This evening, washing dishes, and a memory materializes, 
that of a moment when I knew something
unconsciously, but knew it still. 

My love had brought me to the little snowy town of Aspen,
and we were going to lunch at a cafe in a bookstore,
or was it after lunch…?
Either way we were on the sidewalk, 
and crossed a pair of mothers with their children. 

My cold, ungloved hand
- the one not holding the hand of my beloved - 
hung empty and casual at my side. 
One of the children, 
a boy of three or so, 
had become detached from his mother for a few seconds as she spoke to her friend.
He took my hand, in his sweet confusion, and took a couple strides with us in our direction. 

The two women giggled and called to him, 
I squeezed his little fingers and reoriented him, laughing and shrugging
and secretly ecstatic inside myself, 

because I felt that I was to become a mother soon myself. 
I didn’t know it then, but I was a couple weeks pregnant.  
I didn’t know. But I knew. 

Intuitive suspicions live inside wily cells. 
They know better than I. They smile quietly while 
my solid being slides itself through experiences such as that one.

Experiences such as now, 
standing at the sink and listening to the refrigerator hum amidst the otherwise silent woods. 
What am I unconsciously yet joyfully suspicious of now? 
What intuition lurks behind my tired yet happy form? 
​

My mother’s face today
glowed youthful. 
They say with age
that beauty fades. 
But I have proof
of otherwise.

I wonder how many beds stand empty every night 
while people sleep in discomfort on the street. 
Sometimes I think, well, some people are just nomads.
                there are nomadic people all over the place,
                    there have always been nomadic people…
But a group which travels together 
is different from an individual who has perhaps lost his way, 
who travels alone
who sits in grime…


Does he sit and wonder, how do I get out of this situation? 
Or does he hunch and limp across the road while thinking, 
yes, this is what I wanted. No responsibility, nothing to answer to, it’s just easier this way…?


We just can’t know what he is thinking, 
what brought him to his position, 
what led him to choose this corner, this wall, this fetid alley. We don’t know. And we don’t want to. 
We write him off and turn our head. Our own lives are enough to work on. 


But back to those empty beds… 
I watched some men constructing a new hotel the other day -
(in fact, there is constant construction all over the city)
but it is all meant for people who have money -
perhaps rightfully so - for why should the sweat and 
labor of the builders provide for anyone undeserving? 


I just wonder what it means
to deserve
a bed to rest on. Some privacy, some water
with which to wash, some light to read by, or even 
a device with which to listen to some music or watch a film…
such luxuries… simple yet so unattainable for so many. 


If I say, let’s allow people to sleep in empty hotel rooms without having to pay, 
like, there could be a website or an app which would link up location with availability 
(and if you think homeless people can’t get online, please visit the Hollywood libraries and take note)
and an individual 
who has 
nothing
can check in.
Clean up. 
Rest. 
Be brought a meal. 


I know I know I know! 
You can’t! 
This reason and that reason and this and that and you just can’t give people stuff for free, and it’s just enabling them, and who exactly is paying for this? and how are the maids going to get out the smell, and what about their carts full of crap, and aren’t they’re going to do drugs! and it’s not a real solution for anything just a temporary pleasure and this and that and this and that, I know! I know I can’t write up this idea without it failing before it reaches even just the end of the thought thinking it. I know. It’s self-defeating. 


It only exists in my imaginary, poverty-less world -
where transient living
is still a reality, 
(for it is a lifestyle which many souls perhaps require in the process of searching for themselves and seeing the world in a  particular way)
but it in this imagined world, 
the lifestyle
is actually supported, 
and not so sunken in mire as it is here now…

Today on the radio I heard that Mayor Garcetti has declared a State of Emergency for Los Angeles’s homelessness. A hundred million dollars is to be spent on more service workers and shelters. Despite being advised to not focus on this issue (as it supposedly “kills votes” and people just wish it would go away without actually having to do anything about it), the mayor is deciding to make it a priority, and to give it a sense of urgency. Of course there’s a sense of urgency! The people I pass daily on the streets here in Hollywood - they need help urgently. I imagine each hour and each day spent in discomfort and hunger is not something that might as well just stretch into longer periods, until the person becomes even more destitute, and the people who are “better off” judge them even more severely (“they choose to live this way,” “why should they get anything for free when I work hard,” etc). I think the urgency is the missing key. 

​
The suffering is not only apparent, but exponential - in that the people who have struggled and sickened and sought refuge without finding any haven are rotting in squalor, while the people who have the energy, creativity, ingenuity, and resources to think up and implement possible solutions are misdirected in their aims. We’ve been programmed to look the other way, we’ve been set up in a fierce rat race to prove our worth to one another in terms of possessions, accomplishments, colorful journeys and beautiful offspring. Believe me when I admit that my baby being born a total cutie pie makes me feel like a huge success, treated to doting reverie from the world which I receive daily in the form of compliments from strangers and friends, each one making me feel like a super human for just having reproduced. This giddy joy has such power to distract me from the pain in the world. But it also teaches me, everyday, that I have accomplished nothing, if I do not augment my happiness with a purpose. 


