The following is a true account of my son's birth via caesarean on February 21st, 2007. In retrospect I wonder if some of the practices, such as the fetal monitor and the fact they broke my water, were really necessary. I wonder if in another situation things might have gone better with a little less intervention. As it was I still maintain the caesarean was necessary, given these circumstances. I'm including my story in the Madonna and Child Project. Late at night on the 17th of February I started having labour pains. I had gone to bed early and was sleeping while Kevin was up late painting the nursery. Our baby was due in early March, so we wanted to be ready! I was dreaming that I had my period, and was experiencing menstrual cramps. The “cramps” kept coming in waves and I remember thinking sleepily: “wait a minute! I can’t be having my period. I’m pregnant.” Sure enough I began to time these early contractions, and they were coming in a definite pattern of every 6-7 minutes. I was surprised because it was almost a full 3 weeks before my due date. I woke up and told Kevin to get some sleep. I told him that I was in labour, and if he didn’t sleep now, he may not get any sleep later. Of course this had the opposite effect than I intended! Kevin became quite hyper and agitated, tried to sleep and couldn’t. Every time I had a contraction, (very mild contractions, I knew I had nothing to worry about,) he would look over at me with this expression of concern. Finally I got up and moved to the sofa, in hopes that he would be able to sleep with me gone. While I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to sleep, I could hear and feel him get up numerous times and come and look at me. He was so worried.
The next morning the early, easy labour continued. I had some breakfast as usual and then took the dog for a walk. I was so happy and excited. I smiled at all the neighbours and found it amusing that I was secretly in labour and they didn’t have a clue. I was wearing a massive jacket of Kevin’s (the only thing that fit my pregnant body,) and it was so windy that I felt like a kite floating and flapping on the end of the dog leash. When I got back home we decided to phone the doctor and our doula. We had decided to have a hospital birth with our family physician and hired a doula to help make the birth as natural as possible. Our plan was to spend as much of the early labour at home as possible, and only go into the hospital when childbirth was imminent. Our doctor was going skiing that day, I remember, and I told him not to worry. Nothing was happening very quickly, I just wanted to give him a heads up. We told our doula not to worry either, and we would call her when we needed her to come over. Meanwhile we ordered a pizza for supper, and tried (unsuccessfully,) to focus on a movie we were watching. At about 10:00 pm the contractions were getting quite strong and regular, and I had to focus and breathe to get through them. We phoned the doula and she arrived soon after. I felt a great deal of pressure on my back and tailbone, and found it helped to be on all fours. When the doula arrived she immediately tried some pressure points on the sides of my hips, and the pain was instantly relieved. I was amazed!She was also able to help with acupressure, positions and visualization techniques. The labour seemed to be going on the same rate, not increasing in intensity, so we decided to stay home another night. The doula rested on the couch, and I tried to sleep. Of course none of us really slept, and at about 5:00am we packed up to go to the hospital. It appeared at that point that things were very intense. The contractions were happening every three or four minutes, and lasting at least a minute. I was so sore in the tail bone area that I was unable to sit fully in the car, and had to kind of hold myself up with my hands. At this point it was snowing very heavily. We lived in a small mountain community, Crowsnest Pass, AB. and we were concerned about the roads on the way to the hospital. They had not been plowed yet at that point. When we got to the hospital the nurses checked me and found that I was only dilated 4 cm! I was so disappointed, and would have probably went home, except for the fact that the snow was coming down so hard that we were worried about the feasibility of getting back to the hospital later. We spent the next few hours pacing the halls, stopping and breathing through contractions. The contractions had become quite painful, and I found I was making quite a bit of noise through them. I laughed at one point, imagining of some poor person lying in the room nearby, wondering who was moaning outside his door. As things progressed I was moved to a labour and delivery room, I spent what felt like an eternity there, unable to sit down as