Woman's Awesome Rectal Wall

Last year I shared some of my notes from Gloria Lemay's online Midwifery 101 classes. We broke for Christmas, I fired a baby out my vagina before New Year and then when everyone was returning to class, I was flying on the back of a unicorn across a rainbow galaxy (more commonly referred to as the post-birth oxytocin high). It's been six months and I've fare-welled my unicorn, until next birth. It's now time to play catch up with online recordings of Gloria's classes. To get back into it I've started with the subject "Assessing dilation without internal exams".

While I have detailed notes to turn into a blog post in the coming days, I simply couldn't wait to share what I learned about "the rhombus of michaelis" or as I tend to think of it: a woman's awesome rectal wall.

During second stage labour the wings of the pelvic ilia are pushed outward, making room for the baby. The space created inside the birthing woman is shaped like a rhombus:

Inside the woman's body, her baby's forehead is pushing toward her bottom cheeks (in an anterior birth). As her body opens up to move her baby through, her anus becomes "puckered out" and her rectum flares open. A red line appears from her anus up, which becomes more red as the baby's head comes down.

Gloria mentioned that it is common for women to speak of second stage labour as feeling like their bottoms will split in half. This is a logical way to feel given her rectal wall is stretched further than it ever has been. For birth servants it's a good idea to ensure the pregnant woman knows what will happen to her body and that this sensation is normal and she will not in fact split in half.

I remember feeling very stretched the first time I gave birth, but no concept of just how stretched. When I  attended a woman at birth for the first time I witnessed this incredible opening and could scarcely believe my eyes, knowing that my own body had flared the very same way, months prior. Women's bodies really are the most incredible organisms.

After the birth of my second child I was pleased to discover that my partner had captured some great photographs of my rectal flaring:

Before Gloria's class on external dialtion cues I had felt self-conscious about the dark shading of my rectal wall, assuming the colour was evidence of poor hygine. It was reassuring to learn that the skin from the anus up changes colour throughout the dilation process. This is one useful external cue birth attendants can look for to assess dilation.

After class I searched the web for some more information about why this is referred to as "the rhombus of michaelis" and was unsurprised to learn that the term comes from the name of an Obstetrician: Gustav Adolf Michaelis, of 19th Century Germany.

Women's rectal walls had been flaring long before Gustav and we continue to long after. My rhombus has nothing to do with Michaelis (just as my uterine tubes have nothing to do with Gabriele Falloppio!). It saddens me that this medico-misogynist colonisation of women's bodies goes unquestioned. Hence the title of this post, I'm reclaiming women's rectal walls from Michaelis!

Spreading the Lith Love

This blog now has a Facebook page where there's more regular discussion, link and photo sharing. It's great to "meet" almost 300 readers I didn't know previously. I get the sense that discussions on facebook are replacing comments sections of blogs (or at least they are when it comes to mine ;) ). 

I've added a couple of discussions to the Facebook page because I'd really love to use the medium for learning from other women's experiences. One thread invites 'likers' to share their birth stories and another their breastfeeding stories. Please pop in and share yours if you feel so inclined.

The other techy thing I've been up to this week was creating a new icon. I've replaced the former pink and yellow placenta print icon with the birth photo icon:

<a href="http://ilithyiainspired.com"><img border="0" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3284/5848998380_40b461e367_o.jpg" /></a>

Please copy and paste to your blog to share the love.

Stay tuned for notes from a handful of Gloria Lemay's online midwifery classes. I'm starting to play catch-up after enjoying six months maternity leave ;) Soon I'll have posts for you about external dilation signs, prenatal checks, childbirth education, common problems in obstetrics and some umbilical cord appreciation. Until then.

Uncensored Birth Power

This week I uploaded the photos of my birth experiences onto the Facebook page for Ilithyia Inspired. I couldn't upload all the photos because they violate Facebook's terms of use. Giving birth involves nudity, therefore it's offensive. I suppose I could have worn clothes throughout my births to ensure I could share all the photos of my triumphant experiences, but that would have been uncomfortable and hindering.

