mind. I felt like I could finally relax, although I had this sense that I needed to go to a church and pray. E and Elijah joined me and we tried our local church, St Andrews, where E’s Dad’s ashes are kept but this was strangely closed.  We visited E’s Dad’s grave nonetheless, which felt appropriate in the circumstances.

We then headed to St Martin’s church, as it was the next closest one to us, and it was only when we arrived that I realised why we had been directed here.  Outside the church is a granite standing stone or Menhir dating from 2500 – 1800BC, which is shaped as a female figure and is known as La Gran’mère du Chimquière. New brides place flowers on her head for luck and she is adorned with flowers on May Day.

I couldn’t help feeling that I needed her energy and wisdom in my life now too, so I touched her, said a prayer, gave thanks and asked for her support. We then briefly visited the church and I prayed to Mary for a miracle.  I still wanted the baby to turn from its breech position and I was hoping for Divine intervention!

I felt comforted by our church visitation and returned home feeling that now I could relax as everything was completed. It was perfect timing for a facial appointment I had booked later that evening as a post-retreat treat, an opportunity to finally relax, or so I thought!

Part 26 - Did my waters break or did I just wet myself?

In my infinite wisdom, I decided to run a Yoga and Wellbeing Retreat in the October that I would be 33 weeks pregnant.

I didn’t foresee any issues, I’d taught yoga until 36 weeks during my first pregnancy and while Elijah had been born at 38.5 weeks’ gestation, that was due to a planned Caesarean Section for placenta previa.

Ordinarily, one of my best friend’s, Vicki, helps me on retreat. She’s an amazing yoga adjustor and a compliment to the classes.  However, she had initially planned to be on holiday at the time of the retreat, so I commandeered the services of another local yoga teacher instead.

Nearer to the time Vicki’s plans changed and, initially, I was fairly adamant that I didn’t need her help in addition to the other teacher. However, the weekend prior to the retreat I got a tummy bug that made me feel rotten. I spent a day in bed feeling very sorry for myself and had to ask Vicki to cover my evening yoga class for me.

It was then, lying in bed on that Monday, with the retreat due to start on the Friday, that I had this sense that I needed Vicki to help me on the retreat too. Fortunately, she was keen to do so and with that I felt a sense of relief.  While I had no reason to doubt my ability to teach on the retreat, I was tired, as I had been busy building up to it. 

In my mind I’d decided that once the retreat had finished I would take life more slowly and gently. I should’ve known better - life has a habit of not always turning out as you intend, especially when you invite the Goddess of the Moon into it.

An Aries super full moon was due to peak at 4.23am on the Sunday, the retreat finishing later that morning at 11am. This full moon was meant to be all about ramming through fear, changing what you can change and surrendering to the rest.  It was ideal material for the retreat and provided our focus…face the fear and surrender to it…

On the Friday afternoon, prior to the guests arriving I did my own practice in the beautiful yoga space and felt something shift in my pelvis. The sensation sent me into minor panic because something didn’t feel right, but I didn’t have too much time to reflect on it as the participants were due to arrive. Still I spent that evening a little on edge, desperate to feel the baby kicking, who was having a quiet one, chilling out in my womb instead.

On the Saturday I joined the others for the usual early morning swim in the sea and was heartened that I could feel the baby kicking. I was very aware of the full moon energy building and I spent much of the weekend going on repeatedly about this.

I was especially focused on inviting the students to really tap into their fears and see if they could surrender to these during the weekend. I’m sure I bored them senselessly!

That afternoon I did another practice on my own, a womb based one ahead of the womb based class I was intending to teach that afternoon and I felt something shift again.  I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but later that afternoon when I went for a walk with Vicki, I felt as if the baby had dropped, and I found myself holding my bump, as if to hold the baby in.  It was a strange feeling.

After dinner that evening I played with Elijah, lifting him up and rolling on the ground with him, having lots of fun together before bedtime.  On the way to our room, I bought myself a strawberry quartz bracelet that Athene, one of my jeweller friends was selling. It had been catching my eye all weekend and I decided that now was the time to wear it.

