Screen time and relatives with opposing values

Screen time and relatives with opposing values

For an ongoing discussion on this and other topics go to:

http://www.continuum-concept.org/forum/index.html

I've been mulling over this one for a while. Many wrote in to the Continuum blog with their suggestions and unhappiness with relatives who are not on the same Continuum Concept wavelengths. Looking back over raising our 5, there were many times we'd encounter grandparents and others who were definitely not on the same planet as us as far as values, i.e., home birth, extended breastfeeding, co-sleeping, homeschooling, you name it!

But, without condoning it, we allowed it. Yes, the kids came home hyped up on Grandma's sugar cookies and begged for a TV like Grandma's, but we stuck to our beliefs at home. I think it is far more important than giving a list of no-nos to outside family or alienating them by restricting contact with our children, that we showed love and compassion to others who were different from us. As the children grew older, we could explain these differences and they could understand where our empathy grew from. Our living example of not judging others taught them far more than any legalistic lists could. There could be more un-peace in that than living our beliefs, often without using words. We didn't want it to be us against the world. 

We let them play with neighborhood children later, which presented many different cultures including the American pro-military stance. I didn't tell them they couldn't play with children from those families, but I did draw the line and didn't allow war toys or guns on our property. I had a little lecture I gave to the new kids about leaving their weapons in our mailbox at the end of the driveway where they'd be safe until they returned home. The kids complied. Perhaps it was their first introduction to pacifism. 

We didn't have smart phones or computers either, so screen time wasn't an option. They had them in high school, but it wasn't some forbidden fruit that they went wild with. They have all grown into extremely different, creative, loving adults. Ultimately they know we did the best we knew how, mistakes and all. 

Birth Trauma and who is to blame

As a midwife, I have a strong conviction that the feelings of shame and guilt  in oneself, thinking you are weak and 'caved in' at the end if your birth ending up with interventions, namely an epidural, forceps, vacuum, or C-section, and the resulting disappointment is the result of the medical community and where the blame should lie. I feel that it is a grave disservice to all women that the medical community, first of all, in general, though some are the exception, has a long history of fear, that birth is a set of horrific problems waiting to happen, and at the other end of the spectrum, that as a midwife, I (or collectively) might have given my clients the false impression that I expect a 100% natural, easy, basically unassisted birth, and anything short of that is failure.
In fact, I am in awe of all of my moms from over the past 35 years that did their very best first to educate themselves and then find the best providers for themselves. That said, I have seen women who have experienced so many things that they might not even be able to admit to themselves, that color much of our make up: childhood abuse, substance abuse, failed relationships, hurt, neglect, gender issues, a lack of confidence, the list is virtually endless. 

If we lived in a perfect world, yes, none of those things would affect our births, but we don't. We have a whole lot of baggage to work with. That is why, when I find myself in an operating theater for a cesarean with one of my moms and we have just heard her baby cry, I whisper in her ear, "Sweetheart, you've done it! You are brilliant!" and I kiss her. I can't judge her. In some cases, if we had been in Venezuela, or Zimbabwe, she and her baby might not have survived.  I am grateful we weren't.

Blessings,

Stephanie Sorensen

Midwife, Author

Breasts of the World Unite!

A Voice for Babies!

U.S. (the Trump administration) Opposition to Breast-Feeding Resolution Stuns World Health Officials 

Full article found in NY Times: https://nyti.ms/2J0WJuV  By Andrew Jacobs

July 8, 2018 Wesley Tomaselli contributed reporting from Colombia. Reprinted here without permission.

 A Brooklyn mother unable to nurse fed her child donated breast milk. The $70 billion infant formula industry has seen sales flatten in wealthy countries in recent years.

A resolution to encourage breast-feeding was expected to be approved quickly and easily by the hundreds of government delegates who gathered this spring in Geneva for the United Nations-affiliated World Health Assembly.

Based on decades of research, the resolution says that mother’s milk is healthiest for children and countries should strive to limit the inaccurate or misleading marketing of breast milk substitutes.

Then the United States delegation, embracing the interests of infant formula manufacturers, upended the deliberations.

American officials sought to water down the resolution by removing language that called on governments to “protect, promote and support breast-feeding” and another passage that called on policymakers to restrict the promotion of food products that many experts say can have deleterious effects on young children.

The showdown over the issue was recounted by more than a dozen participants from several countries, many of whom requested anonymity because they feared retaliation from the United States.

Health advocates scrambled to find another sponsor for the resolution, but at least a dozen countries, most of them poor nations in Africa and Latin America, backed off, citing fears of retaliation, according to officials from Uruguay, Mexico and the United States.

“We were astonished, appalled and also saddened,” said Patti Rundall, the policy director of the British advocacy group Baby Milk Action, who has attended meetings of the assembly, the decision-making body of the World Health Organization, since the late 1980s.

“What happened was tantamount to blackmail, with the U.S. holding the world hostage and trying to overturn nearly 40 years of consensus on the best way to protect infant and young child health,” she said.

In the end, the Americans’ efforts were mostly unsuccessful. It was the Russians who ultimately stepped in to introduce the measure — and the Americans did not threaten them. The State Department declined to respond to questions, saying it could not discuss private diplomatic conversations. The Department of Health and Human Services, the lead agency in the effort to modify the resolution, explained the decision to contest the resolution’s wording but said H.H.S. was not involved in threatening Ecuador.