more and more pressure was centered on my tailbone. It felt almost like an electric shock if I sat down or lay down during a contraction. I spent the whole time on my hands and knees, squatting or standing. My husband was indispensable, holding me when I needed to be held, holding my hand, rubbing my back. I noticed I felt a lot of pain on my lower left side, and mentioned it, but no one seemed to know what to do about that. The doctor decided to break my water, in the hopes of speeding up the process, but no luck. The contractions worsened, and I even dilated to about 8 or 9 cm, but still no baby. It went on like this until finally there seemed to be a drop in my baby’s heart rate. Thy listened as the heartbeat slowed then stopped for a few moments. It was awful. I decided right then and there to get my baby out. It was about 5:00am at this point, and they decided to schedule the c section for about 8:00am. Waiting for that c section, hearing my baby’s heart rate drop, stop for a few moments, then continue... was quite possibly one of the worst times of my life. They gave me a shot of Demerol (another thing I thought I would never agree to,) to help me get through the next few hours. I was delirious and beyond uncomfortable. It wasn’t like the pain was gone; it felt more like it was beside me, just slightly out of my control and very frightening. When I got on the operating table a few hours later, the spinal block was the most blessed relief I have ever felt in my life. It had been a total of 48 hours since we first came to the hospital, and I was more exhausted than I had ever been before or since. I fell promptly to sleep on the operating table, and slept for about half an hour while they pulled my baby out. The next thing I remember was the sound of my baby Erik- he didn’t cry right away, and they were worried about him at first, but then I heard this low cry. It was more like a little animal, a bear cub or a sheep, kind of low and growly. I began crying. They brought him to me but I couldn’t hold him right away, I could only put his cheek on mine. I was so happy to see him. Then they wheeled me out and put me in a recovery room, where I had to wait for an hour alone. I was dying to see my baby. Finally they wheeled me out and I got to hold him. He was 8 pounds 2 ounces, at two and a half weeks early! He had a massive cone on his head, from all the hours spent with his head wedged in my cervix. He was long and lean with big hands and feet- and beautiful. He was my baby boy.
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"KATE my DARLING! You look RADIANT! ARE YOU WITH CHILD??" Upon hearing these words I froze... uncertain of what to do next. Do I scream? Do I melt into the floor in embarrassment? Do I fling my drink at the assailant, or do I run away? You see... I am not pregnant... I only LOOK pregnant. I was first inspired to write this blog after reading "No, I'm Not Pregnant," by Breastfeeding Moms Unite. I was somewhat gratified to know I wasn't the only one. That day had actually started out beautifully. I had woken up in a gorgeous hotel room with downy sheets, my kids next to me, and started the day by staring at the ocean from out balcony. We were attending a wedding in Uclulet, and it is a rare treat for us to stay in a hotel, never mind one with such a view. I was wearing perfume, a dress, even makeup, which is highly unusual for me as the mother of two little kids. I actually had to go out and BUY some makeup especially for the occasion, that's how seldom I wear it anymore. I felt... dare I say it... pretty. The wedding itself was on the beach. It was a reunion of sorts, since I had known the bride and groom since high school, as well as many of the guests. It was misty and cold by the water, so I put sweatpants under my daughter's dress and sweaters over their fancy clothes. They looked like gypsies on the shore, rag tag and blowing in the wind. It was a Jewish ceremony, complete with Chuppa, or bridal canopy, and the breaking of the glass. The couple both work in film and theatre, and their friends are an eclectic group of beautiful people; not an ounce of fat anywhere to be seen. My husband wasn’t with me, he has been working away from home, so I felt somewhat lonely, and very much the Earth Mother with kids attached to me every which way. It was later, at the reception, that I was approached by the father of the bride. I was holding a champagne glass, somewhat exhausted from the hike to and from the beach, and glad of the bubbly. “KATE, my darling! You look RADIANT! ARE YOU WITH CHILD??” First it must be said that the bride’s father is known for being eccentric. He’s a brilliant filmmaker, highly respected, funny, engaging and well loved by all. I am actually very fond of him myself. So what did I do? I laughed. I said, “No, I’m