Birth of Tillwyn

Every new day seemed that it might be the day that baby would decide to arrive.  Every day I thought to myself "maybe there's something else I could be doing to help my body feel ready to have this baby!" and we speculated all the time that maybe she was waiting for the solstice or the full moon or a good thunderstorm or fathers day or to share a birthday with so-and-so.


Gramma Terri was visiting and working very hard every day to support me and our family's needs, hanging laundry, taking the kids on adventures, and even hauling gravel and mowing the lawn!  I felt great pressure internally to get the baby out before her two week visit was over so that she could *at least* hold her granddaughter before she would need to return home.


I'd visited a doctor a few times in the prior month or so and knew that I had been dilated to 4 centimeters as of 3 weeks prior to this day, June 29th.  I'd actually lost my mucous plug at 38 weeks.  I felt my body could hardly be any readier, and sometimes I almost worried that I might be going to birth the baby without going into labor at all--that she might just fall out when I was pooping one of these days;  I figured maybe that is why some women accidentally birth in the aisle of the grocery store...


All the same, I was staying active, lifting heavy things, running to chase a toddler, mowing the grass and I even did some jumping jacks trying to inspire my body to eject the little one.
And, I kept up a conscious effort to maintain my patience.  Two of my other three children had been approximately 42 weeks gestation at onset of labor and there was a good chance this one would join the club.


At 41 weeks and 5 days along, around 3 o'clock in the afternoon, I came to notice that my pre-birthy braxton hicks contractions seemed to be coming about every 5 minutes apart.  I sat in a chair and timed them for a half hour until it was time to pick up the kids from the summer school bus stop.  We'd waited a little too long and would be late walking so Gavain and I drove Terri's rental car there and as we stood waiting for the kids we talked (for the hundredth time) about how maybe today was the day.  The contractions stayed regular until, when we got back to the house, they shifted into something more.  I had a labor contraction, standing alone in the bathroom, staring at nothing, recognizing that the wait was over.  Then I went pee and wiped, finding blood.  


I walked into the bedroom where Gramma Terri was cooling off by the window AC and told her that it seemed that I was beginning labor.  She gave me a very supportive and encouraging hug, apologizing profusely for her onion breath (which I couldn't smell!) and said she was ready... it was just for me to get the two youngest kids packed up, and she would sweep them away to the hotel.  I then set to work slowly packing the kids up while my crampy contractions distracted me...I felt the fog of labor creeping in and it was difficult to remember what I'd packed and what I hadn't and where to find the things I wanted to pack.  The house was abustle with children and conversations and who-knows-what-else.  I felt a jumble of calm excitement, irritation (at the kids' clatter and chatter), and appreciation that I really wouldn't have to have little ones at this birth (as I did my last birthing).  My brain was trying to plan what to do with the last of my time that would be, perhaps, quite short, before baby was with us.


Terri left with the kids, and the manly birth team was set:  Gavain(my fiance(now husband) and father of this baby), David(father of my toddler), and Egon(my 9 yr old son).
I went down to the basement to sort recycling and Egon came down with me;  I showed him how to do this himself, because I'd been meaning to do that for some time.  We probably talked about that I was in early labor.  Gavain came through the basement working on a project and asked for my help with it at one point.  I don't even remember what the project was because of the labor-mental-fog, but 


I told him that Terri had taken the kids and that I was thinking this was it.  He smiled supportively and probably asked if there was something I wanted him to do for me.  I think that's what happened but I might be making that up!   (this was less than a week ago, mind you).  Gavain knew that my birthplan was basically:  get the little kids out of the space, labor on my own unless I ask for something, and let Gavain know when baby is coming.
When I came back up into the house I asked David to help me time my contractions (hey, its something to do!)...I would call out "time!" and he would tell me how long it had been since the prior contraction.  At around four minutes apart I got too involved in my own process to remember to call out to David.  I gather that he continued to time then anyway, by listening to my vocalizations (I guess!).


Egon, my nine-year old was in and out of my space, which was mostly the bedroom (a sleeping-room currently shared by two adults and three children).  He made me laugh a lot (he is *very* funny!) in between many contractions.  He was helpful to me and others during the birth, running here and there on short errands.  At some point, he (and David?) gathered flowers outside and placed them in vases around the house;  it was a splendid contribution to my sense that I was being supported.
In another moment, I realized that I felt stinky and took a quick showerbath.