During my pregnancy, and now ten months of my baby’s life, my purpose has been to be healthy and make the transition into motherhood. Most days this task has been all I could focus on, but as I gain more steadiness in this new footing, the shadows in my heart lean more and more into my view. They bow in, slowly creeping, and often withdraw quickly as if they don’t want me to notice, for fear of fracturing my glittering bubble of carefree living. But they know. There’s no such thing as carefree, when 2 billion people on our planet live in poverty. My shadows have had to learn, however, that they cannot disguise themselves as guilt, and take away from my true joy. I think all of our shadows must learn this. We can’t help anyone if we think we shouldn’t be happy out of solidarity for the poor, the ill, and the innocent immersed in violence. 


Because there are so many instances of these poor, ill, violent things in our current existence (which also pulls with it the weight of the past poor, ill, violent things), the shadows in our hearts need to be allowed full entrance into view. We need to embrace them and understand their significance. We need to grow stronger through the processes of healing, and then assert our power to influence the world. 


Tonight’s moon is so close to us it’s called a Supermoon. It’s aligned with the Sun and eclipsed so perfectly by the Earth that it’s glowing blood-red as it reflects all the light off of our planet. It’s the harvest moon, and it orbits us in celebration of the crops coming in, our work paying off, our stock for the winter, our keep and sustenance. Oh to be as connected to older agricultural cycles than we are in our industrialized stupor. Perhaps we’d tap into compassion easier. If we understood that all the bounty we enjoy comes with a price, a give and take… a tilling, a seeding, a sprouting, a nourishing, a reaping, a processing, and only then - the consuming. 


I ask tonight’s moon - do you feel it, our dullness? Our greed? Our distraction? I see you float there, far away with the magic of space between us, holding the distance at an ebbing radius, never wishing to touch, just circling, just leading us in our dance of ignorance. Or can you illuminate our potential? Come even closer, moon, I wish you didn’t fear us. We are quite lost. You’re bleeding for us as you take our shadow. And behind us, that scepter sun is standing true as ever, casting its brightness everywhere except on you, as we pass through.


My new purpose in life, as a mother and a citizen of the world, is to think about the way a world without poverty will look. How it will feel, smell, taste, sound. How it will resonate in our souls. (I think of poverty as including all wars and violence, for it both stems from and causes these things.) My words may not always fall to the screen or paper clearly, my thoughts may not always connect logically, and my actions may certainly not always reflect my preference for how I think the world “should be.” After years of inadvertently subconsciously punishing myself for not living up to ideals, I now shed the snakeskin of perfectionism and striving, and step into an attempt at pure imagination. It’s the only thing that has ever gotten me anywhere. The only place I want to get to, though, is a place right here already within my soul. I suppose I want to figure out how to expand it so infinitely, that everyone else’s universe of being can intertwine and pulse together, strengthening each connection point, beautifying each wavelength in between. 


I heard that our president  also had something to say today about world poverty and how it had to be our priority… and after the thoughts I had yesterday about wanting to think only about this question of how the world could be without it… well… my thoughts now scatter into tiredness and various things from today float before me… the Pope’s visit… Amma’s birthday… moon in Aries… moon… moon… shadow… red… harvest… light… blood… world… poor… ill… a prayer for the suffering people in our world is left on my consciousness. And a prayer for those of us living with utter joy. And a prayer for every cell and every atom. And every star and supernova. Peace. Blasted through the everythingness like a massive sneeze from the god that is our brain in the act of thinking. Thinking it so. Letting it become. 

Tonight under the fullness of the moon I sit at my desk, writing, and impulsively decide to open facebook (as one does). First thing the feed shows me is this photo I posted of myself, three years ago, with a quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupery that resonates pretty synchronistically with what I was just writing, which was:

​The other day I saw a caption on Instagram which said the UN has a goal of eliminating all poverty in the world by the year 2030. The photo showed delegates standing holding hands in the assembly room. I scrolled past it as quickly as I did the puppies and sunsets, but later I started to feel the weight of such a goal. It’s a concept I’ve held in an “if only” frame of thinking, but putting a timeframe on it makes it more real. Many thoughts, sensations, intuitive longings and tempting visuals unraveled out of my heart as I began imagining it coming to pass. Then came a slew of cynical doubts. Then a heavy sense of being overwhelmed. And then some more visuals. What would our world look like without poverty? This question has become all I want to think about. We become what we think. The world models our microcosmic brain power with its effulgent macro dimensions. Perhaps with the small synapses of my imaginings, I can contribute more to the healing of the world than I have been able to with various strivings thus far. Perhaps my heart can feel a little softer and unafraid, if I can give the world my longing, phrased in confessions of how beautiful I know it all could be.

