When I saw a copy of Kris Carr and Chad Sarno’s Crazy Sexy Kitchen at my local library, I didn’t hesitate to slip it onto the top of my stack of books. After all, its gotten some crazy sexy reviews.

When I got home, I flipped right to the recipe section of the book. Over the past week and half, I’ve tried out a number of recipes. They’ve all been enjoyable, and I’ve found a couple of keepers that fit some gaps in my usual repertoire. The book seems well researched to me. There probably isn’t a dud in the whole book– I wouldn’t hesitate to try a new recipe out even on a night when company was coming for dinner.

Quite a lot of the book is devoted not to recipes, but to philosophy and kitchen preparation. Usually this strikes me as “preaching to the choir;” you could rip out that section in all of my cookbooks, and I couldn’t care less. However, over the years the reasons for my vegetarianism and veganism have shifted and evolved, as has the vegan community’s. Crazy Sexy Kitchen is part of the era of “beyond vegan.” You’ve probably seen phrases like “plant-strong” and “plant empowered” replacing the term “vegan.” Kris Carr clearly explains the reasoning behind eating non-inflammatory foods, rejecting “milk and dairy mumbo jumbo,” cutting back on gluten and sugar, and paying attention to food pH and raw foods. This is veganism at its most vibrant, and I call it “beyond vegan” because it goes beyond just looking at a product label to see whether or not animal products are in it.

I was happy not to skip the sermon part of the cookbook for once, because it has gotten me thinking about my eating habits in a new way again. It’s not a bad thing that mostly I’m a vegan out of habit– who has the energy to re-evaluate their diet every single day? Over the years, though, when ever I’ve gotten complacent, new shifts in attitudes, available foods, and research have helped me to develop and deepen my relationship with food and veganism.

Sure, some of the photos of Kris Carr are a little much, and her peppy, fun style of writing, while refreshing, might just be a little exhausting to read at times. Bear with it to reap the rewards, and remember that you can always skip to the back of the book and try out a recipe or two for a little bit of a break.

Here are some of the recipes I tried out, and what I think of them:

The first recipes I made were Sage Polenta with Nana’s Marinara. I’m a huge fan of polenta, but I usually make mine plain and then jazz it up with sauce later. I enjoyed the taste made with almond milk and sage, but if you’re going to chill the polenta to cut and then fry, the recipe calls for too many onions– they cause the polenta to crumble. Nana’s Marinara is a great basic tomato sauce, and I’m glad they included it. Too often cookbook authors ignore the basics, thinking every cookbook already has that recipe, and so therefore you end up having to go online just to find, say, a banana bread recipe even though you own 13 cookbooks.

Another night I had, as part of my dinner, some Super Simple Wok Veggies. Yes, I can stir fry without a recipe– but using one reminded me to jazz it up with vegetables that I don’t normally include, like water chestnuts.

To pair with the veggies, my husband made me Madeira Peppercorn Tempeh. Man, was this stuff good. However, he says it was very complicated, and I can attest that it took him a long time to make it. Was it worth it? I can only imagine myself making this in the future if I make a big batch of it. It’s too disheartening to spend hours on a meal that gets wolfed down in minutes. But I must admit, I found myself thinking “whoa, I’m eating meat!” when I had leftovers the next day. I normally don’t think it’s necessarily a complement when people say “and you can’t even tell it’s vegan” or “even meat lovers will ask for more,” because I love vegan food and think it can stand on its own merits. Also, since I have been a vegetarian or vegan for the majority of my life, I don’t actually know what meat tastes like anymore, so can I really say these things? But this is a little bit like what I imagine meat tastes like, only it’s not all fatty and with a weird texture.

The recipe I was most excited– and nervous– about trying out was the Crazy Sexy Goddess Smoothie. I am not one to usually put veggies in my smoothies, but since Kris Carr wrote “drinking your produce will literally change your life. Green juices and smoothies are the most important part of my daily practice,” I knew that I couldn’t truly judge this book without trying out a smoothie recipe. The verdict? I hardly could tell there was spinach in it– this is a true beginner’s smoothie. I had only dipped my toes in the waters of green smoothies, but trying this one made me eager for more. Maybe next time I’ll have enough courage to make one that is actually green!

Although I enjoyed all of the recipes I tried, I found Hearts-of-Palm-Style Crab Cakes with Remoulade to be a keeper. Guest chef Tal Ronnen surely has some chef genius going on. Why have I never seen making patties from hearts of palm before? The texture is perfect! His flavorings are delicious, and the remoulade is spot on. I’ll bring this one out for company in the future.

Perhaps the recipe that I will make most often from this book is the Save the Tuna Salad. Made from soaked almonds and sunflower seeds, it tastes nothing like tuna– thank goodness! It has a palatable texture and, thanks to the sea veggie, some delicious umami taste to it.

I also tried the Mediterranean Wrap with Cashew Cream Cheese, which is something I enjoyed, but probably won’t make frequently– it was an expensive recipe.

If I have any complaint with the recipes in this book, it is that some of the recipes are expensive, while others too complicated for me to imagine making. If someone else wants to make me Vegan “Clam” Chowder, I’m all for it, but there’s no way I’m making cashew cream, kombu broth, and smoked mushrooms all separately, just to have a bowl of soup. Though who knows? I say that now, but it looks really good…

I can always take this cookbook out from the library when I want to, and that makes me happy. I don’t feel the need to get my own copy, however. Like I said, the writing style isn’t for me, but mostly, it’s because I feel that no matter how good these recipes are, most of the recipes included aren’t recipes to live on. It feels more like a showcase cookbook for company. The “main events” don’t always contain protein or other elements that would balance most sides I usually eat, and much of what I tasted didn’t necessarily make me feel more vibrant and healthy compared to how I normally eat. For most people, these things might not matter, but they do to me because (shh, don’t tell) I don’t actually like to cook. I like to eat. And this is a cookbook for a cook, not for an eater who happens to have to cook in order to eat. In my daily life, I reach for the same cookbooks again and again, ones with recipes that create leftovers that you can re-heat, make meals that aren’t prohibitively expensive, and are very filling with lots of protein and veggies. If they don’t dirty a lot of dishes in the making that’s even better. I like a diner kind of cookbook with food you serve American style. This is not that cookbook. This is more of an upscale restaurant kind of a cookbook, where they use watercress as a garnish, arrange everything artistically, and at the end of the meal you are still hungry. But at least it tasted good.

And it does. It’s crazy, sexy good.

Glen Alton in Giles County, Virginia

For centuries, people have been pondering the classic koans: the sound of one hand clapping, the nature of the Buddha, the tree falling in the forest. Now, we get to add to this the distinctly American koan: How can you trespass on your own land?

Like the Native Americans who could not wrap their head around the idea of buying and selling land, I have not been able to wrap my head around the shutdown of public lands during the government shutdown. I’ve read the reasons, but I still don’t really get it. These lands are mine and yours. That’s what I knew, and as my husband joked, I was ready to go all Edward Abbey on my favorite piece of National Forest if they didn’t stop all this nonsense soon.