just a bit fat still, that’s all.” I swallowed. I turned red. I waited for him to turn red. He smiled at me warmly, patted me on the shoulder and moved on. By then I was feeling decidedly fat. We were seated in a banquet room. I learned that in the time it took for me to give birth to my two gorgeous children a friend of mine had trained to become quite a talented dancer. I should mention he also has two kids. Watching him move through the crowd, loping here and there like a teenage gazelle I have to admit to feeling MORE than a twinge of jealousy for the male condition. To experience the joys and trials of parenthood and yet maintain an unchanged physique must be pretty wonderful. If men are the ball point pens of parenthood then women are the charcoal. We smudge against the paper in the act of creating, changing our bodies and carving a new shape out of ourselves. We grow large, spidery veins appear, stretch marks like frost against the windowpane. We give birth, our bellies grow slack, our breasts engorge. We breastfeed, our breasts bruised and swollen, changed forever from what we remember. We mother with our whole bodies, like charcoal against a page, moving this way and that to create a better line, and in the process find our bodies indelibly altered. Someone came around to offer wine, and as I lifted my glass I was startled to realize it was the father of the bride. He looked at me and said “None for you! No more wine for you!” I felt redness creep up on my face once again. He smiled, and I realized he must be going deaf. He hadn’t heard me tell him I wasn’t pregnant, and I was permanently assigned the label of Pregnant Guest for the rest of the evening. I was tempted to avoid him for the rest of the night. I was tempted to take a glass of wine to the bathroom so I could enjoy it in peace. I had my two kids in tow, so of course any avoidance tactics would be quite ridiculous, as well as impossible. My kids were growing tired of the speeches, so I decided to take them outside. My son gathered pine cones and brought them back to me. He climbed a bench and leaped off, holding his arms out like wings. My daughter clung to my skirt, laughing and crowing at her brother. I felt the effects of the champagne, as well as my shame, evaporate into the night air. Soon we were lying together in a heap on the hotel bed. “Oop! Belly!” my daughter said as she pulled up my shirt exposing my mid section. She patted my belly with satisfaction and then pulled up her own shirt, patting her own belly. I felt a kind of joy that was almost tangible, a kind of love that came from my whole body. I realized that motherhood has indeed permanently changed me. On my facebook site I asked the question: "Have you ever been mistaken for PREGNANT when you're NOT? Tell me about it! What did you do/say?" I got 29 responses in only 12 hours. A common retort was "Not pregnant, just fat." Jaime used the term: "just leftovers from the last one." Toni Lee said: "I grew eight babies there, I've earned my belly." Diane said: "An aquaintance mistook my chubby belly for a baby bump and started stroaking it!" A few people mentioned fertility issues, miscarriage etc, which made the pregnancy comments especially painful. What are your stories? Have you ever been assumed pregnant when not? Please share in the comments section! So the kids and I were on a long road trip and had about two hours to spend in a playground while we waited for a ferry. Here is the sign we encountered at that playground. In case you can't read it the sign says "Help us make fun safe, playground designed for ages 5-12." We were tired. We had been driving for three and a half hours, and we needed a break. The kids were wrangy and hyper. Do you think we abided by these rules? The first is a photo of my daughter, one and a half, climbing up the stairs. The second is her descending the slide. Nowhere could I see any reason that even my toddler would be in any danger from this climber. I can only conclude that it must be fear of liablity that prompted the sign. More and more I've noticed that children are being prevented and discouraged from doing something that comes very naturally to them- climbing. At the park I hear parents admonishing their kids, to "get down from there! You're climbing too high! You're going to get hurt!" People go on and on about NOT letting kids climb up the slide for example, but I don't think they stop to think WHY their kids shouldn't climb up the slide. Sure, it makes sense when another kid is sliding down, and yes the slide is slippery, but I argue that slide climbing is actually a very valuable skill. This guy was probably climbing a lot of slides as a child. From my observation the skills used to climb slides are the very same skills used in slab climbing. The child learns quickly to