“The resolution as originally drafted placed unnecessary hurdles for mothers seeking to provide nutrition to their children,” an H.H.S. spokesman said in an email. “We recognize not all women are able to breast-feed for a variety of reasons. These women should have the choice and access to alternatives for the health of their babies, and not be stigmatized for the ways in which they are able to do so.” The spokesman asked to remain anonymous in order to speak more freely.

Although lobbyists from the baby food industry attended the meetings in Geneva, health advocates said they saw no direct evidence that they played a role in Washington’s strong-arm tactics. The $70 billion industry, which is dominated by a handful of American and European companies, has seen sales flatten in wealthy countries in recent years, as more women embrace breast-feeding. Over all, global sales are expected to rise by 4 percent in 2018, according to Euromonitor, with most of that growth occurring in developing nations.

The intensity of the administration’s opposition to the breast-feeding resolution stunned public health officials and foreign diplomats, who described it as a marked contrast to the Obama administration, which largely supported W.H.O.’s longstanding policy of encouraging breast-feeding.

During the deliberations, some American delegates even suggested the United States might cut its contribution to the W.H.O., several negotiators said. Washington is the single largest contributor to the health organization, providing $845 million, or roughly 15 percent of its budget, last year.

The confrontation was the latest example of the Trump administration siding with corporate interests on numerous public health and environmental issues.

In talks to renegotiate the North American Free Trade Agreement, the Americans have been pushing for language that would limit the ability of Canada, Mexico and the United States to put warning labels on junk food and sugary beverages, according to a draft of the proposal reviewed by The New York Times.

During the same Geneva meeting where the breast-feeding resolution was debated, the United States succeeded in removing statements supporting soda taxes from a document that advises countries grappling with soaring rates of obesity.

The Americans also sought, unsuccessfully, to thwart a W.H.O. effortaimed at helping poor countries obtain access to lifesaving medicines. Washington, supporting the pharmaceutical industry, has long resisted calls to modify patent laws as a way of increasing drug availability in the developing world, but health advocates say the Trump administration has ratcheted up its opposition to such efforts.

The delegation’s actions in Geneva are in keeping with the tactics of an administration that has been upending alliances and long-established practices across a range of multilateral organizations, from the Paris climate accord to the Iran nuclear deal to Nafta.

Ilona Kickbusch, director of the Global Health Centre at the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies in Geneva, said there was a growing fear that the Trump administration could cause lasting damage to international health institutions like the W.H.O. that have been vital in containing epidemics like Ebola and the rising death toll from diabetes and cardiovascular disease in the developing world.

“It’s making everyone very nervous, because if you can’t agree on health multilateralism, what kind of multilateralism can you agree on?” Ms. Kickbusch asked.

A Russian delegate said the decision to introduce the breast-feeding resolution was a matter of principle.

“We’re not trying to be a hero here, but we feel that it is wrong when a big country tries to push around some very small countries, especially on an issue that is really important for the rest of the world,” said the delegate, who asked not to be identified because he was not authorized to speak to the media.

He said the United States did not directly pressure Moscow to back away from the measure. Nevertheless, the American delegation sought to wear down the other participants through procedural maneuvers in a series of meetings that stretched on for two days, an unexpectedly long period.

In the end, the United States was largely unsuccessful. The final resolution preserved most of the original wording, though American negotiators did get language removed that called on the W.H.O. to provide technical support to member states seeking to halt “inappropriate promotion of foods for infants and young children.” “We’re not trying to be a hero here, but we feel that it is wrong when a big country tries to push around some very small countries, especially on an issue that is really important for the rest of the world,” said the delegate, who asked not to be identified because he was not authorized to speak to the media.

He said the United States did not directly pressure Moscow to back away from the measure. Nevertheless, the American delegation sought to wear down the other participants through procedural maneuvers in a series of meetings that stretched on for two days, an unexpectedly long period.

In the end, the United States was largely unsuccessful. The final resolution preserved most of the original wording, though American negotiators did get language removed that called on the W.H.O. to provide technical support to member states seeking to halt “inappropriate promotion of foods for infants and young children.”

The United States also insisted that the words “evidence-based” accompany references to long-established initiatives that promote breast-feeding, which critics described as a ploy that could be used to undermine programs that provide parents with feeding advice and support.

Elisabeth Sterken, director of the Infant Feeding Action Coalition in Canada, said four decades of research have established the importance of breast milk, which provides essential nutrients as well as hormones and antibodies that protect newborns against infectious disease.

A 2016 study in The Lancet found that universal breast-feeding would prevent 800,000 child deaths a year across the globe and yield $300 billion in savings from reduced health care costs and improved economic outcomes for those reared on breast milk.

Scientists are loath to carry out double-blind studies that would provide one group with breast milk and another with breast milk substitutes. “This kind of ‘evidence-based’ research would be ethically and morally unacceptable,” Ms. Sterken said.

Abbott Laboratories, the Chicago-based company that is one of the biggest players in the $70 billion baby food market, declined to comment.

Nestlé, the Switzerland-based food giant with significant operations in the United States, sought to distance itself from the threats against Ecuador and said the company would continue to support the international code on the marketing of breast milk substitutes, which calls on governments to regulate the inappropriate promotion of such products and to encourage breast-feeding.