Life with a newborn makes time go faster, but it was a long 16 days without Glen Alton. “Where? Glen What?”

Glen Alton. Paradise right here in Giles County. You know you haven’t died and gone to heaven only because a) the swarm of gnats that surround you must have come from the wrong side of Earth and b) surely no lawn mowing is necessary in heaven.

Glen Alton in October

Glen Alton is an old homestead that has recently been renovated for public use. The extensive grounds call to picnickers, while the red-painted outbuildings make it a photographer’s dream. Birders come to listen to calls on the nature trail, and fishermen reel in trout from nearby Big Stony Creek. Littler folks find delight in the mound of sand and sandbox toys, swings, and the mud pie “kitchen.”

Looking back from the birding trail

Eric and I originally wanted to get married here, but that was the year they were doing construction on the buildings, and we didn’t think yellow “do not cross” tape was very romantic. Now, however, it’s perfect. One of the main buildings is occupied full time as a caretaker’s cottage, but the other is available for day-time rental. Brides often use it to get dressed for their big day. Most weddings take place underneath the grape-vine arbor on a manicured peninsula. (As what homestead would be complete without its very own pond?)

Wedding area

The best time to visit Glen Alton is in October. Wind enough to keep the gnats away, sunshine, spectacular mountain views made better by the changing colors of the leaves– you won’t ask for any more, but you’ll get it. Delicious muscadine grapes, unusual apple varieties, pears too, chestnuts and walnuts just a-lying on the ground, all ready for the taking. You can go and harvest the wealth for hours at a time. All of this might make you might be tempted to keep Glen Alton a secret all to yourself, but it’s not necessary. There’s plenty for everybody. Just being there will make you feel positively rich.

Heron enjoying the fruits of fall

Muscadine grapes

Every time I go to Glen Alton, I discover something new. There are so many little out-of-the-way pockets to poke about in. Can you find the old barn– the one that’s not painted red? What about the row of blueberry bushes? The old scales? What will I find next time?

The old barn

Scales at Glen Alton- look closely to see figures done on the boards, back when it was in use.

So, have I convinced you yet? Go visit! But first, a caveat: Glen Alton is off the beaten track; the caretaker’s cottage is the end of the line for electrical and telephone service. Don’t expect to get cell service or your GPS to provide accurate directions. Also, bring a wide-brimmed hat (in case of gnats).

Directions to Glen Alton can be found here. After your visit, you’ll surely want to become part of “Friends of Glen Alton.”

In the meantime, leave a comment to tell me about your favorite piece of public land that you’re glad to be able to visit again.

Since Heron’s birthday, I’ve thought a lot about my labor and birth experience, which you can read about here. Like many births, it didn’t go as hoped, planned, or desired. Despite this, his birth was beautiful, awe- inspiring, mind-blowing, and powerful—just like I had hoped, planned, and desired. Those things are inherent in new life coming into this world.

Before becoming pregnant, I didn’t know very much about labor and birth; I’d be going into it blindfolded. In generations past, this likely wouldn’t have been the case: I’d have helped friends and relatives at births before becoming pregnant myself. I’d know what I was getting into, at least a little bit.

In an effort to lift the blindfold before I went into labor, I started researching. At the start, I was confused by unexplained references made online to things like “Pitocin” and “preeclampsia.” I became the mad Googler, only to come up with references to even more terms that I was supposed to already know about.  So I googled these too, and the crazed cycle continued.

Don’t do that to yourself. Even if you can figure out everything online, you’ll feel like you’re always missing something. Get yourself a good book that will lay out all the technical stuff for you. Read it, and then turn on the computer for the good stuff online. The birth stories.  (Which you now understand, because you know all about continuous electronic fetal monitoring and pre-toxemia without resorting to mad Googling.)

Books might help you technically prepare, but other women’s accounts of their children’s births will help prepare you emotionally. These birth stories didn’t reveal to me how my labor was going to go, but they helped show me the power and possibilities of birth.

In an effort to share what is possible, I’ve collected 25 different birth stories from 25 different blogs down below. Since you can’t read them all in one sitting without birth story overload, I recommend that you bookmark this page and come back to it as your pregnancy progresses. I hope that you gain as much as I did from these courageous women who have shared their stories. There are a lot of stories out there, but here I’ve included only ones that touched me emotionally in some way, and that I learned from.

Without any further ado, here they are:

1. 2 Plus 3 Makes 5 One baby is difficult enough for me—this woman has triplets, and two older children at home besides. No, I don’t know how she has time to blog. Check out her story for a sweet picture of one triplet sucking on another triplet’s fingers.
2. Anne Riley So, imagine going to the hospital, but they won’t admit you. Not because you’re not in active labor, but because they can’t find your cervix. Anne Riley practically gives birth before being admitted, and she makes it all sound… well, hilarious. You know it wasn’t this funny when it was actually happening.
3. A Belly for Me, a Baby for You  Tiffany Burke, surrogate mother, gives birth to twins at 34 weeks. That sounds amazing in itself, but it’s the details, humor, and pictures that makes this post what it is. Case In point, a picture of herself with a tupperware: What’s in it? Amniotic fluid. So Tiffany can prove that her water really broke, she didn’t just pee herself.  (“I pee my pants ALL the time, I know the difference!”)
4. A Bump and a Lump  The best sound ever is a baby’s first cry, especially for this mom, who is fighting cancer at the same time as she is pregnant.
5. Enjoying the Small Things Once you read this birth story, you’ll never forget it. This is the powerful story of Nella Cordelia, and one mother’s honest and beautiful reaction when she realized her newborn had Down Syndrome.
6. The Excellent Adventure This is a feel-good birth story, about which the author writes “This was how it should be, for every woman, every where.” This is where I first came across the idea that “labor is so the woman’s spirit can journey across the sky to bring her baby’s soul to earth,” and after having experienced labor, I have to say that it feels true.
7. The Fix-Its  This story could hardly be more different than mine—I never had occasion to say “The baby is about to fall out.” It’s important (and great!) to know that 20 minutes of pushing is a possibility too.
8. The Healthy Ginger  When Natasha Bell and her husband Mark decided to have a home birth, they kept it a secret from friends and family. If you’re pregnant, you know why this is such a delicious start to the story: even complete strangers think they are entitled to give you pregnancy advice, and this couple just says… nope, thanks, I’m not going to deal with all that. Haha! Take that! Seriously, though, this is a beautiful story, and a great one for non-pregnancy experts as Natasha takes the time to explain any medical terms she uses.
9. Hillsteading This is one of my favorite birth stories, and it is so real. I love how she believed in her body—this is something all women can do, going into labor. If you’re an expecting mama, I recommend reading this story, as she writes a lot about how she got through the experience.
10. Hungry Hungry Hippie A NICU story with a happy ending.
11. It’s Just Laine There’s such a feeling of excitement when you go into labor, like you’re a little kid (who can barely tell past, present,  and future apart) that has woken up to find that Santa has finally come. Forget Santa, it’s the stork that’s magic! The anticipation in Laine’s story is joyous!
12. The Little Things We Do  Lauren’s story is bad-ass, and she comes right out and says so. After her natural birth, Lauren writes, “I picked Fern up out of the tub and looked her over and the first thing I said was: ‘Wow!  I did that!  That’s bad ass!’” Three hours of pushing and a brow presentation? Yeah, that’s bad-ass. One more thing: if you want your husband to say something like “You have never been sexier than you are right now – and I mean that.  You just gave birth to our baby,” at your birth, give him a hint and have him read this story too.
13. Lovely Morning   I really want to tell you what makes this birth special, but I can’t, ‘cause that would ruin it. I know, you’re thinking “Birth story. Woman goes into labor. Baby is born. Where’s the plot twist, again?” But if you don’t think “Whoa, amazing!” after you read this, then I doubt your reading comprehension abilities are up to snuff.
14. Marigold Road Reading positive stories like this is immensely helpful and calming before going into labor, as they are a source of strength to draw on. Maybe your labor will be like this; maybe not. You can’t know, but it’s helpful to envision, no matter what the outcome.
15. Mighty Girl  Every time I go to write about a birth story on this list, I want to say, “I love this story. It’s one of my favorites!” So, yes, that’s true (again!), but the bonus for this story is that it’s also told with a lot of humor. So, if you’ve just had a C-section and laughing hurts, you might want to hold off for a couple of weeks.
16. More Like Mary ~ More Like Me  Kaitlin’s story about her son Paul’s birth is a good reminder that things can be OK even when labor progresses very differently than planned. Kaitlin wanted a natural birth but ended up with Pitocin and an epidural. What I love is that she wasn’t pressured into these things in the moment, but chosen by her—and right for her. She says, “I am DONE. I am NOT a martyr. I have NOTHING to prove!” and does what she needs to do. This isn’t an “unnecessary intervention” runaway train story—it’s a story of one strong mama.
17. Noah’s Dad  Uniquely from Dad’s perspective, this is a story of the birth of a child with Down Syndrome.
18. Noelle Aloud  Birth can have complications. I haven’t included too many stories that showcase that, because I do believe that most birth is normal, and we should empower women to know that, but nevertheless, it’s impossible not to have some worry when you are pregnant. How can we handle that? Noelle shows us just how strong we can be in labor.
19. Notes from a Ragamuffin  Jordan’s story about the birth of her daughter Penny is written from a very real place. I love how she is honest about labor denial, fear of not progressing, and what she is thinking as she gives birth. It’s not all puppies and rainbows, but at the end, she turns to her husband and says, “I could totally do this 4 or 5 more times.”
20. NYC Running Mama This is a nice story of having family present during the birth.
21. The Rebel Heart While reading this, I kept thinking, “Is this really happening?” You know in your strangest pregnancy dreams/nightmares you narrowly miss giving birth in a car and make it to the hospital only with the help of a police escort. In a foreign country. Since that’s not going to actually happen to you, go ahead and live vicariously through Charlotte.
22. I Still Hate Pickles  Kirsten writes, “Even if you don’t plan to have a C-section, it might be nice to know some of this stuff, because birth generally goes different ways than what we expect or even hope.” Since I didn’t want a C-section, I didn’t read as many C-section stories, but I’m glad I did read some! I very much identify with Kirsten when she wraps up her blog post saying, “Birth stories can be great or awful, or somewhere in between. The baby is always worth it in the end, but that doesn’t mean you can toss out a horrible experience, and many women even experience post-traumatic stress. Know that birth matters, to you and your baby, beyond just having a healthy baby.” On a side note, I really wish that I had delivered at a hospital that allowed immediate skin-to-skin contact in the operating room, the way this one did. Definitely look into that, even if you think a C-section will never happen to you!
23. The Spohrs are Multiplying  Another positive C-section story, this one from Dad’s perspective.
24. They All Call Me Mom The home birth story of a big baby from a big family. These pictures don’t lie about what birth is like.
25. Wood Turtle   Here’s an excerpt of this beautiful birth story:  “It is amazing to me to see what I am physically capable of, how well I know my body, and that I was blessed to have an informed and empowered birth experience.” Reading this story will put you on the path to having the same.

What about you? Do you have a story that this list really should include? Let me know.

I’m sure there’s a poignant and telling metaphor out there that could convey just how very uniquely awful having a C-section is, but I can’t think of one. Maybe it’s not really like anything. Maybe it just sucks.

I asked everyone at the hospital how long it would take to feel better. The answers varied, from “You’ll be up walking around, feeling so much better in a couple of days!” to “You’ll be 90% in about a month.” A couple of days. I could do that. A month? Not as good, but I could still do that.

Well, a couple of days went by and I could barely move. Although I still had Heron’s meconium and blood on me, I was physically incapable of showering. I felt so helpless, especially because the nurses seemed so impatient, too busy to help. I was discharged without knowing whether or not I could climb stairs and get into my own house.

At home I found that yes, I could go up the stairs. It was not easy; everything hurt. At some point during that first week, I wailed to my husband “I’m recovering from major surgery and giving birth on Motrin! This is evil!” The pain just didn’t end. It was like I was still in labor.

My midwife had set up an appointment for me with another practice closer to my house for my week check-up. Here’s part of my conversation with this midwife, whom I had never met before.

Midwife: … and when you’re done with your narcotics…
Me: Wait, I’m on narcotics?
Midwife: Aren’t you? Didn’t they give you a prescription for lortab?
Me: Uh, no. I’m taking Ibuprofen.
Midwife: You’re not taking pain medication and you just walked right in here a week after a C-section? And labor? You’re a rock star!
Me: No wonder why I feel so shitty. (And I start crying, of course.)

So, if somehow you end up discharged without a prescription after your C-section, know that your doctors are not sadistic, they just made a mistake. Go ahead and make them fix that pronto. Then go brush your hair, because your rock star status will be downgraded.

Being “allowed” narcotics wasn’t the only surprise in store for me during that appointment. The hospital had sent over the paperwork about Heron’s birth, and the midwife sat down to share it with me. Finally! Despite my questions after the C-section, nobody at the hospital had time to sit down and talk with me about what happened.  I had to wait to talk to someone I had never met before I could find out the specifics.

Because of my back labor, I believed that Heron had been posterior, or sunny-side-up, with his backbone pressed against my backbone. Perhaps he wasn’t fitting that way, because at some point he must have tried to turn—but he didn’t make it all of the way. Instead, he ended up transverse, with his head sideways (note: this is different than a transverse lie). According to documentation from the hospital, they found him in “deep transverse arrest” when they pulled him out of me during the C-section. There was no way that Heron was going to fit with the widest part of his head presenting. (Note: If you’re not sure what I mean, here is a good link to check out.)

Despite the logic of that last statement, I had and still have a lot of grief over the C-section. Often, after I nurse Heron at 1 or 2 a.m. and put him back to sleep, I have trouble putting myself back to sleep. Different details of my birth experience surface nightly, but my strongest emotions keep coming back to one thing– a sense of loss over not getting to feel Heron come into this world. During labor, I felt so much—but I didn’t get to feel him being born. Because Heron may be our only child, I likely will never get to experience that. These feelings, like labor itself, are something I can’t shut off, but can only work with.

