Nature, Technology, and Being Human
|
| Advertising |
|
|
|
|
Teaching children about the natural world should be seen as one of the most important events in their lives.
~Thomas Berry (The Dream of the Earth)
In late August, early September, we went to Maine for a week. I didn’t really blog much about it at the time; but, more on that later. While on that trip, at the base of Mount Washington, actually, I came across a book called, Last Child in the Woods. Though I didn’t end up buying it, I did thumb through it a bit, and added it to my “to read” list. It caught my attention because it draws on a point I make to myself, and worry over, frequently as a parent; particularly as a parent raising children in a condo in the most densely populated state of the United States. That point is: Are our children, and are WE, as humans, getting so far removed from nature, and so dependent on technology, that we’re… damaging ourselves?
(my kids, digging by the lake in Maine)
I don’t mean just physical damage like carpel tunnel syndrome or losing muscle tone or gaining weight from so many hours in front of the computer (though those are important, too). I mean more that we’ve evolved WITH nature – for thousands, millions of years – and it’s only been in the last couple of centuries – particularly the last couple of decades where we’ve left our codependency with nature in favor of codependency with technology. Televisions, video games, computers, cars, smartphones... Our food is techno-fied, our travel is techno-fied, even our books are techno-fied. I feel like in our day-to-day lives, we’re really losing touch with our earth; we’re emotionally disconnected from nature; that must have an effect on how we ARE.
I’m not anti-technology. Far from it, being that I’m here writing this on my laptop, to be published on my blog, which I’ll read on my iPhone, which is up on the internet; which is also the home of our retail websites (which are our livelihood as a family). And, once finished writing this, I will very likely hop on my treadmill, to be followed by viewing a movie on Netflix. Heck, I’m far from being anti-technology; I love technology.
But I also love the earth. I vividly remember playing in the grass and the sand and the trees and the dirt as a kid. Hours spent in the garden, and just being outside in the summertime, the Spring, the Fall, and even the Winter. As a young kid, we were outside all. the. time. (Until, of course, my parents caved, and finally bought a Nintendo. I spent a lot more time indoors after, say, 1986 or so. Still, I rode my bike to school.)
It’s different for my children. Of course, I want to believe they too love the earth. In the Spring, Summer, and Fall, we go hiking as much as we can, and we tend towards nature-loving vacations, when we take them. We container garden in the Summer, and visit the Farmer’s Market on the weekends. But, in spite of that, the reality for my children is that there has never been Life Without Cellphones. They know how to turn on their computer, open a browser and surf the internet. They know how many “friends” I have on Facebook. (And how many their dad and grandmother have, too). We’ve never had a newspaper delivered. I’m not sure they’ve ever seen a payphone in person, nor had to wait for film to be developed. Email, online, download, Twitter, blog – all of these words are seamlessly part of their lexicon.
I think it’s easy as adults who have grown up with a mix of nature & technology, to feel okay about our own children having simple access to technology. Afterall, we grew up on Sesame Street and Walkmen, and Ataris, and we’re okay, right? At times, I find it effortless – and fascinating – as adults, who are ourselves immersed in technology, to watch our children so easily adapt to computers, internet, iPhones. But I am afraid in that ease, we forget that as kids ourselves, we really were outside. A LOT. And when we were outside, we were out there without cellphones. That outside time, that meshing with and growing up in nature, was important. Feeling grass on our feet, dirt under our nails, sun on our shoulders (without even sunscreen, OMG), tree bark against our legs as we climbed… that was necessary. All that time outside wasn’t useless, wasn’t just getting us out from under our mothers’ feet, it was teaching us about this earth from where we came, and where we’ll return. The smells of the earth, the rain, the plants, helped to develop our senses. The sun helped set our internal clock (not to mention made sure our vitamin D levels were on the right track – without supplements, OMG). Getting lost, then finding our way home, without GPS, helped us learn to rely on ourselves, to pay attention to our surroundings in order to orient ourselves. “Going out to play” helped us meet people, learn how to make friends, play games, share, make up rules, win, lose. I knew where food came from because we had a garden, and we got any produce we didn’t grow from the local farm; the grocery store was a much less-frequented destination. It’s just different for our kids.