In addition to the trade threats, Todd C. Chapman, the United States ambassador to Ecuador, suggested in meetings with officials in Quito, the Ecuadorean capital, that the Trump administration might also retaliate by withdrawing the military assistance it has been providing in northern Ecuador, a region wracked by violence spilling across the border from Colombia, according to an Ecuadorean government official who took part in the meeting.

The United States Embassy in Quito declined to make Mr. Chapman available for an interview.

“We were shocked because we didn’t understand how such a small matter like breast-feeding could provoke such a dramatic response,” said the Ecuadorean official, who asked not to be identified because she was afraid of losing her job.

Tribes and following your heart: Continuum Concepts

Tribes and following your heart: Continuum Concepts

Every parent interested in tribal peoples and natural parenting must see Babies, also known as Baby(ies) and Bébé(s), a 2010 French documentary film by Thomas Balmes, who in fact did not have an agenda or even know about Continuum Concepts when he produced the movie.

An interesting review written by Roger Ebert on the 2010 French documentary unwittingly touches on the fact that the babies seen in the movie from the poorest parts of the globe appear the happiest. He writes:

"Babies is the perfect film for anyone who has never had the opportunity to interact with humans at an early age. You may never have had one, held one or baby-sat one, yet remained curious about the infants you see in a park, on the beach, or in baby carriers at the mall. Now a French documentarian has traveled to Africa, Asia and America to bring back charming footage of babies in their natural habitats.

If, however, you've raised children and/or grandchildren, or had little brothers and sisters, the movie may resemble 79 minutes of unpaid baby-sitting. When Baby Mari starts screaming, you're wishing you could turn on the TV and use something bright and noisy as a distraction. But no, you're at a movie. However, maybe “Babies” may be fascinating viewing for babies, just as many dogs and cats have their favorite programs. The babies are cute. Well, all babies are cute. That's just as well, because how could filmmakers audition a baby and wait six months to give it a callback? It's not a baby anymore. The director, Thomas Balmes, has found exemplary babies in Namibia, Mongolia, Tokyo and San Francisco, and observes them lovingly as they nurse, play, doze, poke kittens and happily hit one another. The movie is really about the babies, not their parents, and in most cases, we only see those parts of the parents ranking highest on the infant's interest scale: nipples, hands, arms, and male and female chests. Not all of the nipples are real, but the babies don't discriminate as long as they work. 

Two of the babies come from poor parts of the world, and two from rich. They seem equally happy and healthy. The Japanese and American babies are subjected to an awesome array of baby training strategies so they can begin climbing the success ladder as early as possible. I have no argument against baby yoga classes, but I have never known a baby who wasn't naturally able naturally to contort itself into alarming positions and get lost in meditation on the spur of the moment.

The African baby, Ponijao, lives in a forest hut with an earth floor, but this is Home and here is Mother and there are sticks to play with that may not be made of plastic and ornamented with Disney creatures but are excellent sticks nonetheless, and satisfying. Bayarjargal (nicknamed Bayar), whose family lives in a yurt in Mongolia, passes time by becoming expert in sibling rivalry.

Mari, from Japan, and Hattie, from America, are surrounded by a baffling array of devices to entertain them, serve them, shelter them, protect them and help them grow up big and strong. Can the epidemic of attention deficit disorder be explained by the First World's lack of opportunities for babies to be bored? How can babies concentrate when things are forever being jingled and dangled at them? Is there too much incoming? 
I dunno. What I do know is that babies are miraculous. From a sprawling, bawling start, they learn to walk, talk, plan, scheme, play and figure stuff out. Generations of scientists have hurled themselves at the question of exactly how babies learn to talk. They must be getting so frustrated by the fact that the babies just go ahead and do it with no training." 

***

From my book, Ma Doula: A Story Tour of Birth: In the late 1970s, after the Vietnam War had displaced them, thousands of Hmong people immigrated to the U.S., Minnesota absorbing the bulk of them: 35,000 in the first years. I decided to befriend them. And I watched and listened.

Like Jean Leidloff (The Continuum Concept, 1971) whom I didn’t read until many years later, I was not seeing babies who resembled our American babies. These babies hardly fussed, never seemed to cry, were carried most of the day only being put down on straw mats on the floor when they were sleeping, but were otherwise scooped up at the first peep and tied onto whomever was the first adult on the scene. Babies were nursed on demand until the next newborn came along. Then that toddler became the charge of Grandma or an Aunt who would carry, feed, sleep with, entertain and care for him so that the little person would not feel left out for one minute by the tiny intruder. Children were constantly milling around the grownups wherever they were congregating. The men would gather before and after a meal, often sharing a bamboo hookah, babies or toddlers on their knees or in their laps, older children quietly playing and listening to the conversations while their moms and sisters cooked, cleaned and took care of the household.

During the first years I was with the Hmong, I never saw a baby crying uncontrollably, or left to cry behind a closed door. I never saw a tantrum when a parent said no. I didn’t see whiny or clingy children in stores demanding this or that dry cereal or toy. I also didn’t see parents entertaining their little charges, rather, they were simply brought along throughout the day wherever their parents or aunt or grandma needed to be engaged. Toddlers were looked after by the whole extended family. It did take a village to raise each child. Everyone, even the oldest grandpa’s lap wasn’t off limits to a grazing toddler. Grandpa just kept talking or telling a story to whomever was listening (or no one.) Spoken Hmong is a preliterate (unwritten) language, so there is a very rich oral tradition of story-telling. Stories are told and retold. Stories are sung over and over. Stories are even sewn into intricate, elaborate quilts and wall hangings. You can find story quilts telling the story of a particular family’s exodus from Laos or the layout of the clan’s farm and animal herds before the war.