flatten their feet against the surface, put their weight on their feet and stick their rear out behind them. They learn very fine tuned balance and co-ordination. They aquire a sense of caution, care and concentration, (you never see a child running up a slide recklessly, if they did there would be negative consequences!) You can certainly spot a child while they're climbing the slide, (meaning stand behind, ready to catch them if they fall.) Most adults wouldn't attempt a new climb without protection, so why should a child? I'm a big believer in letting my almost two year old climb, for example, but I attend her while she's trying anything more difficult. I stand behind her and spot her, just as you might spot someone attempting a difficult bouldering problem. I also think that climbing helps with balance and co-ordination in everyday life. I run a small home daycare, and when I first got my new daycare kid I was surprised at how clumsy he seemed to be. He was two and a half when I got him, yet he had a tendency to lose his balance when stepping over a log, and navigated uneaven ground with great difficulty. When we were at the playground he expected me to put him UP on the climber to go down the slide. He would stand near it and go "up up!" I refused to simply place him on the climber however, and instead offered to help him find footholds and climb up himself. He was quite tearful at first, and I had to give him lots of hugs and reassurance to make up for what must have seemed to him like a sort of neglect. Finally with some coaxing and physical coaching he was able to climb up himself, and decend the slide with ease. He was THRILLED with himself! Since that day I've noticed an astonishing change in him. He seems more confident and capable, and seems to be a lot less clumsy as well. He is actually LESS prone to injury now than he was before he knew how to climb, which is ironic when one considers that most parents are trying to prevent injury by preventing their kids from climbing. So what are the repercussions of preventing children from climbing? Dr. Mary McCabe, a leading authority on physical education in young children, states that as a result of physical exercise and play: "The research suggests children can raise their achievement level, increase their motivation, heighten their understanding, accelerate their learning timeline, and expand their creativity through motor skills, music, and proper nutrition," (see "Jungle Gym or Brain Gym.") So it's not simply the physical fitness of the child that suffers, it's the academic readiness that is also at risk if a child is not encouraged and stimulated physically. Even more alarming a study done at Ohio State University found that 86 percent of disadvantaged preschoolers lacked basic motor skills. These skills involved running, jumping, throwing and catching. The study suggests that these children are at increased risk for obesity simply because they do not have the fundamental skills necessary for participation in sports, self confidence and positive attitude. So, why is it that we're discouraging children from physical activity, such as climbing? In the case of the 5-12 year age restriction on the climber, I think it had more to do with liability than anything else. I am sure that it was more an issue of expense, and a fear of litigation that motivated the manufacturers to impose the age restriction. But I wonder if these issues of liability have had a negative impact on our perception of child safety? I have noticed so many parents restricting their kids- cautioning them when they should be praising them and encouraging them, even putting HELMETS on them to ride TRICYCLES for heaven's sakes. It's like we want to pad our kids and protect them from the world, when ultimately that is impossible. Every kid will get some scrapes. Most kids may break a limb at some point. As they falter they also grow, they learn, they develop... and soon you have a nimble little athelete climbing up a pole, zipping across the monkey bars. Stifle that feeling of panic, celebrate this little body instead. The next time you go to a playground with your child try participating rather than sitting at the sidelines. Try climbing the climber, try using the monkey bars, swallow your pride and try the mini zipline. Your kids will get a kick out of it, and you'll enjoy yourself too. Try encouraging your child to climb, help them if you need to by showing them foot placements and techniques. Try taking your kids to an indoor climbing wall and see what you're capable of. Your children will thank you. My husband Kevin, owner of Juggernaut Climbing Systems , designs and builds custom climbing walls and playground bouders (pictured above.) I have spent most of my marriage trying to get even half as good at rock climbing as he is.