(my kids, exploring the trees in the woods in New Jersey)
Anyhow, back to Maine, for a moment, and then, I’ll close up my thoughts. We drove up to Maine in the wake of Hurricane Irene. It was the clearest I’ve ever seen 95 – there was hardly a soul on the road – it was the fastest we’ve made it through New York City, ever. Upon arriving at our cabin, we realized that Irene had taken out the electricity on our road. We spent the next five days of our vacation without electricity or running water. Which also meant: No lights. And… no computers. Also, no alarm clocks (though I woke with the sunrise every morning). No microwaves. No movies. We bathed in the lake water and cooked over a fire. We read books and played board games in the evening by candlelight. We sang and roasted marshmallows around the campfire before bed. And during the day, we went swimming, canoeing, hiking, exploring, and just playing outside. All day. Until the sun went down. While I can’t say I wasn’t grateful when the electricity finally came back on the day before we were set to leave, it was mostly because I got to actually flush the toilet and wash my face with hot water, NOT because I could turn on my computer and update my blog (okay, though I did do that). Adam and I, and the kids, say this was our best vacation yet. I can’t help but believe it’s because we all FELT SOMETHING we’d been missing – that full-on connection with nature, that we don’t really ever get anymore in our technology-dependent lives, at least not in such large doses as we experienced that week.
Richard Louv, the author of Last Child in the Woods, says, “biologically we are still hunters and gatherers and we need, at some level we don't fully understand, direct involvement in nature. We need to see natural shapes in the horizon. And when we don't get that, we don't do so well.”
I want my children to have that direct involvement in nature. I want to get back to that myself. I think it’s imperative.
In the neighborhood where we are, and in this climate of high-technology, it’s just. so. tempting. (and easy) to occupy ourselves virtually. But the more I read about so-called nature deficit disorder (I just recently read a great article about it this past week in Newsweek), the more time I spend away from nature, the more I realize we NEED to get back to the natural world. We ALL need to take more hikes. We ALL need to plant more gardens. We ALL need to take the more challenging route, and close our laptops for a while, put our cellphones down, and get out in the woods. It isn’t just to avoid turning into Wall-E-type humans living just for the next techo-fied meal and virtual shopping experience, it’s to continue to BE human. We’re a part of nature, we always have been, and need to keep that bond alive, in order to survive, and thrive.
Do you find yourself connected with nature? How do you – and your children – stay in touch with the natural world?
Cesarean Birth: Choose Your Words Carefully
|
| Advertising |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Birth is the sudden opening of a window, through which you look out upon a stupendous prospect. For what has happened? A miracle. You have exchanged nothing for the possibility of everything.
~William MacNeile Dixon
I’ve had two cesarean sections. I’m part of the growing minority of women in the United States who had a surgical birth. At last count, the rate of c-sections to vaginal births was about 1 out of every three. In some states, like my own fair state of New Jersey, the c-section rate is just a hair shy of 40% (as of 2009; the last year for which I was able to find concrete records).
I also happen to be part of the other minority group – “crunchy parents”. It presents a conundrum for me. How do I advocate for natural things – like birth – when I’m the recipient of two cesarean sections, without devaluing my own births, nor alienating my cesarean-receiving sisters, nor eschewing my crunchy ideals? It’s a thin line to walk. And it isn’t always straight as there are so many variables when it comes to birth.
Here’s the truth. The increase in cesarean sections is alarming. Cesarean sections present dangers for mothers and babies that just aren’t there in natural births. Advocacy for natural birth needs to continue. Work needs to carry on to help women feel empowered in their decision-making surrounding their own births, to increase the number of doulas and midwives available to assist women in birth, and to make home-birthing a safe and legal option for women.
Within advocacy comes support; and the cause of my writing today. We need to be SUPPORTING women – not tearing them down. Too often, I fear that advocacy in natural birth trends towards guilt, shame, and anger. I’ve read things written about mothers who’ve given birth via cesarean section that make me cringe; that make me SO ANGRY. Women who have had c-sections shouldn’t feel the need to addendum their birth story with excuses, or explanations for their birth. Never should a woman be made to feel shamed, or at fault for how her birth culminated. A birth is a birth is a birth. At the end, every mother who has given birth has the shared experience of growing a birthing her baby. There’s shouldn’t be a dividing line, based on HOW you’ve given birth.