I also saw toddlers wielding knives and machetes. Adults didn’t admonish the children, or grab the tools away but quietly hovered nearby, letting this be an educational moment. Children hardly more than toddlers themselves would comfort a smaller child if he fell down. There were no toys as such in those early days, but children would share or patiently wait for a turn with an empty juice bottle ‘doll’ wrapped in a rag that another child was playing with.

This was continuum bonding. After 9 months in utero, being totally surrounded by everything he needs a baby’s care isn’t suddenly completed, like an assembly line product, popped out at birth. The complete circle of touch, smell, sounds, taste and comfort must be continued 24 hours a day. ‘In arms’ he will continue to be held, fed, jostled, rocked and hear and see everything around him that he will slowly learn from. That is stimulation enough. We don’t have to constantly entertain, provide educational toys, teach, hang mobiles, come up with unique experiences, schedule play dates, put on classical music, and play CDs of foreign languages, ad infinite. Our babies will process as much as they are able at each appropriate stage without our perpetually thinking that they won’t learn or be smart if we don’t personally fill each teaching moment by offering them multiple options. Our daily lives already provide the social and physical requirements for our brain development.

Fast forward to 2018. I am now seeing 3 generations later, an entire society emulating our American lifestyles, values, and so unfortunately, our parenting styles. Most have lost sight of the continuum model I saw in the beginning of their assimilation. I would bet, though, that I would find that model again in Laos should I return to visit those that stayed behind. 

Blessings,

(Grandma) Stephanie Sorensen

Midwife, Author

Email: ssskimchee@gmail.com

Blog: callthedoula.blogspot.com

NEWS RELEASE:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE          

Minneapolis Author Named a Finalist 

in the 26th Annual Midwest Book Awards

Minnesota: The 26th Annual Midwest Book Awards has recognized Ma Doula: a Story Tour of Birth by Stephanie Sorensen as a finalist in the category of family & parenting.

Winners will be announced at the Midwest Book Awards Gala to be held on May 13, 2016, from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. at the Olson Campus Center at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota.

The competition, sponsored by the Midwest Independent Publishing Association, is judged by experts from all aspects of the book world, including publishers, writers, editors, librarians, teachers and book designers. They select award winners and finalists based on overall excellence.

From the author: My books are about the courageous men and women from across the planet who have fled war, torture, famine and genocide. They come here with hope. They dare to hope that they can once more live in peace. They dare to fall in love again, dare to have babies again and provide a better life for their families. They come from every country and background imaginable; from Africa, Asia – Laos, Vietnam, China, Thailand, the South Pacific, Mongolia, Burma, Europe and South America. Against all odds they have landed here, bringing absolutely nothing with them... but hope.

My books are not about my life. They are about these amazing survivors starting over, from scratch. They invite me to witness some of their most intimate moments, like the birth of their babies. My job is to help them navigate the impossibly complex world of the American medical system. With each one I try to create a safe environment for them, so that they can access their own power and wisdom from within in order to birth this particular child.

“It is thrilling to see so many talented authors and publishers of high quality books in the Midwest,” said Midwest Book Awards Chair Sherry Roberts. “I look forward to the Gala, where we will be recognizing the achievements of all the finalists and winners as well as celebrating the strength and vitality of independent publishing in the Midwest.”

About MIPA Midwest Independent Publishing Association serves the Midwest publishing community to promote excellence in publishing in the Midwest. Through educational programming and other cooperative efforts, MIPA helps members learn more about publishing and book production, promotion and marketing. MIPA also provides networking opportunities for publishers, both new and experienced, to learn from each other.

 MIPA serves a 12-state region: Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, North Dakota, Ohio, South Dakota and Wisconsin.

Blessings,   

Stephanie

Parent magazine!

We did it! Ma Doula is featured this month in Minnesota Parent Magazine. International Doula Magazine had a lovely spread about the book in their winter issue. I will be signing copies of my book on April 23rd at the MIPA Vendor Fair in Roseville. Hoping to see you there!
Blessings,
Stephanie

Mark your calendars, your phones, your websites! 

August 12th, at 7 p.m. 
At Everyday Miracles
1121 Jackson St. N.E. 
Minneapolis, MN 

See movie Birth Story and book signing after. 

Suggested donation: $20 includes movie and a signed first edition copy of Ma Doula: A Story Tour of Birth.

Go to Everyday Miracles’ website to purchase advance tickets. Tickets will also be sold at the door. 

We hope to see you there!

TODAY in Minneapolis!

Ma Doula: A Story Tour of Birth - the book is born!

My first Minneapolis book signing! 

At Moon Palace Books 2 p.m. TODAY!  Saturday, July 11th

Address: 2820 E 33rd St, Minneapolis, MN 55406

Blessings,

Stephanie Sorensen

My first book signing at the St. Cloud, Minnesota Art Crawl yesterday

Our book has been born!











Below: L to R, Patricia Morris, my editor AKA fairy godmother (who else makes dreams come true?) center: Corrine Dwyer, publisher from North Star Press, and me, making believe I am a real author.