Things seemed to me to stay about the same for the first couple of hours (total guess on that time estimate).  Then, I felt that I probably wasn't progressing as quickly as in my two prior births because I was hanging out with my charming but *pesky* kid!  And!  It was sunny outside!  It was very strange to me to be laboring with broad daylight streaming in the windows.  For that matter, I wanted to go outside and be with the birds (our ducks and geese) for a while, but didn't want to alarm any passers-by if I suddenly found myself in transition in the yard.


Well, and I was naked and having trouble deciding what to wear!  It didn't make sense to my inner-creature to put on clothes, but I did end up throwing on a little shirt/dress for a quick dash into our front yard.


We had had a large bluejay nest on an altar-like surface in the living room.  It was falling apart so I tossed it out and decided to replace it with the beautiful little abandoned robin's nest from the short tree in our front yard.  Robins were a reoccurring theme in this pregnancy.  And the nestbuilding and awaiting nest has been a theme in our anticipation of the birth as well as in my engagement with Gavain.  I tossed into the nest a sprinkling of rounded blueish rocks that the children had collected down in the "crick" (I'd been cleaning and didn't have another place for them);  they symbolized the members of our family to me and they looked perfectly graceful there.  During the labor, Egon made a large gods-eye for the baby with green and ivory wool yarn and two sticks that he found in the yard and glued together in an x.  This also joined the altar.  And I remembered kaseja!  We'd planned to burn a candle from kaseja, representing her being with us at the birth.  Gavain jogged out to the bus to fetch it, brought it in, and got it lit up by the side of the bed I'd made up for the labor.  Now then!  We were ready for this!


I also posted online in a couple places an announcement that I was in labor.  


I spent most of the rest of the labor that I remember in the bedroom folding laundry and filling up the new linen closet with more and more linens.  Later I set to re-making the other two beds in the room.  I visited the toilet now and then to finish clearing out my poops.  There, I would stop doing and just be for a moment. The very act of sitting on the toilet is a very efficient way to help labor progress, I find.


Gavain passed through a few times asking how he could help and running off again for this or that.  At one point he asked if I'd mind if he used a power tool to cut a hole in the wall for a cat door and I gave my approval.  I greatly enjoy his enthusiasm for this type of project and it was pleasant to me to know that he was following his bliss.  The sound did not bother me in the least because I was deeply in my own experience now.

The menfolk got together my birthing music (Bjork's album, "Vespertine")...it was something I requested well into labor; they somehow acquired the music online.  (This album is awesome for birthing...nothing else that I've found stands up to it!)  

I don't remember much from here.  Gavain has compiled a video, from multiple clips taken by David, which does a better job of conveying the last 45 minutes of the labor than my memory does!        

*          *          *

Gavain joined me in the final phase of my labor and we welcomed Tillwyn together.  To those people who describe the pushing phase of labor being "easy" compared with transition:  This is not always the case!  I mean...I guess I mean that big babies really do feel more uncomfortable to birth than do average sized ones.  That is the extent of my experiencial knowledge of the matter.  At least, until her head was out, I was experiencing sensations that the wimpy parts of me would have had me run away from!  She was somewhere at or above 10 lbs at birth, 21inches long.  Born at 8:05 pm June 29th in Edina, Missouri!

Now, after she was born, you will see (if you view the video), I make a bunch of strange girlish sighing sounds.  I am embarrassed about this, and the best thing that I can think of to say about it right now is that its much better than after Simon's birth!  

She was so *mad* about being born.  She cried so much and so loudly after her birth.  I thought I was surely in for having a firecracker of a daughter!  Her umbilical leash was so short that I was unable to hold her, let alone nurse her, after her birth.  We were all somewhat paralyzed, unable to move or rearrange ourselves, until her cord stopped pulsing and could be cut.    

Surprisingly, she has, since her birth, been the most sweet, cooperative, and quiet baby that anyone would ever hope to know!  That's coming from a woman that has previously had 3 very "good" babies, I promise. 

She is associated with daylight.  She will not stay awake at nighttime;  though she kind of wakes up approximately once at night to nurse (we co-sleep), she otherwise sleeps until the next day.   

Her name is Tillwyn Calliope U'Prichard McGuire!  Tillwyn means "Friend of the Tiller" or "Captain's Right Hand" or "First Mate";  It is a name that Gavain and I derived from the name "Matilda" (meaning powerful battler).  Calliope is a rockin steam-powered organ-like instrument, but it is also the name of the greek goddess of epic poetry and eloquence, and it means "beautiful voice".  U'Prichard is her paternal name (passed down the paternal line); McGuire is her maternal name (passed down the maternal line).      

Hallelujah for life and for breath and for grace and for Tillwyn!