Natural birth is the most likely way to encourage a positive outcome for both mom and baby. There are ways to teach about natural birth and its benefits to both mother and baby, without alienating the very people natural birth will help. There are things you can do to educate and encourage and choices to be made which can increase likelihood of a natural birth outcome. But, it’s important to keep in mind, at it’s core, birth is unpredictable and specifically un-plan-able. The variables are myriad: The ways a woman reacts to pain, fear, anticipation; The support she has through pregnancy and in labor; Health conditions she may have – physical and mental and emotional; Past experiences she’s had – all play a role in how birth plays out.
It every case, birth is one of the most precious, amazing, challenging, awesome, and MEMORABLE times in a woman’s life. Natural birth advocacy should always be about helping and lifting up women, not humiliation. Empowering women, not disenfranchising. Above all, supporting women, no matter what choices are made, what direction birth takes, what the outcome is.
So to that end, here’s what I thought I’d do. I’ve prepared a list of things you SHOULDN’T say to (or about) a mother who’s given birth via cesarean section. These are things which I’ve either heard personally, anecdotally, or seen written. But because I don’t want to dwell on the negative, I’ve also compiled a list of things you SHOULD say to a c-section mom (or one who’s about have one).
Without further ado...
Things you SHOULDN’T say to a mother who’s given birth via cesarean section:
1) “Your C-section wasn’t technically a birth; it was a surgery.”
Yes, cesarean is a major surgery. But a cesarean section is ALSO a method of giving birth. By virtue of the definition of birth:
(From Merriam-Webster)
birth. noun.
1 a: the emergence of a new individual from the body of its parent (check!)
birth. verb.
1 a: to bring forth (check!)
2 b: to give birth to (check!)
birth. adjective.
1 a: biological (check!)
It ALSO is birth by virtue of the fact that mothers celebrate their children’s birth days, not their surgery days. A mother who has given birth via cesarean has as much right to birth as her vaginally-birthing sisters. Saying - or even suggesting - that a cesarean section isn't a birth not only makes you sound ridiculous, it's just plain hurtful, so please, PLEASE don’t do it.
2) “Your baby was ripped/torn/cut/pulled/forced out of you - before she was ready.”
We don’t always know what prompts labor, and we don’t always have control over the way our birth progresses. Sometimes, babies come before they are ready. Sometimes, signals point to babies needing help moving earthside. Sometimes, that help is a surgical birth. Regardless, no one needs to be reminded in such a callous way that they were sliced into, nor should any woman have to face the implication or suggestion that was in some way her fault. The vast majority of pregnant mothers do everything they can to ensure a safe birth for their baby. Their decisions are typically based on the knowledge they have at the time. There’s no room for inflammatory hyperbole.
As an aside, if a mother wants to talk to YOU about her feelings that her baby may have arrived before he was ready, or that her birth felt less than consensual or not as calm as she would have wished; please listen. Honor her feelings. There are unfortunately cases of women who aren’t treated well in birth and whose wishes aren’t respected. But even in those cases, exaggerating the negative isn’t helpful.
3) “Be happy; at least you have a healthy baby.”
I understand when this is said, it’s intended to be comforting. But really, saying this is a denial of feelings. No mother who is mourning the loss of her birth-as-she-planned-it wants to be brushed off. And every mother is grateful their child is healthy. Having a cesarean is typically NOT a planned event, and even when it is, it’s not what most women choose (in spite of what the media likes to portray – women as “insisting” on elective cesareans for “convenience” reasons). Disappointment or concerns over birth are valid! Listen, reassure, comfort; don't brush aside feelings.
4) “If you’d done (or didn’t do) x, y, or z, you could have birthed your baby vaginally.”
Look, unless you are the attending midwife or doctor, you JUST CAN’T KNOW whether X, Y, or Z would have resulted in a different outcome. Even if you WERE the attending midwife or doctor, you can’t change NOW what has already happened, so keep it to yourself.