On August 11th I recieved a very bizarre warning from facebook, written in spanish for some reason: Hello, Has cargado una foto que incumple nuestras Condiciones de uso, por lo que ha sido eliminada. En Facebook no están permitidas las fotos que atacan a un individuo o un colectivo, o bien que muestran desnudos, consumo de drogas, violenci a o cualquier otro elemento que incumple nuestras Condiciones de uso. El objetivo de estas políticas es garantizar que Facebook sea un entorno seguro y de confianza para todos los usuarios, incluidos los muchos menores de edad que lo usan. Si tienes preguntas, visita la siguiente página de preguntas frecuentes: http://www.facebook.com/help/?topic=wphotos The Facebook Team It seems once again I have been targeted for censorship by Facebook. This time it wasn't breastfeeding artwork though, it was a series of nudes I did for my BFA graduating show in 2001. The Facebook Team This one was called "Ophelia," and it was a part of a series I called "Liebestod," (literally love-death,) on love and loss. The subject was a friend of mine who had lost a baby due to prematurity. The portrait was about grief, loss and longing. It referenced Sir John Everett Millais' painting of Ophelia, 1852. Initially I was hesitant about posting these paintings, because I had had some previous problems with Facebook censorship. I had three breastfeeding mother and child portraits removed from Facebook a total of five times, and a warning sent to me. Read more on that here. I didn't feel it was a good time to rock the boat. However after three months with no difficulty I thought I may as well post my grad show artwork. They are some of my best work, and I hate the idea of hiding them just because they might offend a minority of people. I wasn't that surprised when I got my notification and the art was removed. I thought: "After all these are full nudes, not breastfeeding mothers, and I suppose they could be misinterpreted." However these nude paintings were still artwork, not pornography, and I think that distinction is important to maintain. What I find disturbing about facebook's censorship in general is that they have a lot of power over our lives. I know they are a privately owned site, but it frightens me that they have become the new social medium- on par with the town square or Zocalo, and they are anonymously both aware and in charge of the information we can share. You can't discuss any photo removal with them, they refuse to discuss it. Art that might be fine in any gallery is removed for example, and many people don't even QUESTION it's removal. I find that disturbing too. I am also concerned about the anonymous method of reporting photos. The person who reports a photo takes absolutely no responsibility or consequences for their actions. I think this results in a kind of "dumbing- down" of our culture in general. This one is called "Loosing Lily 2," and it's also about losing a baby after childbirth. It was also removed on August 11th.
The dumbing down process involves removing any material deemed "offensive," a rather obscure definition which seems to mean anything that doesn't fit facebook's standards of mainstream, bland culture. Material such as women breastfeeding, women giving birth, and gay sexuality are removed, because they do not follow the heterosexual/male culture which we're accustomed to seeing. Big bosoms in bikinis= fine, woman giving birth = offensive seems to be the formula. What bothers me about this formula is that we have become so accustomed to seeing everything through this hetero-male lens that we are pretty ready to accept these censorships as "just the way things are," really without questioning their motives. Artist Leif Harmsen says so eloquantly: "Facebook is worse than useless to you because facebook.com is Facebook's website, not yours. It is not 'your' profile, it is Facebook's profile about you. Those are not your friends, they are at best a Facebook sanitized version of your friends. It took centuries of political evolution to reduce this kind of manipulative abuse from the state - why go backwards to a medieval social structure with you at the bottom? You wouldn't holiday in North Korea, so why would you spend time on Facebook?!" (Read my full interview with him here.) My work was deleted without any idea of the background or meaning behind the work. My voice was silenced simply because it didn't fit a mainstream of what is acceptable. Perhaps Leif does have a point- Facebook is a powerful social engine, shallow and vaccuous to the extreme, yet it has a great deal of control over our lives and what information we receive. Perhaps it's time to take back some of that control. On August 16th I received another notice from facebook. They had removed a portrait I had done of my nude baby boy in the bathtub... obscene? REALLY?? You decide. Artist Leif Harmsen is a painter and a director of short films. He attended the University of Toronto, graduated from Concordia University with art and art history honours, with a minor in creative writing, and achieved an MA in computer applications for art and art history at Birkbeck College, University of London, UK.