This is where people tell me, “But you should be grateful a C-section was available. If you lived 200 years ago, you’d be dead. After all, you have a healthy baby, and that’s all that matters.”

I believe that this is what the medical profession wants us to believe—but I don’t think it’s the whole story. A healthy baby, a healthy mama, and a normal, whole birth: one doesn’t necessarily preclude the other. Yet we’re made to feel guilty for wanting to “have our cake and eat it too,” as if what’s best for mama, what she wants, couldn’t also be what’s best for baby, too.  I very much love my healthy baby and am grateful for him—but I do regret not being able to birth him, and I’m not ashamed of those feelings. (In fact, I think it’s normal and maybe even evolutionary hardwired for a laboring women to want to be aware and feeling as her child leaves her.)

Yes, thank God for C-sections that are most often safe and effective. Some women need them, and would no longer be here without one. But did I need one? Maybe. I’ll never really know, because nobody tried to turn my baby. I thought that this option wasn’t provided by most doctors at this hospital because it was either risky or had only a slim chance of working—but now, after having done some research, I find that it isn’t the case. (Take a look at this article from Science & Sensibility.) Could my baby have been one of the 90% of babies that it would have worked for? Very likely, but it only remains a what-if. Because there was nobody available to me that had the ability to perform the rotation (though plenty that could do a far more complicated C-section!), yes, I did have to have a C-section in this specific situation. I don’t fault any person involved, knowing that everybody did what they could to help me avoid a C-section, but if the medical system had different priorities, and different skill sets were taught, then perhaps I would be telling a different story now.

If you are searching for a midwife or doctor, my advice is that you ask them about their experience with posterior labor and turning babies during labor. Do not settle for the answer “most babies will wiggle their way to a good position during labor.” This might be true, but it doesn’t really address the problem. I never thought to ask too much about this, because the stories I have heard and read with back labor involve the woman just dealing with it. (This midwife, though, believes otherwise.) I just thought that’s what you did, and your own bad luck if you happen to have a sunny-side-up baby. I didn’t realize that my baby could end up in deep transverse arrest, and I could have a C-section because that’s all that was available to me.

Other Reflections:

On Being Persuaded to Have a Cesarean: This is probably where I have the most anger regarding my hospital stay.  Instead of informing me of my specific situation and treating me like an intelligent person, I was given a speech/lecture that I bet this doctor hardly ever varied. I really should get a C-section because the baby might become in distress after such a long labor (umm, no. The baby was being continuously monitored and his heart rate didn’t drop even once the whole time.) We don’t know why the baby isn’t coming down, but it’s dangerous to keep trying because his cord could be too short (umm, no. The heart rate never dropped.) And this one was a little unique: It’s not good for your baby to be in your vagina for so long. He could get an infection. (never mentioning the chances of my getting an infection during a C-section, of course. But, keeping in mind mama’s health doesn’t matter, still no. Heron still had his amniotic sac protecting him.)

Meanwhile, if I had known Heron was transverse, I would have asked for a C-section pronto!  I didn’t want Demerol, Pitocin, and an epidural to be in me, transferring to Heron, if it wasn’t going to do anything! I only did all those things because I thought they could potentially work! It was a good thing I didn’t believe what this doctor had to say, because I would have been really confused about what did end up happening. It took four hours after I agreed for them to start the C-section! A real “dangerous” emergency, wouldn’t you say? It was pretty scary for me to know that at least some of the things she said were misleading. As a result, I felt like I couldn’t trust anything this doctor said.

About pain medication:

I wanted to have a natural labor and a natural birth. Before I had Heron, I thought that pain medication was like a C-section in that it was a “Thank God we have it” last resort that just didn’t apply to me. However, I should have realized that it wasn’t about me. It was about the situation, and no amount of desire could have changed it. When I thought about what-ifs, I never believed in them. “What if I need pain medication or a C-section” was like “What if I had to pack a suitcase for a trip to the moon.” Sure, there are people out there who need to think about these things, but it wasn’t real for me.

Even if you can’t make it feel real to you, it’s a game we can all play to at least prepare ourselves somewhat: What if you’re an expectant mother? What if x happens and you need or want a C-section or pain medication? What if it’s real?

For example, if you need a C-section, they are not (thankfully) going to perform that operation on your unmedicated self. It’s important to get to a place where this is okay, and you’re not going to feel guilty unnecessarily. What if you’re in labor for 24, 36, 48 hours, and think an epidural might help you relax or rest enough to birth your baby vaginally? That answer will be different for everyone, but one thing I do believe is that women have the right to (at least try for) a non-traumatic birth.

I know a woman who thinks about her non-medicated, natural birth in the way that many women think about their overly-medicated, hospital-controlled births. She had committed to not having any pain medication, and stuck with it, even though she got to a place where not only was she not on top of her pain, but she didn’t even want to be on top of it anymore. Her son was born with her feeling this way. For her second birth, she labored naturally until she started feeling this way, asked for an epidural, and actually was able to be mentally present during her second child’s birth. This birth was healing for her. Everyone has a different story to tell, and one thing I learned is that you don’t know what yours will be.

That being said, however, I do know that many women ask for pain medication because they are afraid that they won’t be able to handle the pain that is coming, not because the actual pain is too much for them. My advice is to prepare for the pain as much as you can by learning about labor, practicing different pain-coping techniques, and reading birth stories.  Be willing to do what is right for you, and practice advocating for yourself before the birth. When you’re in labor, just deal with the moment that is happening right then– don’t think about the pain still to come. Even if you do all of that, you may still need to make different choices about pain medication than I did, because we are different people, and please believe me– really believe me– when I say that it is OK!

This little boy already knows how to advocate for himself.

For me, I had a very painful labor, but the hormones that were released during that time allowed me to bond with Heron right away. I am so glad I was able to have a natural labor, even as I regret having an unnatural birth.

On recovery:

So you’ve just had a C-section, and when you read “You’ll be 90% in about a month,” you started to cry? Well, you can stop now. I assure you, they’ve all been lying to you. People who actually go through an unplanned C-section have since told me three months, a year, and it can vary depending on who you are. Also, those nurses that told you not to be lazy, and get out of bed or you won’t heal? Erase that from your memory. Unless you’re rich and/or famous, it’s probably not possible to do too little and still feed yourself, take care of your baby, and have a clear path from room to room in your house.

It’s been a month, and I’m not even close to 90%. Yesterday I walked maybe a mile on a flat surface, over a span of a few hours, with lots of rest. Today I can barely get out of bed. This is not 90% of my pre-pregnant or pregnant self. I can’t believe that after a month I am still wishing I could feel as good as I did when I was 9 months pregnant. I know that eventually I will feel better, and I am healing, but it is very, very slow.

About What’s Important:

The whole story—good and bad, the grief and the joy—is important. The details that keep coming back to me even after I write this– how I almost bit my midwife when I was in so much pain (I was biting my own wrist, and hers was right next to mine!), how I sat on Eric’s lap and hugged him, how I gagged on the Hi-C when I tried to drink it– it’s all important. It’s important because this birth was the first thing we did together as a family. It’s important because the whole time, through every terrible and wonderful thing, we loved each other. I never, ever stopped feeling the love.