Birth and breastfeeding activists have long objected to Facebook's removal of photos of two normal human experiences. Consensus is that it is hypocritical for Facebook to remove photos of mothers' precious moments, while leaving deliberately pornographic images of scantily clad women alongside groups, pages, profiles and advertisements.

When a woman begins making birth choices she has numerous fictional representations of birth from television and film and a plethora of 'horror stories' from other women to learn from. As she prepares herself to feed her baby she has already been saturated with images of breasts as sex objects. One important way we learn is through visual analysis. Women need to see normal birth and breastfeeding images to help make sense of these experiences, to inform them and to prepare them for the realities of having children.

It saddens me that while women cannot avoid porn-inspired images of ourselves, the following image is rarely seen:

This is a woman in labour. Her first labour. She's been doing it for over 24 hours. She is standing on her own two feet. She is working with the pain of labour using her innate strength, her breath, her muscles, freedom of movement. No one is touching her. No one is restraining her. No one is telling her how to do it. This is a moment of true autonomous power. This is unhindered birth.

She is not air brushed. Her skin is stretched and wears those marks for life, this is a reality of having children. For a woman who has experienced pregnancy and birth on her terms these marks are stripes of honour: a reminder of all the strength and power she has within. This is an image of self acceptance: this woman has not ripped the hair from her body to conform to beauty standards. She is not self-conscious about the exposure of her breasts, how low they sag, or their saucer-sized areolas. What you make of her beauty is utterly irrelevant to her. She is too busy creating life for such trivial, patriarchal concerns.

In a world where birth belonged to women, images like the above photo would not be rare. Every mother would have a photo like that of herself. Imagine a world where the majority of images of naked women were of those women breastfeeding their children and birthing unassisted. Imagine a world where women's bodies were left just as nature intended and wild pubic and underarm hairs were seen on every adult female. That is the feminist future I dream of. That is the feminist reality that exists in my own home and the homes of my closest friends. A woman's nudity goes hand in hand with her unique power as a human female. It has nothing to do with male sexual arousal or fetishism of her body parts. In this environment women portrayed as sex objects is strange and inhuman.

Women portrayed as sex objects is strange and inhuman, but the pornofication of culture and blind acceptance of patriarchal standards of beauty have created a very sick society. In our sick society it is the air brushed, plucked, censored and fake 'woman' posing to arouse men that is 'normal' and the image above is too offensive to share on Facebook.

When I first published the photos of Harriet's birth on a blog I recieved some hate emails for it and discovered some venomous threads across parenting forums. People hated my body, especially my breasts and body hair (one woman commented that she was glad I had reminded her to get a Brazilian before her next OB appointment). People were very threatened by the fact that I had shared the photos at all. At the time their hatred hurt. But the further I walk along this birth serving path the clearer it becomes that what I do is a feminist thorn in patriarchy's side.

I am a threat to patriarchy and I'm okay with that. I am no longer hurt by mysoginist comments about my birth photos. Rather I feel sad for the women who hate their bodies so much that they inflict pain upon them to alter themselves. I feel angry that maternity systems like Australia's prevent women from realising they can experience power during childbirth. This is why I do what I do and why you can cast your eyes upon my glorious naked form on the Internet.

Women need to know that they can birth with power and autonomy. They need to see that other women look like them in the nude and not like the pretend women in magazines. They need to learn that it is normal to be comfortable in their own skin (or it should be) and that every one has unique physical quirks. For, how can women possibly have positive or easy birth and breastfeeding expereinces while they waste their energy on hating the amazing bodies responsible for creating and feeding their babies?

Facebook isn't going to change it's tune while patriarchal values remain dominant in society. So it's up to us to challenge society (and Facebook) by refusing to censor women's awesome birthing and breastfeeding bodies. It's up to us to counter pornographic representations of our sex with images of our unaltered bodies working perfectly.