The following is a short interview with him on the subject of art censorship and his movement and educational campaign "Shut Your Facebook." Kate- Please describe your artwork. Leif- Interdisciplinary, project based, occasionally collaborative and performative. Recently working on a series of large oil paintingsthat are as much abstract colour field as they are figurative, as digital as they are oil paint on canvas, as much photographs as they are paintings, and as sexual as they are academic. You'd have to see to understand how that's all possible. Kate- Describe the particular piece that precipitated the censorship. Leif- I'm not sure. Facebook said they removed a picture, (or was it pictures?) but didn't say why or which one(s), and warned me that if I did whatever I did again they would remove my account or some such threat. But I could not comply, because they refused to discuss anything. They referred to "terms" that were impossibly vague. I think the most specific word they used was "explicit" which means nothing at all on it's own, or anything you imagine you want it to mean. So I could not speculate. To be on the safe side I would have to remove everything, in which case why bother with Facebook at all? Besides, I have my own website and my own contact list of people with their actual email addresses, so Facebook was just in the way and sticking it's nose in where it wasn't welcome anyway. Kate- What was the end result? Did you get an apology? Has it affected your artwork in any way? Did you feel a lot of public support? Leif- No. Most people didn't care and while it didn't change what artwork I'm doing, it added slightly to it's meaning given that it is already in part about censorship and personal digital communication. Others agreed with me but still felt they were getting something from Facebook, what I'm not sure. I ask, and never get a satisfactory answer. A few said, shit, you're right, and shut Facebook for good too. I am sure everyone who subscribes to Facebook would succeed better if they got their own website and used email and the telephone instead. Facebook is an endless mess. Other means of communication are far more purposeful and discreet, and ultimately more efficient and not particularly prone to censorship, coercion, abuse, identity theft and breaches of privacy. Facebook.com really is just one website, and it belongs to just one company, and that company is not your friend. To expect an apology from Facebook is as laughable as it would be useless. Facebook can apologise all it likes but it's not going to give you the control and responsibility that you would have with your own domain name, and require to have any dignity online. Nor will Facebook stop abusing it's punters for profit. It's not your Facebook profile, it's Facebook's profile about you. They control it, so it isn't really "censorship" because facebook.com is entirely their website, not yours. Just like harmsen.net is my website, and is under my control alone. I might let you post something on my website, but that's my perogative and it would be my perogative if I were to remove it too. You control nothing on Facebook, not even your own identity. That is not a matter of opinion, it's a matter of fact. Facebook cheapens you. Kate- Tell me more about your campaign "Shut Your Facebook." Leif- Perogative and control are misplaced on Facebook and the like. In as much as our culture is established on Facebook, Facebook owns and controls it. You wouldn't holiday in North Korea, so why waste time on Facebook? "Shut Your Facebook" is the tip of the iceburg of a larger educational campaign to inform people of why there's a serious problem regarding ownership with Facebook and the like, so that they can learn to use the internet sensibly and protect their own interests, (such as freedom of expression,) same as they might with other forms of property like housing. Ask yourself whose name it is in, be it a ballot, a bank account, a degree, a property or an internet domain. If it is on facebook.com, it is in Facebook's name. The fact that your name appears on a page, as though it were something that belonged to you, is a fraud. The fact that Facebook uses language such as "your profile" when it is not at all yours, is fraudulent too. They might say it comes down to semantics; fraud always does. The solution? Don't buy into it. Shut your Facebook. These are questions that have no doubt plagued parents for a millenia... ok, maybe not all of them. They have however plagued me. If you have any Age Old Questions to add, please leave a comment!
- Why do babies wait until one is asleep and then wake up and start crying? Why do they take turns? Is it a sort of mind control? A way to get us softened up, compliant and open to suggestion? - Why do toddlers insist on disrobing and going nude at EXACTLY the time you need to leave the house? OR when an extra stuffy guest drops in? Do they have prude- radar? - After a c section, why do doctors suggest that you refrain from lifting anything over 10 Ibs? Do they forget that many babies weigh over 10 Ibs, or will soon? Do they suggest we leave them on the floor? - Why do babies have pockets in their jeans? Is it to hold their wallet? If so, why don't they pay for anything? Cheap, I suppose. - Why do Toopie and Binou encourage children to draw on each other's faces? In the episode "Tiger Hunt," Toopie draws tiger stripes on Binou's face with a black marker. Don't they realize how open to suggestion toddlers are? - Why is the book series "Little Bear" so wonderful while the tv show is smarmy and sticky sweet? I haven't