A month old already...

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting
And cometh from afar;
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! *

How is it that our sweet newborn baby is already four weeks old?

Her birth came halfway between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox, just as the daylight became noticeably longer. As she grows we are beginning to discover her personality.  Her favorite hold is on daddy's arm like a football. She likes floating in the bath with mommy. Being a fourth child, she has no small warm up cry, only fidgeting and then full on wails to be heard over the din of her siblings. True to form she stepped up nursing to meet her three week growth spurt and now her shirts barely cover the roundness of her tummy. And like the longer days, her very blue eyes are open more to the world around her (just not in this picture).

She has grown into her name even though we often still call her Pretzel . We were shy to tell anyone the name we had chosen for her. It was still new to us because we had only discovered it the day before she was born. Since she came on Groundhog's Day/ Candlemas, I think it was only fitting that she had a Gaelic name. Zybeal is a version of Isabel, which is Hebrew, Spanish or English in origin, meaning consecrated or devoted to God. So in the end, we succeeded in finding a name that is Hebrew and passes for Irish and fits most of the other guidelines I blogged about previously. But we also succeeded again, ahem, in naming our kid something most people will mispronounce. So for that reason, we call her Zibby and that seems easy enough.

Another blessing to come from having Zibby is the blossoming of a lifetime bond between her and Selah. The oldest will hold the youngest anytime, in fact, even when you are enjoying holding the youngest and don't need relief. They are almost 9 years apart and though they won't be close playmates, their mutual admiration grows. These are the lessons of having a baby I am so glad to witness.

*by William Wordsworth from his Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

She-Ra no more: Birth number four.

She’s beautiful, healthy, whole, and adored.  But mama just feels kind of old and tired now. As I rested in bed those first days and read magazines and nursed my newborn, my attention was suddenly stolen by ads for anti-aging balms and wrinkle creams. It dawned on me that I wasn’t a 25-year-old –first-time-mom any more and I had some experience showing up on my face. I wanted four children since the time I decided I wanted children at all. Having the last baby gives me a sense of closure and a sense that time has indeed caught up with me.

three sisters... but proud

As I look back on my four births, I have found a way to describe each of them.  My first was about the journey through the unknown and proving to naysayers that I could indeed do birth without pain relief.  It was also about discovering that birth is one part of the equation and recovering from birth and learning to breastfeed were also parts of the equation I wish somebody had mentioned.

intro to motherhood

Births two and three were about finding my groove, correcting misperceptions from my first birth, and doing it even better than before. When they were over, I felt like doing a touch down dance.  I felt powerful and undaunted.  I was high on the experiences.

two's company

then there were three

Yet birth number four was so different. I could feel the difference during my pregnancy. I had a lower tolerance for pain, less stamina, and a lot less to prove. When labor started, I was excited but worn out. When horse lips and blowing raspberries got me through other births, this one required the invention of whale-song (that my hubby heard for a few days afterward even though I wasn’t singing anymore). While my other births centered around and in a tub, this time the tub wasn’t the relief I wanted it to provide. Somethings were the same. My husband was amazing. Like a man in his element, he is the ultimate “dude-la”.  I always wonder how other women do it without a husband like mine. He remains my hero through all four births. My friend and doula, only a few weeks behind me in her own pregnancy, gave me the consistency I needed through this last birth.  Having been with me for births two through four, her presence gave me confidence and a sort of walking record of what helps me and what doesn’t. Still, with all this support, I was so crabby this time, so full of complaints and woe-is-me attitude.  All I can figure is that my body was done doing this, that my mind wasn’t in the game, and that I was glad it was the last time.

oldest and youngest

I wanted to say that I couldn’t do this. But just as I was about to utter, “I can’t do this anymore,” I had to stop myself and rephrase it.  Why? Because my lovely 9 year old daughter was witness to this birth. We have a saying in our house when the kids complain that they can’t do something, we always reply, “Kellers can, Kellers try.” So I said it was hard and I just wanted to rest. When I let my midwife check me and she found that I was “only” 5 cm dilated, I could have had a very demoralizing meltdown was it not for the history of birth number 3 in which I was “only” 6 cm dilated, but then pushed a baby out 20 minutes later. I am not sure exactly how much time it took between 5 cm and pushing number four out, but it was less than an hour. Less than a very long feeling hour, but still not exactly an average chart of dilation. Then she was here! Just like birth number 3, my doula had to fetch the midwife in time to catch. As much as I tried to savor the last time the gates of my body threw forth a life into this world, I was just plain tired. Don't get me wrong, I was also pleased and relieved.  I held my new daughter in great happiness and joy. I nursed her and she nursed greedily and again it was a throwback to my first attempts at nursing a newborn: it hurt! How could this be after my 9 years of breastfeeding experience? Now, three weeks later, it’s a non issue.

first time big sister

 When I look back, my last birth is a good birth in the catalog of births. I was surrounded with people I trust, and the outcome of a healthy mother and healthy baby was a success. As I regain my energy and my enthusiasm for the new normal in our home, I am delighted with my history as a birther, but also delighted its history. Thus, if wrinkle cream is all I need to “face” the future, I have no complaints. Finding time to apply a cream daily- well that’s the challenge, and in the end nowhere even close to a priority. Savoring my baby is my true impulse. Loving my family and its new shape and personality is my pleasure and life’s work. What a wonderful blessing it all is.

connect four

Waiting for Pretzel

It finally looks like winter. The kids are outside playing in the snow as it comes quickly down. The whole picture is more what I had in mind when I imagined giving birth at the end of January. Here I am at almost 38 weeks along! Her birth is imminent and I am able to acknowledge our lives are about to change again.

I had a very soul nurturing baby shower this last weekend.  As my friends and family held candles and shared their prayers, intentions and wishes for me, Pretzel, and our family, I was deeply struck by the heartfelt openness in the room.  It was a Mother Blessing and I soaked it in like lotion in my dry cracked hands. I am so grateful for my sister and mother-in-law who worked together to make it happen.

With a freshly painted bedroom (thank you honey, and my father-in-law), a few meals in the freezer, a glider soon to be delivered, and the first load of freshly washed newborn clothes waiting for the dresser, the only thing we are missing is a name for this little girl.  I love her nickname, Pretzel, but it won’t do as a legal name.

When I am up until midnight and later, tossing and turning on my sides, and arranging pillows “just so” for my comfort, I think about names. I think about our selection process.  I think about all the names I like the sound of but not the meaning, or vice versa. At first I thought we should choose a name that follows the other children’s names. 

Those guidelines are as follows:

• Hebrew in origin
• The first letter and the last sound are original and not shared with any sibling
• The name includes the letters, “a”, “e”, and “l”
• Can not end in “k” or the sound will be lost when we say their first and last name “Keller”
• We like the meaning and it points to something in nature
• Last and least important, it could pass for something Irish even though it’s Hebrew in origin

But now I am ready to throw all those parameters out the window and just find a name we like! Similar to many of my previous personal choices about birth and naming, this precious fourth child has already challenged all of those processes.  Perhaps it’s only fitting she might come with her own rules. As the snowflakes fall, I think about their individuality. I think about them being as numerous as the stars.  I think, “I only need to name four human beings, what’s so hard about that?” Perhaps when the right name comes to us, she will too.