It kinda feels like my first day at kindergarten did....


A MUST READ!

And now, my very favorite other book this month that you absolutely have to check out: The Woman Who Fell from the Sky: An American Woman's Adventures in the Oldest City on Earth  by Jennifer Steil. A gifted writer, Steil surprised me with her brilliant and candid writing… and her elegance. It is rare to find a first book this enticing. Writing with a journalist's eye for detail, Steil narrates the journey she and her staff of a Yemeni newspaper take together, sometimes endearing, but then at other times a volatile clash of two cultures. I was immediately drawn into her story, so different and so original from many of the works being published here and abroad today. A truly refreshing change, The Woman Who Fell from the Sky definitely made me want to immediately order her next book, even before I turned the last page. I am not sure where Ms. Steil has been hiding all these years, but I am glad I have discovered her at last. I think I can expect the same exacting precision of writing in her next book. I cannot wait until The Ambassador's Wife arrives! 

Ma Doula: A Story Tour of Birth has arrived!!

To order: https://www.northstarpress.om/store/c19/2015_Titles.html and then go to Memoir. Also note that if you use the coupon code NewBooks, you get 10% off all 2015 titles. $14.95 Author: Stephanie Sorensen

From Ina May Gaskin:

"Ma Doula is a wonderful book for parents-to-be who love birth stories that provide a look at the great range of what can happen during pregnancy, labor and birth. It’s an incomparable resource for doulas, especially those who work with immigrant communities. Stephanie Sorensen is a brilliant storyteller. Her book is full of wisdom and tenderness.” ~ Ina May Gaskin, America’s leading midwife; author of Birth Matters: A Midwife’s Manifesta

Other reviews:

“I loved this book. Stephanie Sorensen's compassion and intelligence make Ma Doula a feast for both mind and heart as she weaves the best of birthing wisdom into the real stories of mothers and their babies in multicultural Minneapolis. I am grateful to the brave, honest women I met on the pages of this marvelous book.” –Mary Johnson, author, An Unquenchable Thirst; creative director of retreats, A Room of Her Own Foundation (AROHO)

“This is a wonderful book with real stories. And I mean ‘real’ in many ways. Of course they are ‘real’ in being true, attesting to an amazingly rich experience. But they are ‘real’ also in the sense that they collectively portray what is our ‘real’ biology, which we are in danger of losing in our technologically oriented world. Along the way, Stephanie provides all the connections to the ‘real’ world we live in. . . . Stephanie shares all this with us in an amazingly ‘real’ way, story after story with wonderful detail. This is ‘real’ and normal birth, how birth should really be.”

–Dr. Nils Bergman, specialist in perinatal neuroscience; co-founder, Kangaroo Mother Care movement; co-author, Hold Your Premie, Cape Town South Africa

From the editor: 

Midwife-turned-author, Stephanie Sorensen seems to swim seamlessly through cultures, religions, superstitions, raw fear and ecstasy to the first breath of a new baby. She knows and believes how birth works and invites her readers to join her, taking us on a tour to the innermost workings of another world. She lives among one of the most diverse populations on earth, and has given birth to a book that takes us on a bizarre journey, giving us a rare, intimate glimpse into her daily life. With graphic prose we enter with her into the Land of Birth. Midwife, mother, grandmother, doula, world traveler and author, Sorensen lives and breathes birth. Stephanie can usually be found traipsing the streets of Minneapolis on her way to one of her clients’ homes. She has five children scattered around the world, grandchildren, and over a thousand babies she calls her own, even when she cannot pronounce their names correctly. With stories so graphic you will feel your own contractions again, she guides us through her world of Amish bedrooms, hospital labor rooms, birthing suites, and operating theaters. Get your scrubs on. It's time to push!

Scroll down to see some chapters from all of my books.

What my books are NOT about....

My books are not about myself. They are about the courageous men and women from across the planet who have fled war, torture, famine and genocide. They come here with hope. They dare to hope that they can once more live in peace. They dare to fall in love again, dare to make babies again and dream of providing a better life for their families.

They come from every country and background imaginable; from Africa, Asia, the South Pacific, Mongolia, Burma, Europe and South America. Against all odds they have landed here, bringing absolutely nothing with them... but hope.

My books are not about my life. They are about these amazing survivors starting over, from scratch. They invite me to witness some of their most intimate moments, like the birth of their

babies. My job is to help them navigate the impossibly complex world of the American medical system. With each one I try to create a safe environment for them, so that they can access their

own power and wisdom from within in order to birth this particular child.

My books are not about me. Yes, I get to be part of their lives and rejoice with them. I often get to visit their homes, eat their food and kiss their beautiful babies, but this is not about ME. Sometimes I also cry with them. The last time was when I accompanied a woman from Ghana into the operating room for a C-section. Her twin babies were showing signs of distress. They needed to be born NOW. 

Two plump beautiful brown baby girls who both carried a rare genetic syndrome; the incidence is only 1 in every 15,000 births—and they both have it. They will be disabled for the rest of their lives, but their brave parents love them dearly.

My books are not the story of my life. So why has Ma Doula: A Story Tour of Birth been allowed to be listed in the Barnes and Nobel catalogue as biography and memoir? They should be under transcultural medical care, intercultural communication, childbirth, doula, midwifery, health, and parenting. I have sent this letter to my publisher to get to the distributor to fix it. 

