Daddy's girl

As a little girl I was fortunate enough to have a fully present and participating dad. He was the dad that changed diapers, and played with his kids. he didnt just read stories to us, he spun tales for us that were all our own. I will always remember the exciting adventures of Fingers, the little boy whose fingers could grow and stretch to grasp items out of reach, oh the mischief he got into. He helped us build forts, he played marbles with us, hide and seek, croquet and endless monopoly. We went camping, and were taught how to make a fire, use an axe, paddle a canoe. He quizzed us on the names of the countries of the world and their capital cities, telling us of the larger world out there, giving us a thirst for adventure and travel. When I was still quite young he would take us on a drive to some part of the city that was not familiar and then say "ok, get us home!" Then he would drive the car wherever we said until we found our way home. This was one of my favourite games, and I'm sure it's why I rarely feel lost. I have always known I could find my way home if I needed to.

He made me feel secure and certain that he would always protect me. Walking down the street together one day, as we passed by the house with the scary dog, (you know the one in every childhood, the one on a short and incredibly thick chain? The one that barked at anyone within a few houses radius with such a menace that you felt chilled? The one called King, who it was rumoured had attacked someone once?), sensing my terror, dad reassured me that the dog was secure. When I questioned that and asked what if he broke that chain, he matter of factly told me he knew how to kill a wild animal with his bare hands and would do so if need be. He grew up on a farm in Africa, so that was plausible, and I believed him. 

All along the way, he taught me to think. Never was I able to get away with anything without having to come up with a reason why. He challenged my reasoning, questioned my logic and gently coached me into a big picture way of viewing every situation. The ever popular answer "just because" was unacceptable. Early on I realized that I was the one choosing the outcomes in my life because he made me reflect on and explain the actions that led to those outcomes. 

He never ever raised his voice, and yet we all had a healthy respect for him and a desire to make him proud. His disappointment was a much harder pill to swallow than his anger ever would have been.

As a young woman I worked with my dad and had the opportunity to develop a grown up relationship with him. We didn't always see eye to eye, but we knew how to work out our differing viewpoints and successfully ran several businesses together for nearly two decades. He taught me how to be responsible and self sustaining, by giving me responsibility and autonomy. When I was 18 he put me in charge of a small distributorship enterprise, including the finances. I quickly learned the value of turning a profit, if I were ever to extract a pay cheque. I also learned first hand the difference between being paid for my time, and being paid for my effort. We traveled together as a family and as business partners, always with an air of adventure about us. With my dad around, there was, and still is, always something to learn, to discover.

Now he is the Papa to my two children, and he takes this just as seriously as he did being my father. He still plays croquet and tells stories of the 60's to my music loving son. He has taken him on adventures and taught him how to fix things, how to work and how to learn. They too have played and worked together, in much the same fashion as we did. He even watches YTV with my daughter, which is no small sacrifice when you are in your 60's!

I can't imagine my life, and the lives of my children, without this man. 

For me, every day is Father's Day.

Special delivery

Every birth I attend is special, every journey to delivery is filled with moments that fix themselves in my being. Whenever I am included in the path to parenthood, I feel honoured and privileged.

When someone hires me to be to be their support person, their "insurance policy", we usually start out as strangers, or at the most acquaintances. Over the course of the pregnancy, we get to know each other, sometimes personally, but primarily in relationship to all things birth. It is usually post birth that the broader relationship is formed, if there is to be one that goes beyond doula and babymaker.

When a friend invites me into this intimate and momentous time, the knowing is already there, and the special becomes especially special.

This just happened to me. In a wonderful and amazing way. A woman I adore, whom I respect, and who has been a source of both strength and soft for me this past three years, invited me into this most precious space. (Well, actually her husband did, but she agreed!)
What a privilege! My heart was filled with joy to be a part of this, and that joy overflowed during this journey.
There were moments we will always remember, moments to laugh about, moments to shake our heads at. We will hold those moments for each other, for this brand new life, always. It was tricky at times to juggle being the doula, and the friend. The line was blurry at best. She knew when I was "up to something", and told me so, I cried when her daughter was born... Blurry at best.

I knew she was strong, I knew that things matter to her, it's why I like her, it's why I respect her. However, it is one thing to know a thing, quite another to see it happening. She had a long labour, many parts were challenging, she never lost her center, she kept her humour, she did what she needed to do. Her husband walked every step with her, he held her, he breathed with her, he was there.
They were incredible, I am so proud of them.

My littlest heart

Valentine's day has never really turned my crank. Oh sure I loved those little cards when I was small, seeing my school mailbox overflowing was a thrill! I would savour each and every one. Read them and look for the deeper meaning, delight in all the love and affection.

Then I was older and saw the paper waste and observed the twist of the heart for those victimized by singlehood on the day of the couple. My rant would include commentary on how this was a "made up" holiday, entirely for the purpose of filling the commercial gap between Christmas and Easter. I was angry on behalf of my girlfriends who were desperately single and felt the full force of a false type of lonely on this day of hearts.

Older still, I felt some disdain for a holiday that capitalized on such a powerful emotion, while allowing the most dysfunctional lover to feel they could balance out a year of ineptness in a single day. Every day should be a day to show love and affection. We should be aware of our gratitude and express it without prompting.

With more time, I have softened and yielded to a place where I can be happy for those who enjoy the fun of heart day, while being impervious to its dark side. I can "like" the sweet comments posted by those in the throws of fresh love, and feel moved by the inevitable heartbreaker story of a timeless and enduring love, that gets circulated through the social networks. All the while being unaffected if there doesn't happen to be a valentine with my name on it in my mailbox.

This year, we woke up late and I needed to get my little miss to get on the move. I hate to wake her up harshly, so I stroked her tiny little face and whispered "are you going to wake up?". After a few moments of this, she stretched out a little arm, and with a sleepy yawn she said " happy valentines day mom", without opening her eyes, she curled right back into a sweet little ball and continued sleeping.

Heart melting, I think to myself, well isn't this the best valentines ever?

I should be napping

There are more babies coming.... I should be napping. It's hard to do during the day, especially with the anticipation of THE call. I lay down, and as my body relaxes, my brain wanders into all sorts of corners.

Today I have been providing text support to two labouring mamas, and eventually ended up in triage with one of them, it was too soon, so she and her hubby and her belly full of baby went home to try and get into a workable rhythm. I turned away from them to leave and there was the client who had her baby yesterday! I had provided phone support to her over the course of her labour on Friday, then one of my doula partners supported her during the actual delivery Saturday. How lucky to run into them on their way home. We chatted for a bit about their experience, hugged and off they went, as did I.

Once home, I got a batch of granola going, while cleaning up the kitchen and watching Damages on Netflix. I don't consider myself particularly domestic, but I always seem to do domesticy type things when "in labour wait". After a call from the husband, (always a good sign), during which we agreed she should have a bath and then they would call me again in an hour or so, I knew it was time to nap for real.

Laying here, thinking about all the babies born this week (four!) and the two on their way, it occurs to me, not for the first time, that this is my life. I am a doula. I know this, it's been this way for awhile now, and yet somehow it still stops me up every now and again when I think it. Five years ago I was not a doula and there was no way I could have led this lifestyle. I wanted it, but I wasn't even close to it. Now I am it.

While I was thinking about how weird it is is that I am a doula, it crosses my mind that it is even weirder that I still don't always feel the title. Then I started thinking about how I have been a mom for almost half my life (!) and I still don't always feel the mom title either.... Maybe I have a problem with labels? Titles? Hmmmm

Oh there is that text! The one I knew was coming. I should have been napping ;)