been able to pinpoint why, but I hate one and love the other. - In the book Madeline by Ludwig Bemelman, why does Madeline appear to change her look? On the passage: "To the Tiger in the Zoo, Madeline said 'Pooh Pooh!'" Madeline suddenly goes from having a blond bob to having curly red hair. This doesn't appear to bother Erik at all, but it drives me insane. - Here's a very disturbing one... Why is it that Max and Ruby have no parents?? Ruby does everything for Max, from cook him an egg in the morning to put him in bed at night, and puts up with all his toddler antics in between. Why doesn't their grandmother adopt these poor orphans?? - After childbirth many of us attempt to "get back in shape." What is this shape we speak of? Are we not all of some sort of shape, be it a little rounder than usual? Not to get too existential on you, but by being "out of shape," is it that we somehow cease to exist? In some circles you would think so, and in some people's eyes, perhaps! - Why can the cat come into our yard, while we cannot go into his? Have you tried explaining this to a two year old? - Why is "cat?" This was a question first posed by my brother at age two, and now was brought up again by my son. I really don't have the answer to this humdinger. - Now the final question: How is it that food that is touching other food somehow becomes inedible? Is it that the molecules chemically react with each other and become disgusting to only a two year old's pallet? Print Giveaway by The Leaky Boob! This is a high quality signed giclee print of "Gladys and Elizabeth." It's just a little over 5" by 7" so it fits nicely in a five by seven frame, or a larger 8" by 10" with a white border. Good Night Moon
E= Erik M= Kate, (or Mum for short) In the great green room- E- "Erik has room." M-" Yes, Erik has room" There was a telephone... E- "Erik has no telephone." and a red balloon... E- "Erik talk on telephone to Grandma..." And a picture of the cow jumping over the moon. There were three little bears sitting on chairs... E- "Erik sits on high chair. Daddy fix Erik's highchair." M- "Yes, Daddy fixed your highchair." There were two little kittens... E- "Daddy made it." (pointing at nightlight.) M- "No, daddy bought it. It's to make you feel safe. Daddy was thinking of you when he bought it." E- "Daddy loves me." M- "Yes, Daddy loves you, Erik." And a pair of Mittens... E- "Grandma Shirle made it..." (pointing at his giant teddy.) M- "No, Grandma Shirle bought it." And a little toy house and a young mouse. E- "It not work." M- (momentarily flummoxed.) E- "It need batteries." (pointing at the teddy.) M- "No, Erik, it doesn't need batteries. It doesn't do anything, it just...bes a teddy, that's all." E- "It don' need batteries. It don' have door for batteries." M- "No, it doesn't have a door to put batteries in, that's right." There was a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush... and a quiet old lady... E- "That's the mama bunny." M- "That's right, that's the mama bunny." And a quiet old lady who was whispering... E- "and that's the baby bunny." M- "That's right, that's the baby bunny." And a quiet old lady who was whispering hush. E- "He don' pee in potty." M- "Oh, he doesn't?" E- "Maybe he pee in potty?" M- "I bet he does." Good night moon... E- "Erik pees in potty!" M- "That's right, and we're very proud of you!" Good night cow jumping over the moon... Good night bears, good night chairs... Good night kittens, and good night mittens. E- "Mama pees in potty." M- "Yep, mama pees in potty." E- "I proud of you, mama." M- "Thank you, Erik! That's so sweet." Good night clocks and good night socks... Good night house and good night mouse... Good night kittens and good night mittens. E- "Jackie made them." M- "Jakie made...oh...yes, Jackie made your curtains." Good night comb and goodnight brush... Good night nobody and good night mush. Good night to the old lady whispering hush. Good night stars... E- "Twinkle twinkle little star..." Good night air... E- "Havouany wool?" M- "What was that?" E- "Baa blackshee havouany wool?" M- "Sure, we could sing 'Baa baa black sheep' that as soon as the story is done." Good night noises everywhere This blog entry was written for inclusion in The Leaky Boob World Breastfeeding Week 2010 blog carnival: "Perspectives: Breastfeeding from Every Angle" My first experience of breastfeeding was when I first nursed my son in the hospital after my caesarean. His tiny head, swollen and mishapen after spending two days wedged against my cervix, his tiny hands almost like an old person's hands after living underwater for so long, his face was wise as only newborns and the elderly are. It was a moment of wonder, and pain, and joy. I was aching after surgery. I nursed him in the football hold, his body on one side to avoid hurting my incision. The suction caused my uterus to contract, both a painful and a wonderful feeling of release, emotional and physical. I had spent a few years in a state of yearning for that moment. I had suffered several miscarriages and a molar pregnancy, I had felt for so long as though my body were the enemy, as though my body could betray me at any moment. The moment I nursed my son everything changed; suddenly my body was my friend, my breasts were competent and friendly, my baby was beautiful. As a small breasted women I've also always felt somewhat sub-par, a little less than a real woman. The moment my new baby latched on all those feelings of inadequacy disappeared too. I felt about as womanly as I could possibly feel, overflowing with joy and bliss and sensuality in the purest sense.