Rushing River: a birth journey

The following birth story is told from the perspective of the birth servant/friend. for the Mumma's awesome first hand account, clik here.

 ---

Winter 2009

 I met Loz in the Winter of 2009 through a mutual friend  who homebirthed 4 of her 5 children. Our seasoned homebirth friend and I belonged to an online forum for attachment parents, which Loz also joined earlier that year.

Loz was dreaming of her second baby and planned to homebirth. We spent hours talking about birth, watching our blond headed toddlers play and sewing. Shortly after we met I began dreaming of my own second baby.

Australia's homebirth community organised a national day of action at Parliament House in the Spring. Loz's home quickly became the heart of our parenting circle as we prepared for the homebirth rally. We gathered at her kitchen table to brainstorm slogans, plan our banners and rage in unison against the Government's ill-advised legislation. We took over what would one day become her birth space, with our large sheets of calico, paints and brushes.  The weekend was spent laughing, creating, and dreaming about those second babies that simply would not be concieved to our schedule! 

It was this weekend, hunched over wet paint, that Loz invited me to be part of her birth team, whenever this illusive baby chose to join us. 

Spring came and went without leaving bellyfruit for either of us. Loz was busy making beautiful birth and breastfeeding themed jewellery. I returned to the Netball court after a 15 year absence and Loz became my daughter's regular baby sitter. The mutual adoration between the two continues to warm my heart.

The weather was heating up and still neither one of us had a second baby to look forward to. We celebrated the end of a fertility challenged 2009 with cocktails and tulle: "To hell with pre-conception care! Bottoms up!"

Loz and her family took their Summer holiday after our New Years party. She returned pregnant. I was over the moon for her! Finally this longed for babe was on his or her way! 

Necklace

When we saw one another for the first time after her holiday she gave me a precious gift: loan of a beautiful moonstone fertility pendant. I had long admired the piece she had worn the whole time I'd known her. In Autumn the charm had worked its magic and I too was carrying a second child.

Loz and I endured awful pregnancy-nausea and both took extended periods of reclusion. Before mine set in (and again once it subsided in the second trimester) I went to Loz's house to clean her floors, do her laundry and bring her fresh fruit and family meals.

Pregnancy was hard work for my friend. Once my nausea went away at 16 weeks I was home free, meanwhile poor Loz was battling back and pelvic pain and seeing a physio as much as she could (I think she would've liked him to move in with her). Her nausea lasted half her pregnancy. It wasn't fair that after such a long wait, the universe was handing Loz such a challenging pregnancy. I know she wanted to be able to enjoy those 40 weeks, but growing a human being is no small feat!

She hired a pair of independent midwives and also attended our local hospital for antenatal care. She found out she was having her second son, it was new to me to know the sex of the babe making his way to us. For Loz it helped her prepare. She challenged herself to let go of the idea that another son meant the same son. She poured her talent into crafting some gorgeous items for her unborn boy, including a gorgeous quilt, a mobile of birds and bird themed wall art.

We talked about her hopes and her plans for the birth of her boy. As a writer I love to have a written birth plan, words I can refer to, words that lay out for me exactly what the woman at the centre wants for herself and her baby. As an artist, Loz's approach was of a different style:

But together we found the birth plan in her heart. She spoke about the upcoming birth, I took notes and later typed them up. When she gave the okay this became the birth plan and I brought copies to her 36 week meet with the rest of the birth team.

We gathered in her warm lounge room. Six women smiling, seated round a coffee table. Like billions of birth circles before ours, we women were lost to the world around us for a few hours. We were swept up by Loz's aura, a woman no longer quite of this world: chrysalis.