In birth advocacy there is certainly a time and a place for analyzing your birth story, for thinking over what you wish had gone another way, what you’d like to try differently, what you want to do the next time, or even what you wished you’d tried. There needs to be time for grieving and for accepting and healing. But that’s for YOUR OWN birth. It’s not your right to analyze anyone else’s birth for them. Ever.
Things you SHOULD say to a mother who’s given birth via cesarean section:
1) “Good job, mama.”
Just that. No matter what transpired, no matter how the birth progressed, no matter how far "off birth plan" things went, a new baby was born to a pregnant mama, and that mama deserves a pat on the back. End of story. If that mama wants to talk about her birth, let her do so. Support her. Be there for her. Without judgment.
2) “How can I help you?”
Cesarean births present unique challenges to mothers and babies. It can be difficult to walk in the first few days post partum. Holding baby, changing your own position, breastfeeding, regular self-care, all can be more challenging after the stress of birth AND a major abdominal surgery. Many doctors advise weeks post-partum without resuming regular activities – like climbing stairs, lifting anything other than the baby, or driving.
Personally, even though I felt my recoveries were quick and relatively easy, there were certain physical challenges that were just a drag. I couldn’t do laundry, I couldn’t comfortably make it upstairs to my bedroom, I couldn’t move baby to where I wanted her to be when I wanted her to be there. Having someone there (husband, doula, friend) to pick up around the house, entertain siblings, cook meals, change diapers/clothes, can make all the difference in the world!
3) “If you need to talk, I’m here to listen.”
Every mother likes to talk about her birth story; it’s a defining moment in life. Some stories are joyful and easy, some are difficult, trying, tearful. Each emotion is real, valid, and needs to be addressed, in order to heal and move on. I’d say this is particularly true for a mother who planned her birth to be natural, who felt like she’d dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s, but whose birth didn’t turn out the way she’d hoped. When you’ve done “everything right” and things don’t go as planned, a shoulder to cry on, a non-judgmental ear to listen is so very important.
- - - - -
The truth is, current birth climate in the US is a challenge. Birth in the media is still most often depicted as scary, icky, and unnatural. Misinformation and assumptions about the benefits/dangers of natural and/or homebirth birth versus hospital and/or surgical birth are rampant, and the number of cesarean sections is still growing. Advocating for natural birth is necessary; I want my own children to be able to make empowering choices about the direction of their/partner’s future births (if they so choose); I want them to have even better experiences with birth than I did. But to get there, we need positive change. Commentary on what a mom did “wrong” in birth isn’t useful, it isn’t helpful, it isn’t advocacy. It’s hurtful, it’s shameful. The last thing we need in this world is more judgment. You want to see change in the birthing world? It doesn’t come from negativity folks; it doesn’t come from divisiveness. It comes from unity, from sharing our stories, understanding others’ points of view, using your experiences to educate, accepting differences of opinion and experience, listening, empathizing, and learning from one another. Every birthing mother has the right to feel good about her birth; it’s an amazing moment in time; whether it occurred in the birthing tub in your own home, or under the bright lights of the OR.
Words are powerful. Choose them carefully.
| Advertising |
|
|
|
|
|
|
The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.
~Thich Nhat Hanh
As the afternoon arrives with my children’s school day completed, and my work day done, I find often find myself immersed in my own thoughts. Most days, these thoughts are on the present: seeing my kids! Or, our immediate future: afternoon plans or fun activities. Sometimes though, I find myself on my way to pick up my children focused on the past: mulling over what I didn’t finish during my work day, or fretting over the future: what things I’m going to have to clean up once we get home, what am I going to make for dinner, are the kids going to be calm or rambunctious…
In my nearly seven years of parenting experience, I’ve come to understand (or at least acknowledge; I haven’t quite mastered understanding *how* to disengage from muddled thinking) that neither of these – future-worrying nor past-mulling – are ideal states of mind to be in when with children. As, whether I’m focused on the past, or I’m focused on the future, it means I’m not focused on the present.