Stay tuned! Ma Doula will be ready to order on May 1st. You can order through Barnes and Nobel or Amazon, though they don't have the cover we decided on in the end, or North Star Press, St. Cloud, MN.

Books! Books and More Books!!!! The Journey, At Last

There is light at the end of the tunnel. I have a publisher! (See: https://www.northstarpress.com/about-us.html) And an agent! AND an editor (who is also my fairy godmother. Who else makes dreams come true?) Though she would cringe if she saw how many exclamation points (!) I have used so far.

Fairy Godmother takes an edited version of my manuscript of birth stories to her publisher friend. I don't know her well enough yet, the publisher lady, to know if she is also a Fairy or a Goddess, or what, but they appear related, somehow. She is something, I know that much. She/they live in a straw bale house between a goat barn and the sheep pens. I also noted guinea hens, ducks, dogs, cats, chickens, and organic gardens. I may just rent a 24-square-foot postage stamp-size patch of the lower 40 field and move my tiny house on wheels up there and write for the rest of my life.

The first book is called Ma Doula (See the blog for the title story, posted April 29, 2014) and will be out in May, 2015. There were actually too many stories for the first edition, so another collection of birth stories will follow the first book later on, perhaps also in 2015. Stay tuned....

I often talked about another book on the blog that I call Stone Age Babies in a Space Age World; Babies and Bonding in the 21st Century© which Fairy Godmother is editing as I write. Hopefully we will see that in hard copy in early 2016. Stay tuned for that one, too....

Fairy Godmother has mentioned several times that she knows there are more books inside of me, though I was unaware of that. So, in an effort to discover them, I have continued writing and they are indeed in the first trimester of gestation. 

As soon as I have a front cover finalized, I will post it here for all to see.

Blessings, love, and all good wishes go out there to all of my readers and all of their babies.

Stephanie

An Ethiopian Baptism and The Pope on Breastfeeding

I feel like I've just returned from Ethiopia. In a way I have. I spent the day at an Ethiopian Orthodox baptism. It was held in Minneapolis, Minnesota, but nothing inside the church all day could hint at any place other than the old country. Much like Roman Catholicism in the Western World, the Orthodox Church traditionally baptizes infants, rather than adults. A custom no doubt reflecting the high infant mortality around the world, where baby boys die even earlier than baby girls for a whole host of reasons, Ethiopian baby boys are traditionally baptized when they are 40 days old, and baby girls, who are often stronger at birth, at 80 days. Perhaps the thinking goes something like this: “Let’s get these boys baptized sooner and maybe some of that grace will rub off and cause more of them to live longer….”

A study published in a recent issue of Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences  of infant mortality in 15 developed countries, including Australia, found that baby boys are 24% more likely to die than baby girls. This is down from a peak of 31% in 1970. "The marked reversal of historical trends indicates that at an age when males and females experience very similar lives, they are very different in their biological vulnerability," says co-author Professor Eileen Crimmins at the University of Southern California Davis School of Gerontology. "As infant mortality falls to very low levels, infant deaths become increasingly concentrated among those who are born with some weakness." However, it is still double the rate in the days before the development of vaccines and public health measures, such as improved sanitation, dramatically improved infant mortality rates.

The male disadvantage begins in utero. Girls have a stronger immune system while boys are 60% more likely to be born prematurely and experience respiratory problems.

Boys are also more likely to cause difficult labor because their body and head sizes are often larger than girls. When poor sanitation and nutrition weakened all mothers and babies, the male disadvantage was less noticeable. Today (2014 findings), look more like this:

5.7 deaths per 1,000 births in the U.S.; 70 deaths per 1,000 births in Ethiopia, 98 deaths per 1,000 births in Somalia, Iceland has only 3.14 deaths per 1,000 births—even better than the U.S. as does Greece at 4.7 deaths per 1,000 births, Cuba at 4.6, Ireland at 3.7, Sweden at 2.7, and Monaco with only 1.8 deaths per 1,000 births; however, in 1990, the infant mortality rate in Tibet, according to a study in the Chinese Journal of Population Science, was 92.5 deaths per 1,000 live births, roughly triple the national average for China. I am still sending out antennae, hoping to find backing for a trip to Tibet in the near future in order to get some real data on the situation there and hopefully some answers, too. In Tibet, the death rate of women in childbirth in 2012 was 174 maternal deaths per 100,000 births, compared to about 28 maternal deaths per 100,000 births in the U.S. Something needs to be done.

But back to Little Ethiopia in Minneapolis. The invitation said 6 a.m. Really? I was there. As the doors closed behind me, I smelled incense. I noticed shoes lined up by the door, too, off to one side. I removed mine and stepped into the church. Even the priest was standing up front reciting the prayers, clad in ornate gold vestments, in his stocking feet. The church was very traditional Orthodox with icons filling the walls and a gate at the front closing off the actual altar. Colorful tapestries and rugs covered the floor, the steps up to the gate, and the aisles. Heavy satin and velvet maroon curtains hung over the gate and across the front of the sanctuary. Giant sequined red and gold ceremonial umbrellas were lined up off to one side of the sanctuary next to 2 huge drums, also opulently decorated.