Image used on invitations
to Loz's blessingway,
art by Jen Otey

Amongst the laughing and listening were antenatal checks. I watched my daughter's friend listen to his sibling's heartbeat inside his Mumma. There was talk of plans and options, underlining what mattered most to Loz. She embodied zen at this stage, feeling unattached to the particulars. Then our seasoned homebirth friend captured Loz's thoughts in one wise sentence: "It's hard to plan, because a lot of the time you will fly by the drum of the uterus. It sets the beat to your birth.." We were all moved, looking forward to discovering Loz's beat in the near future.

I went home late, high on Loz's incredible aura and filled with excited joy for all of us lucky enough to be sharing the journey with her. I said to my partner: "if the birth meeting is anything to go by, this is going to be one amazing birth experience!"

Towards the end of Loz's pregnancy I attended a birth hypnosis workshop. One wet Winter's night I went to Loz's house armed with my scripts and we had a session to one of her meditation CDs. The relaxation worked a treat. I left a CD of scripts with her so she could do sessions whenever she pleased.

At 38 weeks we gathered for Loz's blessingway. As I walked in the door I was stunned by just how much her belly had grown in the short time that had passed since I'd last gazed upon her beautiful form.

I was 23 weeks pregnant at her blessingway, and sporting belly envy like I'd never had before. Despite giving her a tough time, pregnancy certainly agreed with Loz aesthetically! She was the picturesque fertility goddess.

We spent the day crafting for her birth space.  We each brought a square to contribute to a birth quilt. I made her some yoni and breast beads for a birth necklace. Our seasoned homebirthing friend decorated Loz's ripe belly with henna. We coloured mandalas for her and scrawled messages of support across a large canvas. She set us to work, alright!

She was ready to have her boy earthside now. There was talk of his due date, and how her first son had been born on his. Her discomfort was growing along with her full-term baby.

My thoughts were with her always. My partner and I delivered fruit and veggies to their family, as well as a few lasagnes and tuna casseroles. We must have made quite a few, because it came to be that whenever our two year old saw a casserole dish she assumed it was for Loz and her family. One night we had to convince her she was allowed to eat her tuna pasta because this one was not for her friends!

Loz's due date came and went. So much for her fear that having a second son meant having the same. The social egg timer had gone off and the world wanted to know where Loz's baby was at?! I could feel her feeling watched. I remembered how frustrating it was to try to outsmart labour, guess when it would all be over, I remembered thinking to myself "a watched pot never boils" during my daughter's birth. Loz was now the watched pot. When will that baby start to boil?!

I shared the Have you had the baby yet? website on Facebook, tagging Loz. A must read web page for all excited and expectant friends and relatives of a soon-to-be-born babe. And took to sharing links of 'overdue' birth stories and online articles about the flawed notion of a 'due date'. I hoped Loz was able to float away from all the expectation and social pressure. I hoped she was enjoying those last days of pregnancy, but I knew how uncomfortable she was.

One night in the middle of Spring I baked a loaf of apple and banana bread for Loz. I walked round to her place the following morning to deliver the bread. She was now over a week past the magical 40 week mark. She talked, I listened. '41+3'. It seemed like she felt that sum was flashing in neon above her head. She had felt ready for four weeks by this stage: what was this baby's plan?

Her cupboards, fridge and freezer were stocked. I was told to hold off any more cooking for her until after they'd eaten their way through the stock pile. She showed me all the beautiful things, ready and waiting for this little boy. So many cloth nappies, little items of clothing, hand made soft toys, all waiting, just like his Mumma.

My daughter was fascinated by a well-loved tub of body butter on Loz's bedside table. Loz let her massage some into her own hands, and rub the excess onto her stretched belly. She was anxious and tired and stretched. She had decided to go to hospital in the afternoon with her Mother. She was shaken by the wait, she needed reassurance. We talked about some of the risks of the hospital visit and her plan for how she and her Mother would manage it.

As we said good-bye I reminded her how happy I was to help in anyway I could. I knew she had not made the decision to go to hospital lightly, I wanted to acknowledge that. I wanted her to know she was a homebirther, as she wanted to be, no matter what this baby needed. I hoped I had validated all the emotions she was feeling in a situation I could not understand for myself.