We might be homeowners soon!

Here's a very silly video we took for our mothers to see the house we've just made an offer to buy.
It was taken with the built-in webcam in Ian's (Gavain's nephew's) hand-me-down netbook.
It is also incomplete because we forgot to go through two whole rooms in the house. There are four total good-sized rooms that need to be insulated, walled(drywall, panelling, or otherwise), and painted.

And this is the video from the Listing Agent.

Neither of the videos capture the grandness or fine details that the house exhibits in real life, but they are fun anyway!

Egon's Papercraft

Gavain and Dana dancing!

Archery Unlimited

You might think it is strange that "Duck and Goose" are going hunting, but that is our intention. When we consider where our meat sources from, buying it from the supermarket, hunting becomes a kinder way to interact with animals, on the whole. Why not be vegetarian? Well, the resources needed to cultivate enough land to provide for protein needs (and other nutrient needs) has a significant impact on the environment as well. A deer, on the other hand, can absorb nutrients from plants that we can't even digest, and concentrate those nutrients so that we can get by with less. We can play the part of predator every once in a while and not become jaded to the extraordinary moment of life on Earth.

So, here we are, having gone down to Outdoor World, outside of Houston, Texas. Dana has misophonia, which is a debilitating aversion to certain sounds, including many mouth-sounds, like chewing. I have some of that (not as severe), but, more to the point, I am so easily startled by loud sounds that firearms are pretty much out-of-the-question for me. The idea of igniting gunpowder in close proximity to my ear is...unappealing. So, we're walking in to this outdoor sports emporium to consider whether to buy a high-powered air rifle for shooting small game, or whether to go with the choice that Dana and I, in our romantic hearts, would prefer: some sort of bow and arrow.

It turns out that the "small game" you can shoot with a $100-$200 air rifle is "varmints" of various small size: squirrels, rats, blue jays -- none of which are quite turning into succulent mental visions of dinner, as I stand before the racks of Daisies, and Remingtons, and the like. On the other hand, a crossbow is a lethal weapon, with which it is easy for a beginner to rapidly gain accuracy. However, there's just something sinister-seeming about a crossbow; it is the place where mechanized devilry intruded upon the grace of archery. Plus, they don't require the finesse of a vertical bow, and, even though our food will depend on it, I don't think that our egos will let us get away with doing something that doesn't require hardcore skill.

In the next aisle are compound bows, devices that use cams and pulleys to offset the draw-weight of the bow, so that when you have fully drawn back the string on a compound bow, you are resisting a fraction of the full force with which the arrow will be propelled forward. Once you have ruled out crossbows, however, it is fairly easy to dismiss compound bows in a similar way. They are complex; have moveable, breakable parts; have a sight; and generally are the archery world's point-and-shoot instrument. Compare this to what awaits in the last half of the last aisle: the longbow, the bow-and-arrow in its simplest, primordial form. Also, there is the recurve bow, its modern iteration, fibreglass-backed, and with limbs that arc away from the archer (when the bow is unstrung) to add extra force in a shorter bow. These are used in a style of archery called "Instinctive," where one does not use a mounted sight to align the shot with the target, but rather trains an arrow to the bull's eye by releasing the arrow from a practiced stance while visualizing the target in a kind of Zen state.

Needless to say, an hour and half later, Dana and I are walking out of Outdoor World with a recurve bow, a box of arrows, a practice target, and the expectation that, if we practice hard for two years, as our customer service agent said, we'll then be ready to start mounting broadhead points on our arrows and taking out deer. True, this is a bow for Egon (getting him this fulfills a plan that was hatched a couple years ago and stalled out before completion), and Dana and I are just "studying," to see if we actually like this form of archery. But, in the couple of weeks since then, we have found that we really enjoy this activity (as the agent warned us we would), and I have the sense that this is going to, in some way, become a cornerstone of our lives. At this point, Dana has a traditional longbow, I have a traditional longbow, Dagny has a little, pink longbow, we are on to our second target, we have shooting gloves and tabs and quivers (I am sewing mine out of pieces of an old leather coat I cut up), we have feather-fletched arrows; and, most importantly, we are hitting bull's eyes... well at least some of the time. Upon seeing her bow for the first time this evening, Dagny blurted out, "Where are the silencers?" She has been most excited about the small pompoms, made of yarn, that attach to her bowstring and dampen its vibrations, to still what noise a 10 lb. bow does make when it is loosed upon the world. Sure is a heck of a lot quieter than a shotgun. Our Merrie Band is on its way!