The women were all standing in the pews on the right of the church and the men on the left. A tiny girl, not more than 3 years old, with an impish smirk on her face, wandered up and down the center aisle, stopping to visit with different ones who invited her over. She was dressed in a miniature copy of the richly embroidered dress and veil of the older women, though her tiny pigtail tufts held her veil up at a funny angle which made her even cuter. All were dressed in white linen. No one tried to hush her or the other children in the pews. All the children were held or cuddled or left to wander around, unlike many churches in America where children are expected to sit still and remain perfectly quiet. Except, I now recall, the Amish services I have attended, 

despite their strict rules and old fashioned religiosity. At one point during a particularly long service, great big cookies were passed out to keep the children happy and they were free to come and go should they need to use the outhouse out back. Hutterite services were definitely different, however. The littlest children are expected to fill the front-most pews, the next group in age taking the next rows, and so on. Men and women sit on opposite sides of the meeting house, filling up the middle and back pews. This arrangement makes it possible for the parents to watch their children during the services and should there be anything out of the expected behavior in church, it will be taken up later at home. Babies and toddlers go to the kliene shul (little school) or daycare during services.

An aside here, I was happy to read that before a baptism recently in Rome, the Pope made a general announcement that during the service it is perfectly alright to breastfeed the babies there that day. Good for him. You rock, Pope Francis!

Against one of the walls to the right of the pews about 30 sticks were hung up like brooms in a janitor’s closet. They looked like broom handles or crutches. Maybe shepherd staffs. I couldn’t guess what they were for.

So we stood. The first hour went by quickly. So much was new to me, and the icons were beautiful, some framed with embroidered white scarves. The next hour was getting harder. How could they stand for so long? One older grandmother left her pew at one point, took one of the broom handles from the rack on the wall and returned to her place. She held the top handle of it with both hands, closed her eyes and leaned in against it. It was a crutch! You could prop yourself up with it and rest awhile.

           

So went the next hour. Prayers, hymns, incense, bells, responsorial prayers where the congregation answers the priest, all in Amharic. Not one word of English so far. The next hour dragged on. Then all of a sudden two gold-robbed deacons with matching gold brocade fez-like hats started filling up the baptismal font from two huge tea kettles. It was a brass caldron-like affair. The two families in the first pews started undressing their babies as I wondered if they had given them chamomile tea or something to quiet them. They hadn’t cried at all during the service so far. The priest then produced a huge ledger and wrote down the babies and parents’ names in the book, having the mothers check the spelling of the names before he closed it.

At this point the dads from the men’s side came over to hold their naked babies. A blanket was thrown around them to keep them warm until it was their turn at the font. Dozens of cell phones and cameras stood ready.

Then the priests, deacons, acolytes, and the two families moved forward to the water. More hymns and prayers for a while and then the priest signaled to the first dad to hand the baby to him. The tiny girl was wide awake but completely quiet. A deacon held the baby above the water as the priest scooped up a handful of the water three times and trickled it over the baby’s head. Then the priest took the baby from the deacon and dunked her three times, careful to only submerge her up to her armpits. She still didn’t cry. Another man was ready behind the priest with a towel. Then the priest did same thing again with the baby boy. Still wrapped in their respective towels, the priest blessed the babies with holy oil. Returning again through the gate, the priest along with the whole entourage proceeded with the Divine Liturgy. Oh, I almost forgot. After the babies were baptized, the people came out from the pews up to the steps of the sanctuary and the priest splashed water from the font onto them, group by group as they came up. Then they returned to the pews, making room for the next group to get splashed. I was pushed along by the wave of women in my pew and similarly, liberally doused.

Toward the end of the fourth hour I was standing with my eyes closed, listening to the beautiful eastern melodies when someone touched my sleeve. It was one of the deacons with a large book. He was holding it out to me. I panicked. What was I supposed to do with it? I winced and looked straight at him, hoping for a clue. Was I being invited to recite the next reading? Smart man, he whispered, “You may honor the gospel”, which is a custom I was familiar with from my monastery days—and that is another story altogether. At least then, usually at Easter, a cross or a bible was brought to the people to venerate. This one was an ancient, leather-bound tome with an orthodox cross embroidered on the cover. I touched my forehead to the book and then kissed the cross. I must have done it right because he moved on to the next person. It must have taken him another half hour to circulate through the whole assembly. When he returned to the priest, he read from the gospel for that day, and then afterwards, the bible was brought around again for all the people to kiss.

After the reading, one of the deacons came straight down the aisle and turned into my pew. Oh, no. Had I done something wrong? He opened a book he had under his arm and pointed to the verse the priest was reciting at that moment. There were three columns of writing on each page, one in Amharic, one in Oromo, and the last in English. Oh, good. Now I could somewhat follow what was going on.

So this was what Sundays are for. It is the Sabbath, and these people took that very seriously. If you can’t work, you might as well spend the day at church, praying, worshipping and singing. I started composing this story in my head as we neared the beginning of the next hour. Then my cell phone went off. EEEEKKKK! How could I be so stupid? I grabbed it out of my purse and tried to muffle it against my chest. I quickly turned it off. No one turned to admonish me or even glare at me. A minute later someone else’s phone rang, so I didn’t feel so completely mortified.