It was that moment that I decided to start The Madonna and Child Project I hadn't fully formulated my concept at that point, but I wanted to express the joy and awe I felt as a new mother, and I could think of no better form than the classical Madonna and Child theme. As an artist and a mother I've had to struggle to balance both worlds. There were times when I actually continued to breastfeed my child as I completed my projects- a true case of art imitating life! Sometimes I felt frustrated and harried as every mother does when trying to balance work and life, and sometimes I've felt guilty for wanting to do art when my children need me more. Most of the time I find my work and my children are symbiotic to each other- they relate so closely to each other that I have trouble separating the two. My experiences as a mother inform my artwork, and I think my artwork contributes to my experiences as a mother in turn. Not every moment was magical of course. I had days in which my breasts were aching and engorged and every item of clothing I owned was stained with breastmilk. My sheets were soaked at night, and I struggled with feelings of irritation or disgust at my own wonderfully productive body. Then there were other moments in which I would feel the most overwhelming love while nursing. I remember specifically nursing my daughter in bed while she was only a few days old... thinking... no FEELING with my whole body "I love you!" People explain that rush as a release of oxytocin and other hormones, but I prefer to believe that it's something more than that. It felt almost like I was experiencing something transcedent, something of the divine- God if you will. I think there is just a touch of the divine involved in the best parts of motherhood. For some that involves bathing a child, looking into their eyes and hearing their laughter. For me that also involved nursing, and that is what I have attempted to express through my art. This story is so absurd I almost laughed when I first read about in the New York Times. Yesterday Chiara Pozzi Perteghella, a pharmacist from Bassano del Grappa in Italy, was not allowed to breastfeed her 3 month old baby while taking an exam. The exam was long- 5 hours in total, and they refused to make any special allowances for her to nurse her baby during that time. They claimed that it would disrupt other students, yet they wouldn't provide her a separate room. They said she could leave to breastfeed the baby and come back, but they would not make up the time she might loose during these breaks. So that sounds bad, but get this- the exam was for certification as a BREASTFEEDING advisor! Chiara is a pharmacist and a mother of three children. Her pharmacy was already a part of the Farmacia Amica Allattamento Materno (Breastfeeding-Friendly Pharmacies - Code Complient Pharmacy,) but she wanted to increase her skills by becoming a lactatian consultant through the IBLCE. The IBLCE- International Board of Lactation Consultant Examiners is the world recognised authority for certifiying practitioners in lactation and breastfeeding care. After the birth of her son in April she informed the instructor that she would need to take the exam with her son, because he would be too young to stay with someone at that point. He was only three months old by the date of the exam, and Chiara is a follower of what she calls the "maternage approach," the Italian term for attachment parenting. She was under the impression that the arrangement was fine with them until May 18th, just two months before the exam, she was informed that only examiners and examinees may go into the room. Why? Perhaps they thought the baby might whisper her all the answers? The reason they gave was that the baby would be too distracting to the other examinees. I'm trying to imagine who might be more qualified as a breastfeeding advisor than a breastfeeding woman...? Given their evident lack of support to breastfeeding mothers completing this course I can imagine that a room full of certified breastfeeding advisors would be... men? Childless women? Who would you rather take breastfeeding advice from? Ironically the exam involved a question on the practice of "External Pregnancy," which means the mother wears the baby for several hours a day in a wrap or sling, breastfeeds frequently as needed, and even takes the baby to work with her. If the IBLCE would not make any special allowances for breastfeeding mothers, how can they expect employers to? Their new policy is about involving mother in society, making it possible to breastfeed anywhere, integrating mothers and babies instead of excluding them. In fact this year's IBLCE meeting in Chiara's home town was titled: "Women and their breastfeeding choices: cultural changes and practical support systems." All very ironic considering Chiara's treatment during one of their exams. Chiara herself said:
"I regret to say that I will not sit the exam, because I don’t think such discrimination and inconsistency should be tolerated and because I don’t like to be qualified as a breastfeeding expert by people who showed they know nothing about it." |
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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