It’s an experience I would never want to forget.

We love you, Heron.

It’s probably pretty obvious at this point of the story that going to the hospital was not what I had wanted. I had decided to give birth at the birth center with a midwife because I wanted a natural labor and birth. I knew there was a chance I could end up at the hospital anyway—but I didn’t really believe it would happen as long as my baby wasn’t breech, premature, or beyond term. While I was in labor, dilating at the birth center, I didn’t think there was any chance that I would end up in the hospital.  Even when my labor went on and on, and my midwife worried that I might get tired, I never felt anything less than strong, even invincible.

I had some theoretical ideas about what I wanted to happen if I had to be transferred to the hospital, and even have a cesarean—I wrote them down in my birth plan. But I thought that I wasn’t really prepared to go to the hospital.

Surprisingly, though, I was prepared for it. I remember telling my sister that if I had complications and ended up in the hospital, I would take advantage of everything that could potentially help me give birth. I never thought I would have to live up to those words, but when I entered the hospital, I didn’t look back.  I knew that my body had already done everything it could to birth this baby without assistance, and it wasn’t enough. I felt strong enough to keep on going, looking forward. When my midwife showed up, I didn’t even really want her there, because I didn’t want to look back at all!

The first thing I did at the hospital was ask for an epidural. My birth plan requested that I not be offered pain medication unless I asked first, so that forced me to be active right from the very beginning. Because I had pushed for so long without progress, knowing the whole time that the pain wasn’t accomplishing anything, I had entered a place, mentally, where I was no longer trying to stay on top of the pain, but exit on the other side of it. I knew I had to get it together again in order to make any decisions. I also knew that an epidural could potentially help me relax enough to give birth vaginally. I wanted to do anything I could to avoid a c-section. Asking for an epidural made being at the hospital very real—but like I said, I wasn’t looking back.

But would they give me an epidural? Nope. The nurses and doctors told me that I was about to have the baby, and there was no time for an epidural! How I wished that were true! To give everyone credit, it was completely reasonable that they would come to this conclusion: anyone with eyes could see my baby’s head. The doctors didn’t know that I had felt his head in that same position for hours already. In fact, my nurse, thinking I wasn’t really aware of his position, placed a mirror so that I could also see my baby. I was surprised at the large caput that had formed on his head—the whole time I had thought it was an amniotic sac!

I was very frustrated with everyone for assuming the baby was about to come out on his own. Why would I be at the hospital then? Maybe the doctors thought I had gotten too tired at the birthing center, or that I hadn’t been pushing properly before. This was clearly faulty reasoning, as I had been just about as bad-ass as you can be during labor, and soon the doctors realized their mistake.  After observing the lack of baby’s descent after some good, strong contractions, the “this baby is coming now!” urgency went out the window and I was given the go-ahead for an epidural.

Of course, the anesthesiologist was tied up in surgery. While waiting, I accepted half a dose of Demerol, which spaced out my contractions. I didn’t really notice that effect (it seemed to be doing nothing) until it started to wear off! Thankfully, about 10 minutes after that, the anesthesiologist came in to give me my epidural. I was told to sit on the bed with my legs dangling off, but I felt it was physically impossible to do that! I was kneeling with my legs to one side, and asked “Can’t you just do it like this?” The anesthesiologist said “I’ve never seen that before, but okay.” After he placed the epidural in my spine, I panicked because I could still feel my painful contractions. I thought the epidural wasn’t working for me, as I knew was sometimes the case with back labor. The nurse reassured me that it took a few minutes to start working, and she was right. Feeling my contractions subside was blissful. At this point it was a little before noon, and you have to remember, this whole time (since 5:30), I had been pushing. I was physically unable to stop.

During my labor at the hospital, it seemed like there were a million people in my room. At some point there were two different nurses (both amazing), a nursing student who had never seen a birth before, an anesthesiologist and his student, one male doctor, at least four female doctors or residents, and another male doctor after the shift change. My midwife and Eric were also there.

With so many cooks in the kitchen, or doctors in the delivery room, things got pretty confusing at times. First, nobody could agree on the baby’s position. Because of my back labor, the nurse thought my baby was sunny-side-up, so she put me in an exaggerated side-lying position (Simm’s position) to try and get him to turn. She said “I wish Dr. So-and-so were here. She would try and turn your baby.” I wished that too, but at the time, I tried not to focus on what-if’s.

As soon as my epidural was placed, having a C-section was brought up. When I first got to the hospital, I had refused to sign the C-section consent form, telling the doctor “I’m not ready for that.” I was polite, but I inwardly felt very agitated when it was brought up again about 5 minutes after my epidural. I hadn’t even had the chance to see if the epidural would do anything! Eventually that doctor went away for a little while when I kept repeating myself.

Another doctor came in and talked about the possibility of a vacuum assisted delivery, which I was willing to consider over a C-section, though I still wanted to wait a little. He left, saying that I probably would have the baby in my arms in an hour or two, without either of those interventions.

My nurse coached me in pushing through some contractions, which was extremely weird. I couldn’t feel them anymore, so I had to rely on her telling me. If I hadn’t felt my body bearing down without the epidural, I would not really have known what to do. Having felt them, however, I was able to try and use those same muscles now. All the nurses and doctors told me that I was a really good pusher, but it still wasn’t working. One doctor gave me a sheet and we did “tug of war” with it, to try and give me as much traction as possible. Again, I was told how strong I was, but it still wasn’t working.

The epidural had relaxed me, slowing my contractions down. It was really frustrating, and the nurse suggested we could strengthen them with Pitocin. I said “let’s do it!” when the nurse promised we would shut the Pitocin off if my baby showed any signs of distress.

Right after we started the Pitocin, the pro C-section doctors came in and tried to convince me again. I was annoyed because I felt like I was wasting time now. I didn’t want to repeatedly say “not yet” while I could be working with the Pitocin! Eventually I convinced the doctors to leave me to try and labor in different positions. I told Dr. E., who stayed with me most of the time, “I didn’t put these drugs in my body for no reason. I want to see if it does anything.” She said “fair enough,” and helped me with the next part of my labor.

According to one doctor, it wasn’t “safe” for me to labor off of the bed with an epidural, but I could move around as long as I stayed on the bed. I took her literally. The nurse and Dr. E. put up the squat bar and I tried to squat with it—but that wasn’t comfortable. So, I stood up. On the bed. With an epidural. I held onto the squat bar and moved my hips, trying to wiggle that baby down. I pushed with each contraction. I knew I looked ridiculous, but it brought a levity and energy to the labor that I really needed. The nurse told her student “You’re never going to see this again. Most women don’t stand with an epidural.”

After a while I tired and sat back down. I pushed for a few more contractions. The nurse checked me, found the baby to be in the same position, and said “this isn’t working.” When I heard that, I felt deflated, but I knew she was right. It was about 2:30. I had first started pushing 9 hours ago, and at least 7 or 8 of those hours I was actively pushing. I had done everything I could do.

