In the Arms of the Mother

By Katherine Gyles
Issue 138 - September/October 2006

In my memory, the first beautiful moments I spent gazing on Kate's newborn face turn into minutes and hours, then days and weeks. Those were the moments when I fell deeply in love with this little person. She was born at home, where I was surrounded by familiar comforts, love, and deep faith in my ability to give birth without intervention. But the real story of her introduction to me lies not in the beauty of her perfect homebirth, but in the days and weeks we spent lying-in together as a new family.

I always knew that I wanted a homebirth, away from what I imagined to be the sanitized and chaotic hospital scene. I am blessed that the province of Ontario regulated midwifery in 1994, allowing me the choice of a publicly funded midwife as my primary caregiver. When I became pregnant, I went straight to a midwife and never saw a doctor. My confidence in Bridget was almost immediate: I was attracted by her more than 20 years of experience, her leadership in the profession, and her obvious passion for learning and teaching. This was a woman who could help me navigate among decisions I could not yet imagine, and who would support my faith in my ability to birth at home.

What I did not know was that Bridget had a prescription for six weeks of postnatal care that would not only make me the envy of many of my new-mother friends, but create a solidly bonded new family. We would develop behaviors and patterns of relating that supported deep bonding, breastfeeding, rest, nutrition, and the centrality of our new family to the exclusion of all other social relations. This helped me become the kind of mother I am: a conscious mother. It was perhaps the single most important step in my transition from busy corporate person to focused, calm, confident new mother.

So there it is—I've outed myself. I am not what many people imagine when they think of a home-birthing woman. At the time of Kate's birth, I held a leadership role in an international consulting firm, and worked in a high-rise tower in the heart of Toronto's financial district. When they found out about my midwife, some of my colleagues reacted with shock and apprehension; I withheld news of the planned homebirth until the labor horror stories had faded from our conversations. And in a firm where women at my level commonly returned to work within a few months of delivering, I didn't disclose my intention to take as much of the legally available 12-month maternity leave as I thought my career could survive. I knew I was embarking on a journey with unknown requirements, and I was open to learning as I went along. I knew that I would put my child and her needs first.

Bridget's research of postpartum care in non-Western cultures pointed to a different beginning for a new family. Instead of the social pressures to introduce the baby, run the household, and entertain, this was to be a time of rest, healthy food, and connecting to this new person. I knew from the reading I'd done for my Women's Studies degree that there were cultures in which women were relieved of their familial and household duties for 40 days postpartum so that they could rest, nurse, and embrace the new child and their new mothering responsibilities. But while I was aware of the importance of the relationship between newborn and mother, I was shocked by the enormity of the shift I experienced from being a multitasking, high-functioning woman to a singularly focused mother.

It was hard to explain to my mother, who would come from a distance for the birth, that I did not expect her to stay and do laundry, make meals, or help tend to the baby. The ground rules of lying-in were clear: The first days postpartum are for the mother and baby to be sequestered together. For me and Kate, there would be five days in the bed, five days on the bed, and five days around the bed.

My recollection of the day Kate arrived is like a memory of a summer morning found only in childhood—warm, sunny, and free. She was born into the hands of her dad just before my legs gave out underneath me. Within moments, she was nuzzling into my breasts, enveloped by sunshine. So began our lying-in time—mother and daughter learning to know the smell, touch, taste, sound, and sight of a pure new love.