Little did I realise how quickly the energy of this bracelet would get to work. Apparently the energy of strawberry quartz supports one’s emotional body, helping to heal and release negative emotional patterns no longing serving one, bringing one’s emotions into harmony so that one lives one’s life with an appreciation for, and with gratitude to all that life brings.

Back in the room and Elijah asleep I ordered the book, “The Universe has Your Back” by Gabrielle Bernstein, from Amazon.  I had seven weeks until my due date and I wanted the Universe to have my back – or help me turn my breech baby. Either that or I was going to have to face my fear of another Caesarean Section, and learn how to surrender to it.

I went to sleep about 10pm while E was still with friends, merrily drinking their way through a bottle or two of wine in the Mermaid pub on Herm. About 11pm, I awoke feeling something wet in the bed, which felt very strange. I quickly realised the source of the wetness was coming from me! E was in bed by then and I tried not to wake him as I rushed to the toilet.

I initially considered that I’d just wet myself, then I realised that the water was continuing to flow out of me.  I had never experienced waters breaking previously due to the planned Caesarean section with Elijah, so it was all new to me. I woke E and explained what I thought was going on. He didn’t really know what to make of it so I sent a quick text to Anita, my doula, hoping that she was still awake and able to help me.

Fortunately, she saw the message on her way to bed and quickly responded.  She also asked whether perhaps I’d wet myself but when I explained that I still had water coming out of me, she agreed, it seemed my waters had broken.

This was not ideal timing and for a split second I considered that we might just have to see what happened in the morning as I had a yoga retreat to finish - there was still another class to teach in the morning.

However, Anita telephoned and told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to phone the hospital, that probably a lifeboat would be sent to collect me and Ewan. It all sounded a bit serious, I didn’t want all this fuss for no reason, but I also couldn’t deny the fact that my waters had broken – early and with me carrying a breech baby!

Ewan telephoned the maternity ward  and the midwife told us to come into the ward but of course we couldn’t do that, we were stuck in Herm! So there began a rather challenging few hours as arrangements were made to ‘rescue’ us and transport us to the hospital in Guernsey.

Fortunately, my parents were also staying with us on Herm and amazingly they answered their phone and joined us within five minutes. By then I was shaking uncontrollably, not least due to the fear of the unknown but also because of all the fuss and it was almost a relief to continuously leak water, as if to confirm that yes, I did need to get to the hospital.

There was lots of toing and froing telephone conversations with the paramedics and the midwives and we were told to wait until the Herm first aider came to collect us.  This seemed to take quite some time, over an hour or so, and the waiting was a very ‘present moment’ experience as I was in hyper alert mode.

On the positive side, we had time to make arrangements for the rest of the retreat. My parents would now need to stay in our room with Elijah and Vicki would need to teach the class in the morning and close the retreat.  I’d already made notes detailing what I’d wanted to say, to bring it all together, and I now wrote a message to Vicki explaining this and thanking her for covering for me!

Eventually, Mark, the First Aider, arrived on his gator and drove us the short distance to Rosaire steps where we were due to meet the lifeboat. Ordinarily the ‘Flying Christine’, the St Johns Ambulance boat would have collected me but it was deemed too rough for it.

The full moon was due to peak in a few hours and the tide was extremely low. It was also blowing a gale and the lifeboat was having trouble mooring. It didn’t help that this was a loaned lifeboat, the usual one out of service at the time.

Thus we spent an hour or so standing on the quay chatting as we watched the lifeboat crew try to figure out how to reach us.  It was ironic really, I had spotted the lifeboat on the quay alongside the Herm boat when we’d initially left Guernsey a few days earlier, which was unusual, it’s not something I normally noticed.  And now here I was watching it trying to rescue me! It’s funny how these things happen.

What was particularly amusing however, was the fact that the full moon was shining brightly above us. There she was, the Goddess of the Moon in all her glory, shining brightly. I had to laugh because of course I’d been going on and on all weekend about the power of the super full moon and here I was now standing beneath her light as she reached her peak in the early hours of the Sunday morning. I’ll never forget that image of her that night.