The pro C-section doctors came back in, ready for the kill. When I asked about a vacuum-assisted delivery, they said, “We wouldn’t have necessarily offered that to you.” They explained that it was mainly used when more assistance is needed on the woman’s part—the woman tires and can’t push. But I was too good of a pusher, I wasn’t tired, and they felt that something on the baby’s part was preventing him from coming down. They went to talk with the doctor who had offered it some hours ago, and came back with a “no” from him. Since I hadn’t progressed, he wasn’t comfortable doing it.

That’s when I started to cry, because I knew I was having a C-section. I hadn’t even wanted an epidural, and here I was, ending up with a C-section! After a little while, everyone left so Eric and I could have some privacy. We cried together for a little while, and then I tried to reassure him. “It’s okay.” I said. “We’re having our baby. We’re going to become parents.”

It took a long time for the C-section to actually be performed after we made the decision. Eric and I both tried to doze a little, but I think I just floated off into space a little bit. The nurse came back in and gave us caps to wear, and a paper outfit for Eric. Since I had previously refused to sign the C-section consent form, another doctor came in to talk with me about that. I didn’t like some of the things on it—I wanted to keep my placenta, and didn’t want photos or videos, except on my own camera, so we crossed those things off of the form, and I initialed them. (Me: I want to keep my placenta. How do you usually make that happen with a C-section?” Dr: “I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.)  I also asked if they could delay the cord cutting, and the doctor said it depended on the baby’s health. She did agree that Eric could be the one to announce the baby’s sex.

I was wheeled to the operating room, and Eric was allowed in after they had prepped me. I held onto Eric with one hand, and the anesthesiologist with the other hand. I remember looking at the anesthesiologist more than I did Eric—trying to gauge by his face if everything was going well. I asked him to tell me what was happening, and he said, “Oh, they’re already working on you. The baby’s almost out.” The nurse had explained that during the operation, I would feel pressure in my vagina. She was going to have to use her hand to push the baby back up the birth canal, and she didn’t want me to think that it was the baby finally descending! Truthfully, I hardly felt anything until they were stitching me up.

Eric was finally able to stand up and see what was going on when the baby was delivered. The baby cried out, and Eric said “It’s a boy!” They were the three most beautiful words I had ever heard.

Seeing and hearing the baby was unbelievable. I was worried that, because I was having a C-section, I wouldn’t bond with the baby right away. But even though I had an unnatural birth, I did experience a natural labor—and all those important bonding hormones had been released in my body. I cried, “He’s perfect!” the minute I saw his bright pink little self. “He’s perfect!”

I was wild to hold my baby, blood and all, and I couldn’t, because they were still operating on me! Well, if I couldn’t hold my baby, then I wanted Eric to. “Give the baby to Eric!” I said. But instead, they just kept on cleaning him up and weighing him. I must have told them to “give the baby to Eric” a dozen times, and nobody ever responded, except for Eric, who kept telling me everything was okay. Finally, I shouted “Why is everybody ignoring me?” What was the response? Nothing. They ignored me some more. I was even angrier when I heard Eric ask if they had delayed cutting the cord. No, they hadn’t. Why? They forgot.

When the baby nurse started to put on his diaper and wrap him in a blanket to give him to Eric, I shouted “No diaper!” It’s not that I didn’t want a diaper on him, but putting a diaper on him made it just that much longer until Eric could hold him. The baby nurse looked at me, said “No diaper? Okay.” It was like I hadn’t been saying anything up until then! She swaddled him and handed him to Eric.

When they handed Eric the baby, it was as if I was holding him too. I immediately relaxed, no longer fighting the intense fatigue that had come over my body as soon as the baby was born. I also became more aware of what else was going on around me. I was able to feel the doctors stitching me up, and as I focused on that, I listened to their conversation. It soon became apparent that one was instructing the other, and I kept saying “be careful!” when I heard things like “No, not like that. Go under,” coming from the other side of the paper barrier.

As soon as they were done, I was quickly wheeled to the recovering room, Eric and the baby following. The anesthesiologist asked how much blood I had lost, and I had him repeat the answer when I didn’t catch it. 500 cc’s. “That’s not bad,” I said. Of course, it was still enough to make me anemic.

In the recovery room, I looked over to see Eric holding the baby. Eric still had his gloves on, and the baby was sucking on one of his fingers. It was very cute. Then I was handed the baby, and I helped him latch on. He began nursing right away. It was so sweet to have him in my arms and sing “Happy Birthday” to him then. Of course, it was only minutes until he pooped everywhere! I found that funny—what a way to enter the world!

What a way to enter the world, Heron.

Reflections can be read here.

Now Introducing…

Heron Silvano West
Born September 4, 2013
7:06 p.m.
7 lbs, 14 oz
20.25 inches long

Heron, my perfect Mr. Blueberry Eyes, came into this world after a journey much like life itself—a mixture of sorrow and blessings that are, in the end, more precious than the sum of its parts. Here is the story.

My pregnancy was unusual in that it only got better as it went along. The first trimester I was exhausted in a way I never thought would be possible to sustain on a daily basis. I lived in a constant state of tension based on all the usual difficulties of early pregnancy—plus my difficulty in finding a midwife. My first midwife told me she couldn’t take me on after all because of her partner’s unexpected health problems, and it took me until 18 weeks to settle on another one. Because I had heard the third trimester was even worse than the first, I dreaded it—but besides for a return of nausea and some difficult trips out of state, it went beautifully. I felt flexible and strong, able to go on a 7 mile hike the week before Heron was born. I didn’t have to work, so I was able to complete projects around the house and rest at my own slow pace.

On Labor Day, September 2^nd, my friend Amanda had invited us to her house for a pre-birthday party for our little baby, still in the womb. We ate dinner that she had cooked for us, and then, after singing “Happy Birthday” to our baby, ate a rich birthday cake. Before we left for home we set off a “Wish Lantern,” a mini-hot air balloon made of tissue paper. The candle in it made the whole lantern glow as it drifted in the sky above the trees. (What did we wish for? I’ll tell you because it came true—a healthy and happy baby.) Because Amanda is a massage therapist, I had hoped she would be able to help me with back pain that had been increasingly bothering me for the past few days, but the car ride home was even worse than on the way there. I remember thinking, “If it’s this bad now, before I’m in labor, I really don’t want to know what the two hour trip to the birth center will be like.”

We went to sleep immediately, but I was up and down the whole night with early contractions—though I thought it was just indigestion from the cake! I woke up for the final time that morning at around 7:30, and by 9:00 a.m. my contractions were coming every 15 minutes apart. I told Eric, and throughout the morning we timed them 10-15 minutes apart. As I sewed some curtains and fixed a couch cushion, I kept telling Eric, “I’m not in labor!” because I knew this early stage could last days. This just stressed Eric out, though, and after we had snapped at each other a bit, I called my midwife. “My contractions are about 15 minutes apart,” I said, “but they’re not lasting long, so I don’t think I’m in labor.” She seemed non-plussed, and told me to call if anything changed—otherwise, she’d see me at my scheduled appointment tomorrow morning at 11:00 a.m.