On the walk home I wondered if I should have said more or if I should have said less. Did I leave her feeling judged for her decision to go to hospital? Had I added to her anxiety? Had I been honest about the risks without fear-mongering? Had I given her space to feel and be all that she needed in the moment or had I become overbearing in my support? I spent the rest of the day wondering how she was faring.

In the privacy of my own home I over stepped my doula boundaries: fearing for my friend in hospital. I worried about the treatment she was receiving, the results of monitoring, the possibility of fear-mongering staff and what manipulitive things they might say to Loz and her Mother. Most of all I worried that a complication would be discovered and that my artistic goddess friend would not make it home that night.

At dinner time I decided to message her: "Thinking of you still, hoping it was a stress free hospy trip." Within a few minutes all my worries were laid to rest when she replied saying everything was good and she had won the hospital staff lottery on her visit. They had been supportive and she was home.

I went to a friend's house for a night of talking throughout our favourite TV show. While I was there my friend said she thought Loz was going to have a baby that night because of a suggestive status update Loz had shared on Facebook. I went home and made sure my phone was plugged in and my doula bag was ready to go by the front door.

I was so full of excited energy that I couldn't go to sleep at a reasonable hour. After midnight when the rest of my family slept, I stayed up, channelling my energy into something, anything, I simply could not sleep. Eventually I made myself lie in bed with the rest of my family, but sleep alluded me. My phone didn't make a peep and I cursed myself for being so foolish. If Loz was going to call in the next couple of hours the best thing I could do was go to sleep already! It wasn't until after 3am that I was able to relax and finally let slumber find me.

Buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. What is that?! Ugh! I rolled over and moved my hand around, in search of the buzzing. I didn't find what it was in time. When the buzzing stopped I realised it was most likely Loz calling to tell me to join her! I opened my eyes, grabbed the phone and saw I had a missed call from her. I was out of bed and down the hall, returning the call, changing out of my PJs as I did.
"Hi" she said dreamily when she answered the phone.
"Hi!"
"So a baby just fell outta my vagina" she said casually.
"Oh my God! Seriously?! Congratulations!"
"Do you mind coming over?"
"Of course not!"
"Grant needs to sleep and I'm too wired" she explained "I want someone here, so I'll send him to come get you."

I finished getting dressed and Grant arrived to drive me to their place. It was black outside and very cold. It was that eery time of the day when everything is still. We were the only traffic. Of all things to talk about to pass the time, we settled on the size of newborn boys testicles and the birth hormones that make them so.

The dark, cold lonliness of the suburb streets before dawn was such a contrast to what I found when crossing the threshold into the newly minted birth space. It was quiet, yes, but there was warmth and energy. It felt as if the home had an amber glow. The midwives were quietly cleaning up and gathering their things to leave, Loz's partner took to entertaining the tired, but not ready to go back to sleep three-year-old. And there was my dear friend, sitting comfortably on the couch, nursing her brand new bundle of boy. River Griffin.

She did not look like what most of us imagine a woman who just pushed 8Lb 12oz of flesh and bone out her vagina looks like. She looked comfortable, uber-calm and satisfied.

The midwives and I made sure she had everything she needed within reach. The first words they said to me were apologies for not calling me to the birth. I was stunned they'd think they needed to apologise, of course I understood! They told me how they too nearly missed River's birth. Our seasoned homebirth friend had returned to her children and her warm bed before I arrived. Loz told me that had she not lived next door she would not have made it in time either. As it was she was called just in time for the final 15 minutes!

We farewelled the midwives, Loz's husband went to sleep, her three-year old amused himself with his brand new toy 'from Baby River' and I sat with Loz. She shared her heroic story with me. She showed me the birth photos on the camera.  Loz, River and I were the only three people in the world as the sun rose the day of his birth.

I learned that at the exact time that I could not sleep, Loz was bearing down. And the time that I finally felt able to relax and drift off to sleep, River had found his Mumma's arms.