The outboard of the inshore dinghy wouldn’t work, so eventually anchored by lines, we were transferred ship to shore in a little rowing boat and helped to climb up onto the life boat. On board was a midwife and two female paramedics, who’d had a tough hour or so bobbing around on board. This was my first time in a life boat and I couldn’t quite comprehend all this fuss just for me. 

The tide was so extremely low that the lifeboat had to go the long way back to Guernsey, and there was a significant swell, which meant that the boat was moving about dramatically at times.  The midwife was keen to get me back to Guernsey as quickly as possible and the crew did their best to facilitate this.

I was seated in the padded and sprung chair, which was a relief as it took some of the pressure off the bumping that the others had to endure.  I’ll never forget that journey though as it did nothing to ease my nerves. The lifeboat was tossed around and I felt decidedly sick by the end of the trip. Poor E wasn’t in a comfy chair and his stomach didn’t like the ride either.  Even his back was sore from the experience.

Back on dry land on Guernsey we were driven in an ambulance to the hospital. It was surreal being on the road in the early hours of the morning as party revellers returned home. I felt a bit of a fraud in an ambulance as I felt fine, other than the fact I had water dripping out of my vagina and wetting my pants and leggings.

At the hospital, my lovely lady specialist happened to be on duty, which was fortunate as we were able to joke about the manner in which my pregnancy was unfolding.  She knew I was keen for a vaginal delivery, and she knew that the baby had turned breech and would need to turn to facilitate this.  And now here I was at 33 weeks with my waters broken.  It wasn’t ideal.

An internal examination confirmed that yes, my waters had indeed broken but that I wasn’t yet in labour. According to my midwifery records, my due date based on the dating scan showed that I was 33 weeks and 6 days pregnant.  This meant that the baby was – in theory at least – only a day away from having fully developed lungs. The specialist was keen therefore that we did all we could to promote this development and keep the baby in utero until at least 34 weeks’ gestation.

I was immediately prescribed steroids, which would be administered to me over the following 24-hour period while I was kept on the ward for observation. I remember the specialist and nurse leaving E and I in the triage room to go and make the necessary arrangements and me bursting into tears and clinging on to him.

I wasn’t ready to have the baby.  I had had it in my mind all pregnancy that I would work hard until my Herm retreat and then calm it down a bit.  I had been looking forward to the calmer period, focusing on my pregnancy and trying to turn the baby, and now here I was with my waters broken. I wasn’t prepared mentally or emotionally.

Furthermore, I wasn’t at all prepared practically.  All the baby stuff was in storage and I hadn’t yet gotten around to sorting it. Clothes needed to be washed and the Moses basket found.  I hadn’t bought any nappies or other stuff required for a small baby, and I certainly hadn’t packed my hospital bag.

However, whether I was ready or not, this was really happening and half an hour later I found myself trying to get comfortable on a hospital bed on the maternity ward, while E walked home. It was all a little surreal and I sobbed quietly to myself as I tried to get some sleep, all the while my mind trying to come to terms with what was happening. 

Part 25 - Trying to turn a breech baby

I had seven weeks to turn my breech baby before the specialist would start talking about Caesarean Section delivery.  It sounded like plenty of time.

I began reading extensively on breech birth and discovered that about 3% of babies present as breech, which was just typical really and summed up my pregnancies.  There was always something that had to be different about them!

Still, most babies who are in the breech position between 32 to 34 weeks turn themselves into a headfirst position by birth. If the baby remains breech at 37 weeks it may be possible for an obstetrician to turn the baby using a technique called external cephalic version. It’s said that just over half of babies are turned this way, albeit not the most comfortable of procedures to go through for the mother.

There were other ways and I was directed to www.spinningbabies.com which has lots of information about breech babies and tips on how to turn them. I was determined that I wasn’t having another Caesarean section so I was keen to try everything I could to attempt to turn my breech baby.