After lunch, Eric and I went for a walk down by the river. The sun sparkled on the river, and everything seemed just the height of brightness to me. I remember most, though, how good the breeze felt on my skin. Walking felt good too, though by now I needed help getting through my contractions, which were about 7-8 minutes apart. Eric pressed on my back through each one. We walked to The Palisades, a restaurant local to us, and shared a root beer. I have no idea if the servers there realized I was in labor, but it was getting pretty hard to hide. On the walk back I told Eric, “Maybe I’m in labor.” I couldn’t move to the side of the road anymore if a contraction started. Eric was wonderful, ignoring all the strange looks from people in cars passing by as he pressed on my back and I had a contraction.

At home I rested as he made a quick dinner. We timed my contractions some more, and around 8:30 I called the midwife using my best tones of perfect nonchalance.

Me: “Hi, It’s Melissa. How are you?”
Midwife: “Good. How are you?”
Me: “I’m good. I said I would keep you updated if anything changed, and my contractions are coming closer together.”
Midwife: “Good. How close? 10 minutes?”
Me: “About four minutes”

The Midwife could not keep the surprise out of her voice (“Okay…”) as she gently asked, “Do you want to come on in, then?”

Me: “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the real thing.” I really did want to go in, but I was afraid of driving two hours there and then having to drive two hours home if it wasn’t the real deal.

Of course, she wasn’t going to believe me. She gently convinced me that things sounded like they were getting serious, and if they weren’t, we wouldn’t have to go home right away, but could sleep at the birth center. This sounded good to me, so I told her we would drop off our dog and be on our way.

After I got off the phone I got this feeling of “Oh, shit. My contractions are three minutes apart. What the hell am I thinking?” I told Eric we had to go, and we were in the car and on the road in about 10 minutes. That man doesn’t mess around. The house was a complete wreck, because instead of using my laboring time at home to get it ready for the baby, as I had planned, I had instead spent it in labor denial. Of course, that was only the first thing that didn’t go as planned.

In our driveway, I realized I had forgotten the food I had made for us to have at the birth center. It was a mark of how serious things were that we just kept driving—2 more minutes to get out of the car and get the food? No, that was too much.

Our friends Bert and Gwynn met us at their door with their daughter Zoe, who seemed a little afraid of me as she offered me a vase of flowers to take with us to the birth center. I thought I had been keeping it together pretty well—but obviously not. I used the bathroom while Eric gave them instructions on Seeker, and we were off.Later, Gwynn told me that she was worried I wasn’t going to make it to the birth center—that I might have the baby in the car!

Laboring in the car was pretty intense, but not as bad as I had imagined it could be. I was already in so much pain that I couldn’t feel the bumps in the road, even a gravel road. I told Eric to leave me alone and drive—so that’s what he did. As I felt each contraction coming, I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to face the backseat. On my hands and knees, I would chant “Omm.” Eric laughed and said “People are going to think there’s a ghost nearby!” and I smiled too.

Two methods of pain management that I was able to use successfully in the car were visualization and non-focused awareness. I spent some contractions thinking about walking on a path, and other contractions noticing everything around me—not just the pain in my body. (The rear windshield on our vehicle has a lot of smudges, btw.) I tried some other methods I had found in the book Birthing From Within, but they didn’t work for me.

When we got to the birth center at about 11:00 p.m., I hugged my midwife. I was so happy to be out of that car!  My midwife examined me and quickly pronounced me “seven centimeters and stretchy.” I was ecstatic! I was so afraid that I was going to be one of those women who go in thinking they are almost there, and they really are only 1 cm. I jumped up, hugging and kissing Eric, shouting, “We’re having a baby!”  My midwife smiled and said “A mama is being born.”

Now it was time to really get down to work. The first few contractions were much better than the ones in the car, because now I had people to press on my back and help me through them. As they intensified, I asked my midwife a few times, “Are you sure this is really it?” If it wasn’t, I was going to die. She reassured me, saying “You’ll have a baby in your arms by breakfast time.”

So I labored. Mostly, I labored standing up, leaning over so that the midwife, her assistant, or Eric could press on my back as I held on to someone else. I labored in the bathroom, standing over the toilet. I labored on all fours. I labored in the birthing tub. I walked around, watching people watch me, waiting for the next contraction. I drank water, and whenever I felt a contraction coming, I would give the glass to whoever was nearby, and then get upset because they couldn’t press on me. I remember choking out “Put the water down!” when I was having one contraction.

It was painful, and long, just like I expected. Yet, I still asked: “Why is it taking so long?” My midwife said “It’s taking a long time, but you’re doing great.” I kept going. I knew to keep my voice low, yet I still felt like I was screaming. At some point the back pain became so intense that there was no break from it, even between contractions. I told my midwife “This would be nothing without the back pain.” My midwife asked to check me a couple of times, but I wouldn’t let her. I knew I wasn’t complete yet, and I knew I would lose it if she checked me and I heard anything other than a “ten.”

Finally, when I was in the tub again, I felt the first urge to push. The transition between dilation contractions and pushing contractions seemed to take a long time—and it was really scary. I didn’t know what kind of contraction I was going to have next, and I had a hard time figuring out what to do with that. I also didn’t believe that it was possible for the baby to come out without killing me. I knew these were normal thoughts, and I knew that I had to move past them.

Since I had been in the tub awhile, I knew there was a good chance my labor would speed up if I got out. Making a conscious decision to increase the pain and following through with it by actually getting out of the tub seemed impossible—but I did it. My original thought had been to go to the bathroom, because that’s where my labor had seemed most intense before, but as soon as I got out, I knew I couldn’t labor alone. I walked to the bedroom, and with a couple more contractions and some blood, I knew I was finally complete. The midwife checked me and pronounced me a “ten.” It was about 5:30 a.m. and I was fully dilated.

Now it was time to push. I had looked forward to this part because that meant the baby was coming! I also knew that while the time spent in labor could vary from woman to woman from a few hours to a few days, pushing didn’t take days. I could be done in minutes, or at the very most, less than a handful of hours. Some women even feel their pain decrease when they push. (Not me. It was more painful, and a lot scarier.)

The midwife told me that my back pain should be decreasing now. When I told her it wasn’t, she gave me a saline injection just under my skin, but it didn’t help, and the injection itself hurt.

The urge to push took over until it was the only kind of contraction I was feeling. I don’t think I will ever forget that powerful feeling of bearing down—of being unable to stop it. My body just pushed, and pushed. I had a hard time getting on top of each push, helping it along instead of fighting it. At different points I was on all fours, squatting, and standing. The midwife checked me again and encouraged me to feel the baby’s head. I did, and it was encouraging at first—but the baby would recede after each push, and he just wasn’t getting past a certain point (“0” station).

That sunrise was the most heartbreaking dawn that I have ever experienced. As the sun filtered through the curtains and lit up the room, I knew my baby should be in my arms—and he wasn’t. I was still pushing. I felt like something was wrong, and I knew I was past transition and shouldn’t feel that way anymore.