Two more grandmothers and a grandfather from the other side of the room retrieved crutches during the next hour. Then the umbrellas were opened and marched over to the tabernacle where the bread and wine had been consecrated, and the entire entourage processed back through the gate to the people who were lining up for communion. The newly baptized babies were presented first. The priest dropped a miniscule crumb of the bread onto a silver spoon that contained a drop of the wine and fed the babies their first communion like that. They still had not fussed at all. After all of the people received communion, the umbrellas were put aside and the priest delivered a sermon. It was all in Amharic, so I sat quietly and went back to composing my notes in my head.

As soon as the sermon was over, four young people dressed in blue headdresses and robes came forward, each holding a staff or crutch. Then one of the deacons took off his outer vestment and picked up one of the drums. The air was instantly electrified. The women started clapping and swaying as he began a low, slow, deep boom boom boom beat on the drum. He slowly marched in a little circle in the center of the sanctuary as the people in blue—two young men and two young women—marched toward each other and then back again. All of a sudden the beat picked up and the staffs were whacked on the floor with the beat and the drumming got louder and louder and on some cue that I couldn’t discern, all the women did some kind of trilling with their tongues, all in unison, and then stopped, all together, something I had heard in African music before, but never live. It was all so amazing! 

Even the littlest children were dancing and clapping. I remembered then that in the Old Testament King David had danced before the Arc of the Covenant (II Samuel 6 and Psalm 132) and wondered when we in the Western World had lost this part of our worship and had become so very serious. Dads were holding their tiny children dancing between the pews. At one point the drummer turned his drum over to another deacon who started right away with the faster beat, much to the agreement of his audience who trilled and clapped and kept dancing. Then things settled down and the priest walked up to the lectern to deliver another lesson. I guessed it was on a secular subject because he had removed his gold vestments before mounting the steps up to the podium. We all sat at that point. I wasn’t looking at my watch anymore, resigned that this was what I had committed to for the day, so it no longer mattered if he spoke for 15 minutes or an hour. When he was done, it was obvious that the service was indeed over. People stood up, the staffs were all returned to the broom rack on the wall and people were wading through the piles of shoes in the back looking for their own pair. As all of that was happening, the two acolytes were passing out paper cups of water. I was handed a cup as a girl asked me, “Do you drink holy water?” I said yes and gladly drank it, but within another moment wondered to myself if somehow we were consuming the water that the priest had blessed and both naked babies had been immersed in. Oh, well. I just chocked it up to another new experience.

People were slowly making their way to the bottleneck at the front doors and on down into the church’s basement, and then just as quickly coming back up with huge chunks of homemade bread. Then they broke pieces off and handed them out to everyone else still on the steps. It wasn’t the same bread as the communion host, but most likely, I imagine, something to hold everyone over so they wouldn’t faint on the way home. In many faiths, people fast from food from the night before they wish to receive communion, so if that were the case, these people had had a very long wait until now. It was past noon.

I greeted the priest on the last steps leading down to the street. He offered his hand to me to shake. Unlike our Muslim friends who never shake hands with the opposite sex, these people always did. Even hugs were not verboten here. I only realized as people flooded out of the church that I was the only white face there. The thought had not occurred to me until then. The priest took my hand and immediately apologized that the service was only in their language, “No English, I am so sorry.” I told him that it was beautiful, that the reverence and joy came through loud and clear. I told him I enjoyed attending their worship and felt blessed by it. He said he had heard from Selassie that I had been helping her during her pregnancy and he thanked me. I told him that Selassie has appointed me as the baby’s American grandma, and that I wouldn’t have missed this day for anything. He agreed. At that moment she found me and shuttled me over to their car. It is still winter in Minnesota, so we were anxious to get the babies and little children into the cars quickly.

Back at Selassie’s apartment we all fell into the plush sofas and finished off our bread. It was wonderful, though unlike any bread I had eaten at their houses before. It was definitely sweeter. Soon more and more people were arriving with hot and cold dishes and the kitchen was humming. I had waited to hold little Kelile all day until now, and I finally got to play with him. He seemed to know me right away, though I had only been checking in less than once a week since the birth. He looked so good, so happy and filling out. We had concerns in the beginning. One of the specialty children’s hospitals here has checked him over and put in place a care plan to address the concerns. He will be fine. An emergency C-section didn’t help Selassie worry any less about him. Her husband Yonas was still back home in Africa, plodding through the immigration process. The latest fly in the works is a new requirement from the U.S. visa department. Selassie had to come up with $600 and have the baby’s DNA tested and then send the file to a hospital in Dolo Odo, Ethiopia and have her husband’s tested too. If he proves to be his father, then he might still get a visa, on the condition that he meets all of the other requirements. I have worked with many women from Africa who come here, either pregnant or with small children, find work and housing, and then proceed to try to sponsor their husbands. If the whole family applies all at once, they are not always granted permission to immigrate.

I went into the kitchen after Kelile made it very clear that it was time for him to eat, and Selassie disappeared into the other room with him. I was hoping to help with the preparations, but they were mostly finish. The last ingera pancakes were being rolled and stacked on a huge straw platter and the buffet was ready. Stews and various curries sat steaming: red curries, yellow curries, curries with chicken, curries with hard boiled eggs swimming in the sauce, yellow rice, barbequed ribs, steak strips in another pan, all elegantly arranged. Trays of sodas and coolers of bottled water and beer were being brought out to the tables. All of us were being ushered then into the kitchen to pick up our plates and drinks. The food and people too kept coming and going all afternoon and into the evening as Kelile slept.