And the problem with that is that children are usually, naturally in a state of being present; so when I’m in the past/future, I’m directly opposed to their state of being. Children naturally live in the now: what feels good right now, what they need right now, where they are right now. They aren’t much concerned with what’s going to happen at the end of the day, or week, or next year, and certainly aren’t uneasy, as adults tend to be, with the past. When something is done, it’s done, and children move quickly on. It is us adults who often teach them the art of anxiety over things not-yet-here, and regret or remorse over things already done (have you never sat your child down for a “talking to” after a particularly bad run of behavior?).
Of course, not everything can be focused on the very moment. Reflection on behaviors, in order that we can make changes and improvements going forward, can be beneficial! Looking forward, planning, in order to be more organized and prepared (I’m thinking about the hurricane that is about to bear down on us, for example), is worthwhile and can be useful. But in spite of their usefulness, thoughts of yesterday or tomorrow are, at the most basic, distracting. Lingering on future anxieties or troubling over things which we can’t change is almost always to our detriment. Think again of children’s natural state: even if we are planning to go somewhere amazing – say, DisneyWorld – children aren’t consumed with it. They don’t fret over the planning, they just feel the joy of expectation of something great. Mostly, they just live to live; they needn’t be reminded that “tomorrow is another day” – today IS the day.
I’m trying to grasp that joy and learn from my children’s ability to live most fully in the present. It’s freeing and opening to be concerned only with the now. When I feel my mind worrying over things, I feel my body tense up, and I find my children’s antics to be much less manageable. When I am able to release my tension about things already done, or not even here yet, and focus instead on where I am in the present and what I’m ACTUALLY EXPERIENCING (not what I’m imagining might happen later), I can feel my body relax. I am able to be more mindful, comfortable, present, gentle, and creative with my children.
How do I get there? Well… that part I’m still working on (that will be another post, hopefully soon in the future – oh, wait, I’m not supposed to be thinking about the future!). For now, just realizing that I need to work on being more like my children – be more interested in where I am NOW and less concerned over where I was or where I might be next – so that I’m better able to just. enjoy. life. To be a Zen mama. That’s what I’m going for here.
So. How do you find YOUR zen?
How Does Your Garden Grow?
|
| Advertising |
|
|
|
|
|
|
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. ~William Shakespeare
(Columbine, out back)
I've tended a garden – of some kind – for as long as I can recall. As a child, we had a great big garden – surrounded by a picket fence, filled with treasures we’d tend all summer long: potatoes, carrots, corn, peas, broccoli, strawberries. I remember tilling the soil, planting, watering, pulling weeds (ugh), and finally harvesting our bounty! The garden was always a marvelous place for discovery: we had bugs in our veggies, rats digging tunnels through our rows, and one year, even turned over a nest of baby bunnies! Gardening was a part of every day life – a lot of work, but fun too, and even better – we ended up with Stuff To Eat at the end of it all.
(Our strawberries ripened this weekend & they were delicious!)
When Adam and I were apartment living, I kept pots of flowers and tomatoes on our deck, and when we moved to Maine, we tried our hand at a full-fledged vegetable garden a couple of years, along with many perennial beds. Though we never got much of a veggie harvest, there was always something that felt so right – and even necessary – about tending a garden. Without it, there’s a piece missing from Spring and Summer. A piece missing from the soul.
(Our backyard garden as of last week)
We’ve been back in New Jersey now a few years, and don’t have much space. But every year with the kids I’ve made the effort to get something in the soil with them. Our perennial beds are thriving, but with limited space and sun, we don’t have the most impressive veggie garden. Yet, even without ending up with baskets full of edibles in the fall, it’s still so important to get your hands dirty. Through gardening, my children have come to understand the sequence of planting a seed, watching it sprout, grow, bear fruit, and die… the cycle of life. A garden is life. I’m grateful for the time with my kids – planting seeds, digging in the dirt, feeling the sun on our shoulders, the breeze in our hair, smelling the rich soil, and watching our plants move through the cycle of life and seasons.
(Kiddos, planting)
We are all a part of this earth – no matter how far away from it we tend to get, through technology – we come from the earth, we return to it, we need it. The garden reminds me of how interconnected we all are with each other and our earth, and I am grateful for it.
(Foxglove, out front)
So… how does YOUR garden grow? Do you have rows and rows of veggies or a couple tomatoes in pots? How do you connect with the earth with your children?