At about 8:00, I told my midwife I wanted to go to the hospital. “Something’s wrong,” I said. She replied “Sometimes it takes a while. Let’s try for another hour.” I got up on the bed and did some pushing with the midwife coaching me through each contraction. My fear decreased, and I felt more on top of each push. Eric was right there helping me too, and I could see the joy on his face as he saw the baby’s head. “You can do it!” he said. I loved him.

That hour I still felt like something was wrong, and yet it seemed like hardly any time had passed when my midwife said, “Alright, I’m transferring you to the hospital.” The baby hadn’t descended.

When the midwife and her assistant left my side to do paperwork and make arrangements, Eric was left to coach me on his own. I wanted the pain to be over—it wasn’t doing anything. I wanted to lose it and get somewhere that would be beyond the pain, but I couldn’t. I could see my own pain reflected in Eric’s face as he tried to help me. It felt like we were the only two people in the universe.

When the ambulance came I got back into my clothes. Eric turned off the candles in the room—which seemed so sad and final, somehow. Eric and the midwife each went in their own cars to the hospital, while I went in the ambulance.

The ambulance ride was spent  wanting it to be over—and knowing it couldn’t be. The EMS technician who rode with me told me that every time I had a contraction he was going to have to check to make sure “God forbid” I wasn’t having the baby then. I told him that wouldn’t be necessary as I was not having the baby, which is why I was going to the hospital, but if I did have the baby it would be a good thing.  He let me be, and I truly labored alone.

The urge to bear down was if anything, even stronger, and I worked with it as best as I could. It was hard to do, knowing that it wasn’t making a difference. I found that I had been able to be on top of the pain when I knew it was bringing me a baby—and when the pain kept coming but stopped being useful, I thought I couldn’t take it anymore. Of course, though, I could, because I didn’t have any choice.

Getting to the hospital and being rolled on the stretcher to my room was just like a movie. I almost had to laugh at the way everybody was staring at me. An elderly patient and his nurse stepped aside for us to get on the elevator ahead of them, and before you know it, I was in a delivery room, surrounded by nurses.

Read part two here.

I used to love food. Being a vegan meant constantly trying out new recipes that I would find in exciting, photo-heavy blogs and cookbooks. I menu-planned almost every week.

Then I got pregnant. Fatigue, hormones, and then, when the baby got bigger, a squished stomach, turned my appetite. I didn’t crave anything, but the list of things that I didn’t want grew larger and was liable to change at a moment’s notice. I could cook dinner and not want it by the time it was finished. This left me with very little incentive to spend time in the kitchen.

And don’t even get me started on the injustice of food in the media. There I was, innocently driving down the road, only to be slammed by gigantic billboards seemingly designed to make me… well, you know. Friends that started posting photos of food on facebook, blogs that suddenly expanded their outlook to include pictures of food, radio advertisements complete with chewing sounds and disgusting combinations (tuna and avocado, anyone?): they were all out to get me.

I write this in the past tense not because things have changed, but because I look forward to them doing so. I can’t wait to want to eat again, the way I used to. And according to the grapevine, the first postpartum meal tastes amazing.

So, what’ll it be? Spaghetti and meatballs, of course! Only, it’ll be beanballs. Now, I know you sad, sad vegans out there who are scoffing at me. “There’s no such thing as a good home-made beanball,” you say. “They’re all too mushy.” Well, scoff no more. I will tell you my secrets.

If you are pregnant, hopefully you have figured out that this post is about food, and you are now no longer reading, or you are braced for more information about food. Don’t worry. In deference to your delicate state, there is only one picture for this post. (Actually, that’s all I could stomach.)

Ingredients

• 1 TBSP flax seed
• 3 TBSP hot water
• 1 veggie bouillon cube

• 8 oz. tempeh
• 1 can black eyed peas
• 2 cups rolled oats
• 1 carrot
• 1-2 TBSP fresh garlic
• ½ large onion
• 1/3 cup pumpkin seeds
• 2 TBSP nutritional yeast

• 8 fresh minced sage leaves (1 tsp dried)
• ½ TBSP fennel
• ½ tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp thyme

• 2 TBSP ketchup
• 2 TBSP lemon juice
• 2 TBSP white wine

The beauty of this recipe is that you can make many substitutions, as desired. Don’t have pumpkin seeds? Use walnuts. Out of ketchup? Tomato paste is probably even better. (Though who really wants to open a whole can of tomato paste just to use 1-2 TBSP? The leftovers always go bad in my fridge.) No veggie bouillon? I’ve had good results with soy sauce and A-1. However, to get the texture, you must use black eyed peas. The reason this recipe took so long for me to “find” was because I tried other beans I liked the taste of better, and they all were too mushy. Another mistake is trying to fry the meatballs instead of bake them. This doesn’t really work; they must be baked. If you want to fry, you can bake and then fry. In a pinch, breadcrumbs can substitute for rolled oats, but the results are far inferior. So, those are pretty much the secrets.

Directions

1. In a tiny bowl, dissolve the veggie bouillon in the hot water. Pulverize your flaxseed with either a coffee grinder or mortar and pestle, and add. Let stand. The mixture will gel to make a flax “egg.”
2. Steam your tempeh. Alternatively, you may boil the block of tempeh for about 10 minutes. This gets rid of tempeh’s bitter taste.
3. Rinse and drain your black eyed peas. In a large bowl, mash them with a fork until only some of the beans are recognizable. You will be using the food processor for the other ingredients, but not the beans!
4. Grind the oats in a food processor until you have a rough oat flour. Add to the beans.
5. You will be adding the carrot, garlic, onion, and pumpkin seeds to the beans as well. I usually will grind one ingredient at a time, until I get it to the desired pulverization. Pumpkin seeds and an onion, for example, will grind at different rates, and by the time both were done, would just be a gloopy mess in the food processor. So do everything separately, and grind until just very finely minced—not until its soup!
6. Now you can add the nutritional yeast and herbs to the bowl, and mix everything together. Crumble your tempeh and add that, too!
7. Then add your flavorings- ketchup, lemon juice, white wine. Also add your veggie bouillon/flax egg mixture. Mix well, and taste.  Adjust seasonings as necessary. Truthfully I usually add a little more of everything at this point, but I think I like herbs more than most people, so I reduced it to a good starting point.
8. Roll into small balls (about 1” diameter), and place on a parchment-paper or olive-oil lined baking sheet. Bake for eight minutes at 325. Flip over, and bake for another eight minutes on the other side.
9. Freeze half to take to the birth center with you. Eat the other half now with spaghetti and marinara sauce. Yummy.

This recipe makes enough for six servings. It’s filled with all sorts of goodness per serving, such as:

• Calories: 289
• Total fat: 8.4 g
• Potassium: 347.2 mg
• Total Carbohydrate: 40.9 g
• Dietary Fiber: 7.7 g
• Protein: 15.3 g
• Vitamin A: 33 %
• Vitamin B-12: 23%
• Vitamin B-6: 88%
• Vitamin C: 10%
• Calcium: 14%
• Iron: 20%

At least I won’t have to feel too guilty if I’m too busy to remember to take my prenatal vitamin that day!