Initially I tried the breech tilt which meant that I lay upside down on an ironing board which had one end resting up against the bed.  I’d come across this concept a few years earlier when I’d read a fictional book about a Canadian midwife employing such tactics to help a baby turn. It had stuck in my mind as an ingenious way to help prevent breech delivery and now here I was doing the same.

If I’m truthful, it wasn’t the most comfortable position to find myself in. Furthermore, I didn’t know how I was going to find the time to lie like that for 20 minutes three times a day, which is the recommended period if you want to stand a chance of it working. And what exactly was I going to do while lying there, it’s certainly not the ideal position for meditating or yoga nidra.

I decided I’d be better off practicing more headstands and shoulder stands in my yoga practice instead. It was the same with the recommended handstand in the swimming pool, I decided I’d just practice more handstands against the wall at home. It was ironic really as I couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t the handstand that had gotten me into this mess in the first place, although I had this feeling it would have happened regardless.

Then there was the moxibustion, which uses tightly rolled sticks of mugwort herb much like a stick of incense.  You light one end of the moxibustion stick and the coal that this creates is held over an acupuncture point on the foot to heat the point and help the baby turn. E thought it was nonsense but I felt that it was worth a try.

So while I lay on the sofa reading a book, E tried to hold the heated stick at the right place on my foot. I have to say that despite being very receptive to this sort of thing, I just wasn’t feeling it.  I mean literally, there wasn’t any shift in the positioning of the baby, and furthermore, I couldn’t be sure that E was positioning the stick properly.

I also tried reflexology, Cranial-sacral work and Bowen therapy. I’m a huge fan of homeopathy so I tapped into this too and took the homeopathic remedy, Pulsatilla. I’d read that if taking this remedy for three days doesn’t turn the baby then it is unlikely the baby will turn. Unfortunately, after three days the baby hadn’t turned.

It was then that I came across this marvellous blog posting written by a lady about her journey to try to turn her breech baby. This lady wrote about how she’d tried all the same techniques that I had tried and that nothing had worked. Then, at the last minute, she’d had a massive emotional melt down and totally let go…and lo and behold right at the last minute the baby turned. 

I really didn’t want to have any medical intervention so this blog posting gave me some hope.  I was getting desperate by this stage and was determined that something had to work, the baby had to turn.  It was probably in recognising my desperation, and being so frustrated that nothing was working that I too had a big emotional meltdown, the tears flooding my yoga mat one morning. 

Still the baby didn’t turn but still there was hope. I was told stories of pregnant ladies being prepped to go to theatre for a Caesarean Section only for the Midwife to double check the baby’s position and find that at the last moment the baby had flipped head down and could be birthed vaginally.

The trouble was, I had this niggling feeling that this baby just wasn’t going to turn.  It seemed very comfortable in its breech position and no amount of manipulation on my part seemed to make any difference.  Furthermore, no amount of shoulder stands, headstands or handstands had any effect either. And with the other techniques, well a little like the homebirth, I was just going through the motions really as E looked on bemused!

I continued my research and discovered that there are a number of physical reasons that one may have a breech baby including the following:

·      Smaller than average baby;

·      In multiple pregnancies one baby may be lying in the breech position;

·      There may not be enough, or too much, amniotic fluid;

·      The placenta may be covering the womb’s entrance (like I had with Elijah).

·      Tightness in the womb or pelvic misalignment, perhaps from carrying a toddler on one’s hip.

I could relate to some of this.  I had started to see a biodynamic cranial sacral therapist as I was having issues with my sacrum and felt that my pelvis was misaligned, due to constantly carrying Elijah on my left hip. However, I also had a feeling that there was more to it than all this and I researched the non-physical reasons for a breech presentation too. These included the following:

·      The mother-to-be harbouring a lot of fear about becoming a mother;

·      The mother-to-be and her mother having unresolved conflict;

·      The mother-to-be not wanting to ‘give up’ carrying her baby.