Loz drank lots of water and craved only fresh fruit. I cleaned her toilet, tidied the kitchen and checked in on the busy three-year old. River released a great deal of meconium all over his blanket and himself and his mother. So his first bath came a little before expected.

I took photos for her and the family as she washed her babe for the first time, in their bathroom sink.

Then followed his first nappy and outfit change. He was here at last for all the carefully folded nappies and clothes and slings that had been ready for him since her blessingway four weeks earlier.

At Loz's request I posted a birth announcement on the online forum we frequent. She sent text messages to close friends over breakfast. Once enough time had passed so that we found ourselves in the morning's respectable hours Loz organised for her parents to come meet the baby.

I answered the door when her Mum arrived. Loz's three year old heard his Grandma and ran to greet her.
"What happened last night? Do you have something to show Grandma?" she asked excitedly.
He promptly took his Grandmother to see his new toy, rather than the new baby brother and we laughed.

With Loz set up with all she needed and her Mum on hand to help with parenting, I took my cue to leave. Now Loz could share her triumph with her Mum in privacy and I'd be back with food and helpful hands in the days that followed.

I walked home with a big smile, the sun keeping me warm between cool breezes. Inside me my 27 week old baby was sending me very clear messages that I needed to take care of my own breakfast now. When I entered my home I found my partner and two year old waiting for me. I could still feel the energy from Loz and her birth space moving within my body. I sat down and dreamily told my partner about the beautiful baby I'd met and how birth becomes our friend Loz. He made me breakfast while my daughter and I had a reunion breastfeed.

I spent the rest of the day at a birth anniversary celebration I'd organsed for another friend who could not be with her child that day. We were overjoyed for Loz, who now shared a birth anniversary with our friend. Our friend shared her birth story throughout the day and I thought about the birthday party we'd all be at in one year's time, hearing the story that only I had been blessed to hear so far.

In the weeks that followed I would discover that it wasn't just pregnancy and birth that became our dear Loz. She also made the stress of the newborn stage and learning to balance the needs of two children look glam.

10 days post birth at a 3 year old birthday party

Before River was two weeks old I saw them at an International Babywearing Week event. I had wanted to give her and River something to say thank-you for sharing their journey with me. After snuggling her little man in a demo ring sling we decided that I would make them a sling of their own.

Months later Loz would be the one to draw on my belly at my own blessingway.

As another new year was approaching, my bellybabe had clocked over 40 weeks. At 40+4 Loz and I went to another homebirthing friend's house for dinner. As we stood around the BBQ we did what we always do: talked about birth. 

Neither of us could imagine me with a son "yet" Loz added cheekily. It was almost universally expected that my unborn baby would be a boy, but Loz felt differently. I was grateful to her for giving me the space to talk about my desire for another daughter and reclaim my sense in early pregnancy that this baby is female. When I got home that night I went into labour. 14 hours later Loz was congratulating me on the birth of my second daughter.

A few days later it was New Years Eve again, but this time we rang in the new year as mothers of two. When Loz returned from her annual Summer holiday our bubbies met.

It has been two years since I met the homebirth-dreaming-hippy with the sweet-as-pie voice. Once upon a time she was known only to me as the username 'flowergirl'. Now you don't have to look far to find traces of this gorgeous friend throughout my home: a piece of her hand made jewellery or the bib she sewed for my baby.

To my friend who births like it's going out of fashion ;) it was an honour to miss River's birth, to share those precious first moments as the sun rose on his birth day, to witness your transformation from hopeful mother of one to the confident mother of two you are today. The friendship I have with you is one of the rare ones that has not one single regret. I love to watch our children grow together and hope that they might get to experience friendship like we have, between themselves. I take great comfort in the warmth and affection you always show my girls and know they trust and adore you. Thank-you for everything, especially you xoxo.

our babies at the time of writing

our big kids at the time of writing