It's birthday week for me and Steen. We already treated ourselves to a little birthday appetizer, a whirlwind trip to New York City. We knew our time was limited. There was no time for sleep, no time for makeup, no time for eating (except on the run). And run we did - subway stairs, the streets of SoHo and the four flights up to our Central Park hostel. We took our rest on a ferry trip to Staten Island, planned for that reason - to rest. We planned on sleeping on the 5 hour flight home but it was not to be. The plane was full and we weren't seated together. We both had middle seats, not so good for sleeping. I did have the joy of seeing the full moon from the window. I'm sure the guy with the window seat found me annoying but I couldn't help it. I soared with the moon until it was no longer visible. Beyond amazing.

This postcard is compliments of Lindsay the Lovely. Steen and I weren't even on the homeward bound jet plane when she sent this iPhoto souvenir to us. Sweeet!

If our appetizer is any indication of what our birthday main course will be . . .whooaa, hold on. It's gonna rock! Thanks to my mama for giving me life and thanks to my baby Steen for coming to me.

MANA stats

You know those MANA statistic consent forms you pregnant ladies sign when we first start care? Well, I have you to thank for this huge pile of work in front of me. I've had all year to get this done. Now the deadline is dangerously near. I've been waiting until the precise moment when procrastination adreneline kicks in to help me out. That was exactly 15 minutes ago. I now have 47 hours and 45 minutes until the great state of Utah comes knocking on my door. It's not your fault that the pile is huge. There are some practical, organized midwives out there that complete the 6 page finely printed form for each mama immediately after the birth and submit the data at the suggested 6 week postpartum mark. I am not in their club. There is a club for me however. The keyboards of many good women will be smokin' into the wee hours on Sunday night.
The Statistics Project of the Midwives Alliance of North America is a very good thing. Even if the state did not require these stats annually, I would still participate. The Project documents the value of the midwifery model of care. It also provides proof postive that homebirth is safe.
I do seriously thank you all for permission to collect and use your valuable information for this purpose. It's a great way to do your part on behalf of homebirth midwives and the families they serve.
If anybody out there feels like coming over to share tea and chocolate, come on. For now this is my babysitter!

He is born!

"My Summer of Baby Love" is officially over! The Dreamy Baby Boy is here. I have two beautiful birth stories to share. Stay tuned. So many of you have listened, read, called and supported me this summer; I just wanted you to know that he is here!

Thanks to Heavenly Father, the birth gods, a nameless Christian Science practitioner and a mom and a dad that trusted the whole design.

Thank you, Briana, for following me up the mountain this morning. Our trips to Park City have been the essence of this summer. Pretty, peaceful, soulful reminders of why we signed up for this work in the first place.

This midwife is gonna enjoy a private little meltdown now. Here's my set-up.

First, light my favorite Mexican Chocolate candle. Pacifica brand if you're interested.

Next, some Meditative tea in my only for special occasions mug. Yogi Teas is the brand. The little fortune on the tea string says "Delight the world with kindness, grace and compassion." I can do that.

I'm gonna let Pandora guide my music today. On the Bose dock. CSN&Y station. Well, look at that. S&G singing 59th Street Bridge Song, Feeling Groovy. Such a great album, Bridge Over Troubled Water.

Breathe deep

Drink up

Life I love you. All is groooovy.

Dreamier. . .

drivers, chippers, putters

PING! That's me, teeing off. I played golf. I know. Hard to picture it. So NOT my thing. Here's how it happened. A few weeks ago I went to the driving range with Chuck; a nice wife thing to do. Just watching is boring so I rented a driver for myself. It was thrashed, the handle grip all chewed up. Chuck shared his bucket with me and I swung away. I noticed that he stopped to watch me. With a curious smile he said, "You're really good." I looked up and said, "Yeah? Well I guess you didn't know me back in my day. I'm a grand slammer." He seemed a little wistful when he said, "No, I didn't know you then."

So when I had to cancel a promised camping trip for the second summer in a row, I had this bright idea: Agree to play golf with him. He was thrilled. I was a little nervous getting ready. I don't exactly own a golf suit. And what kind of earrings are golf appropriate I asked.

When checking in, I noticed a jar of metallic golf balls. "And throw this in," I said as I grabbed a pink one. We were off. I'm seriously good. I even got a little rush when I teed off and heard that ping noise and the ball sailed. Chuck said things like, "awesome" and "wow, that really got air." At the last hole he said I should probably use the pink ball (I'd been saving it!). I stood waiting at the tee for some old, slow guys that were ahead of us on the putting green. Here's how the highlight went.

Chuck: Go ahead.

Me: No. I don't want to hit one of those old dudes in the head.

Chuck: It will be OK. We're far away.

Me: No. It might be my lucky shot.

Chuck: I want to see your lucky shot. Come on.

So I swung away. PIIIIIING!!!!!!!!! Pinkie sailed on to the green then rolled off just a little. We were stunned.

Me: Uh-oh.

Chuck (more than a little surprised): I don't think they even noticed.

Me and golf. Who would have thought?

For Gina

Maximize the screen, turn up the volume. Practice the chorus; it's gonna be our theme song. You can be Emily, I'll be Amy Ray. I think I even have some pinstripe pants and will throw my very old Doc Marten boots in the trunk. Maybe Lin can make us a countdown 'til the adventure calendar.
53 more days

My Very Own Little Jackie Paper

Following a night and day at a birthing (stay tuned for a story; I'm still processing the beauty of it all), I came home, basking in yet another birth hangover. I made myself a cozy nest on the couch to savor the afterglow. Thinking about all of the amazing things that I had experienced in the past 24 hours, beginning with my crescent moon and sparkling Venus, well, I was seriously blown away. . . Baby Jack found his way to my nest. He shared the bliss of the babymoon with me. Somewhere during my singing to him, Puff the Magic Dragon, we crashed.

Puff, the magic dragon LIVES, present tense, by the sea. . . Peter Yarrow told us that himself! Remember that, Sinny?

fm db