·      The mother needing to ‘hold’ the baby close to her heart due to fears of birth, parenthood, and/or fear about the world the baby will be born into;

In a similar vein, others believe that the baby can sense when their mothers are stressed or in emotional pain and may move into a breech position so that they can be closer to her heart in order to comfort her – a breech baby may have strong instincts already.

There’s also a belief that breech babies are on a mission in this life time and arrive feet first so that they can firmly plant their feet on the Earth and get going. Others believe they arrive this way so that they can look their Mother in the eye and move through life together, and yet with a strong conviction of their own. Folklore suggests that a breech baby will have healing powers.

I found this all very fascinating as I could relate to some of it. My life was busy and there were times where I was stressed.  I was working very hard on a few projects that I was keen to complete before the baby arrived.  In my mind, I had given myself the deadline of my October Herm Yoga & Wellbeing Retreat when I would be 33 weeks pregnant, to complete everything  After that I intended to slow things down up until the anticipated birth at 40 weeks.

However, sitting with it, I began to consider that perhaps this wasn’t about me, that perhaps it was part of the bigger picture. This is not to say that I didn’t still feel a pressure to turn the baby, but more so that I had a feeling the baby was not going to turn regardless of what I did. Thus I started to read up on breech delivery and was fascinated by what I read.

Beginning in the 1960s, obstetricians gradually shifted the way they delivered breech babies because they preferred the predictability and the presumed greater safety of a Caesarean birth. But not every doctor jumped on the Caesarean Section band wagon immediately; with many continuing to favour vaginal breech births.

That is, until the Hannah Term Breech Trial (“TBT”) published in 2000 brought them to a screeching halt. The TBT followed 2,083 breech babies in 26 countries, randomly assigned to either vaginal or planned Caesarean section delivery. Early data suggested fewer newborn deaths and injuries occurred in the Caesarean section group. The impact of the study was incredible – within months’ breech Caesarean Sections increased from 50% to 80% and by 2006, it was at 90%. Then it was discovered that the study was flawed.

In fact, critics began poking holes in the TBT immediately after its publication. For example, some poor outcomes attributed to vaginal delivery occurred in birth centres that used substandard techniques or unskilled birth attendants. Some babies had genetic defects or were premature.

In short, most weren’t injured because they were delivered vaginally, but because of other factors. Further study indicated that most of the babies recovered fully from their birth injuries regardless of delivery method, and researchers also hadn’t factored in the increased health risks resulting from Caesarean sections.

It was felt that the results should have supported informed decision-making, but instead, hospitals reacted by taking the choice away from women. Another unfortunate result was that medical schools stopped teaching vaginal breech delivery skills to an entire generation of new doctors and midwives. This sadly is the current reality we face – that the medical profession lack both the knowledge and skill to deliver a breech baby naturally.

I watched a number of videos on the internet of breech babies being born vaginally and there was something rather special and beautiful about these.  Still when I mentioned to people that I would like to have a go at a vaginal breech delivery, I was surprised by their reaction – there was so much fear!  

I was told that the birth would be extremely painful and that I would be putting my baby’s health at risk.  I was made to feel that I was silly for even suggesting the idea. It made me laugh because the alternative of a Caesarean Section is not exactly a walk in the park either – it’s just easier for the medical profession to control. 

I spoke to the Head of Midwifery about the possibility of a vaginal breech delivery and she said that even if a specialist agreed to go ahead with the notion, it wouldn't be a birth I would want for my baby (or for me) due to the medicalised nature of it. It would involve constant monitoring and doubtlessly intervention whether it was needed or not.

It made me feel sad that there is so much fear about breech delivery. My cousin was a breech baby and born vaginally, my Aunt living to tell the tale. And clearly breech babies are still being born vaginally, certainly in the home environment by those midwives skilled in this form of delivery.  I was heartened to read that there are some murmurs of trying to normalise breech delivery again.

This gave me a little hope and I certainly wasn’t prepared to give up on the idea.  I played around with the possibility of employing the skills of an independent midwife, but something held me back from taking this forward.  I was very much of the mind-set that I would just wait and see what happened nearer the time, I just had a feeling that it would all become clearer. Ha, little could I have imagined!