So, as many of you might already know... I joined roller derby. I've joined The Dodge City Rollers, an enthusiastic rookie team here in Cumberland BC. I've since become a little obsessed, promoting roller derby, watching roller derby, even making roller derby art like the picture below: I haven't given up on the Madonna and Child Project, in fact I may have a roller derby madonna to add to the lineup, but I'm just finding I have some new interests in my life. It's been quite a revelation that my body is still capable of something so physical. Childbirth took such a toll on my body and my energy levels that I almost felt like I would never get my old athletic body back. I felt like that was ok- I was willing to make that sacrifice for my kids, I was willing to give up my body for the bodies of my children. What a revelation to realize I don't have to make that choice! It's been amazing to realize that I can sometimes make myself a priority, to make sure I have a life outside of my children. Here are some before and after photos of my progress. I have not lost much weight mind you, because I'm building a lot of muscle, but I've lost a lot of belly fat. If this doesn't inspire you to join roller derby I don't know what will. This photo is from April 5th, when I was already feeling pretty good about my progress. This is April 15th- only 10 days later. Maybe my bikini days aren't over after all! So... if you ever wonder about pursuing your own interests, putting yourself first occasionally... if you ever feel guilty like I did for wanting to spend a little time away from your kids... just do it. I find I have so much more patience, so much more joy to offer my kids since I started taking care of myself. If roller derby hasn't saved my soul it at least saved my sanity!
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This is a portrait and a birth story written in the mother's own words. I planned for a natural labor, and although I was warned that I may not be able to actually give birth in the water, I decided to try. After about 20 hours of laboring with my husband Marcus' support, I took off all of my clothes and slid into the warmth of the tub. My midwife KS coached me from the side, reminding me to relax, to untense, and to let the contractions do their job – to open me up, to widen me out. Now was not the time to tense, to close up.
Things accelerated very quickly. I went from 6cm to 8cm to 9cm in almost no time at all. Eventually I was just short of 10cm, except for a little lip in my cervix that was in the way of the baby’s head. KS kept a finger inside of my cervix, holding that lip down, while I pushed. And after several attempts she said the magic words to the nurse: "She’s at ten centimeters." Instead of waiting and letting my body do the work for me, I suddenly had work to do. Realizing at that moment exactly what I had to do – that I had to push this baby OUT – was terrifying. I was way, way, WAY past the point of no return. I felt like very little was in my control at this point, and for a person like me, that is scary. The only thing I could do was to push or to not push – and to not push would only postpone the inevitable. It wouldn’t change a damn thing in the end. There was a full-length mirror on the ceiling above the birthing tub. I watched myself in it as I dilated, and I watched myself as I pushed. I don’t really have the words to describe what it was like to witness my labor from that point of view, except to say that I hope fervently to be able to do the same with the rest of my children. Towards the end of my pregnancy, as my belly grew, I’d developed a habit of just looking at myself in the mirror several times a day. It was so strange to see how my body had warped and changed, it was fascinating to look at myself and see almost a stranger. Watching myself give birth was like that, only magnified a thousand times. It was like watching a stranger, and it was a struggle to reconcile the fact that the body in the mirror was actually, really mine. The person screaming and writhing in the tub was really me. What I saw in the mirror remains the most vivid memory of my labor, and it’s the one I recall most frequently. At ten centimeters, we were down to business. Whenever a contraction came over me, it was my cue to start pushing. When they stopped, I could stop. After each push, I asked Marcus and KS what they’d seen, what had just happened. "I can see the top of your baby’s head," KS told me. I asked her if there was any hair, and she said yes, lots of it. I smiled at Marcus and said, "Told you so." KS then told me, "You can reach down and feel it." And so I did. It was a beyond strange, to feel soft, thin, silky hair where normally there was, well, my vagina. I gently touched the top of my child’s head while she was still inside of me – touched her for the first time! – and it was soon afterward that KS called the nurse into the birthing room to tell her that in a few more pushes, the baby would be here. The last pushes were difficult. Even with KS massaging my perineum and doing what she could to stretch me open even further, it was difficult. It hurt. It burned. I could feel her head stretching me open with every push and I SCREAMED with the pain. And finally, her head was out! I looked down and could see it between my legs. KS yelled at me "Push again! NOW!" and I looked up above me, into the mirror at myself and my child, and I pushed one last time. And then she was out. I looked down again and there was a BABY in the water with me! KS placed her in my hands while she messed with her equipment. I stared at her, shocked, as if I’d forgotten exactly what this whole pregnancy and childbirth thing had been about. Eve Marie was born underwater on August 17th at 1:47am, almost 24 hours after my water broke. With my husband’s support, I was able to have the med-free birth that I have always wanted. I feel really lucky to be able to say that the entire experience, and the end result (who is dozing against me, her breath smelling sweetly of my milk), is absolutely, undeniably, unbelievably perfect. Like many of you I've been startled, disturbed and heartbroken by the recent events in Japan. The last few nights my husband and I have spent watching coverage of the tsunami and subsequent nuclear threat on television and feeling quite helpless. It feels so incredibly huge, so overwhelming sometimes that it's hard to imagine what on earth we can do to help. So I was gratified to see a facebook invitation from Guy Berube of the Petite Mort Gallery in Ottawa to submit artwork for their upcoming benefit show "Here for There - Artists for Japan" on Saturday March 19th. It's an exhibition and sale which is entirely to benefit organizations which provide relief to Japan.
So, if you happen to be in Ottawa on the evening of Saturday March 19th, please stop by the Petite Mort Gallery from 6:30- 11:00pm, and buy some artwork, or simply contribute some money to Japan Relief. My work below, "Craving You 2" has nothing to do with Japan or disaster relief, but it was simply what I had on hand at the moment. Check it out and let me know what you think. I'm thankful to have an opportunity to offer even a small contribution. It occured to me that the nature of love changes after children. There are of course many kinds of love, and the kind of love that comes with children isn't always nice. It's not always lo-ving. It's not always kind. Sometimes it's quite fierce, as it is when one's child is threatened. Sometimes it's bone achingly sad, as when the parent must be seperated from the child. Sometimes it gladdens the heart, like a kite in the bright blue sky, but never is it carefree. Never is it without worry, or just an edge of anxiousness... apprehention, vigilance.
The nature of love changes, and the nature of love changes us. Like balls of twine we are forever bound to our children, like an oyster we ache after the release of a pearl. We're imprinted with their love, just like our windowpanes with little fingerprints. Love with our partners changes too, we become less a couple and more a part of a story. We're the beginning- the "once upon a time," and we are the framework around the young lives which depend on us. So this Valentine's Day I'm going to break with tradition and present you this valentine in the shape of a baby. It's a portrait commission, but I want to use it to wish a happy valentine's day to all the families out there. Especially those under difficulties or illness, or just those who stress too much out of love for their families. Love is for lovers, but it's also for families, and I mean families of all variations. May you feel peace and happiness today. ICAN- International Cesarean Awareness Network |
A blog on art, roller derby and life.
Kate HansenI'm an artist and mother of two in Courtenay, BC. I've completed a project called the "Madonna and Child Project," and I'm now working on a series of roller derby inspired drawings. In my spare time I play roller derby with the Brick House Betties. Archives
November 2012
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