Oh and here's the quote:
​
​"If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea."
               -Antoine de Saint-Exupery

A sudden pull, from throat to gut, 
a heartache, dull, and thick
and quivering. 
It’s the spark of reactionary emotion
to an image
I did not want or expect to see. 
(Indeed, how can one expect to see such a thing, 
unless seeking it, 
unless visiting a source of information
where such a 
horrid sight
would be presented). 
I was not visiting such a source. 

Or so I thought. 

Now I realize, 
my source of common, normal, casual
information - 
my “social network” -
is no longer casual. 
Hasn’t been so,
for many years now, 
though I’m just now admitting 
the weight of this to myself. 
Too many links to 
too many sad things. 
An image I casually glimpsed tonight, just now - 
just cannot be unseen. 
Cannot be un-thought. 

http://www.npr.org/sections/parallels/2015/09/03/437132793/photo-of-dead-3-year-old-syrian-refugee-breaks-hearts-around-the-world

I’ve seen many a horrific truth or scandal detailed deftly in digital telling. 
I’ve even similarly reacted, with that pull of dread and an instant wet eye.

But nothing, 
ever, 
made me reel
the way this image did tonight, just now - 

now that I have a child. 

I cannot see an image of a child,
drowned, 

now that I have a child. 

I cannot see this image and forget it, 

now that I have a child. 


A sweet young being, its short life curtailed, 
its sweet young body
awash on a beach. I cannot un-see this, I cannot un-think this. 
The heart which beats within me 
rips at its many-times-healed sutures, 
it swells with its overstated sensitivities and sends pumps of pained
breaths through the body which is 
me.
Hysteria. 
The brain which hovers in my skull
beams its confusions and 
lyric magic bandages 
of spiritualized ideas
of balance
light and dark
and la la la la la!
There is no 
explaining!
And no temperance,
in any atomic grain of instance, 
in any divided pixel of presence, 
in any damn dose of regurgitated perception. 
It’s hell. 
Plain hell on earth. 

Now that I have a child, 
I know,
because just the iota of thought
of seeing him (my child) 
in place of 
the Syrian child swallowed by the Mediterranean, 
shows me a glimpse
of hell on Earth. 

And I get to take my next breath in
and then exhale my next breath out, 
and get to stand and walk and eat,
and cuddle my baby
when he awakes…

These heartfelt moments of
appreciating the tiny things of life
are common enough, 
lovely and poignant and 
honest enough. 
And they make my life that much more rich…

And I, 
and those of the rich, full, rainbow tribes, 
what are we doing - 
how are we accountable? 
We’re missing something.
We’re gifting
our joy
to the ether, 
we’re pouring our love into 
the Earth…

and it’s still not enough. 
​
Hasn’t been enough. 

To see a drowned child, 
because he could never arrive 
at safe haven…

we haven’t done enough. 
​

Geo Ray Chemerisov Smith was born eight months ago. My mind and heart have held the intent to write his "birth story," and I wonder why it has taken me so much time to get around to it. Are there things from those first magical days that maybe now I don't even recall? Or has it not been very long at all? As the concept of time itself has completely transformed for me, perhaps eight months are merely a minute. Indeed, the deep blue of this child's eyes and the radiance of his smile take me far and deep into the presence of eternal love. 
And eternal love = outside the concept of time. 

Speaking of timing, this kid was two weeks "early." Per the typical means of calculating such things (peeing in a cup at Planned Parenthood after a positive pee test at home after throwing up my morning coffee one day), we were expecting him on or around December 2, 2014. He arrived on November 18, as if preferring to spend his life reading Scorpio horoscopes instead of those for Sagittarius. Rather, as if he wanted me to spend his life reading those horoscopes… who knows if Geo will be as astrologically curious as his mama? 

Throwing up that coffee was not my only clue regarding being pregnant. There were very specific conversations between myself and my love, Eric, which added a little dose of irony to the initiation of the gestation. Perhaps this should be kept private, but it amuses me so much that I'd like to include it in my son's story:

Eric and I had been dating for a little less than a year, and very much in love. We had discussed having a child in the far-away future, but we suddenly realized we weren't being "careful" enough to keep that future actually far away. And so we went out of our way to start taking extra precaution (no need to go into detail on this one, but you get the idea). Literally the last instance of not-yet-enough-precaution-taking was the day that Geo was conceived. Ha! I even wondered if this little being began its cellular divisions on or after the day we started to use better "protection." As if he was so ready and eager to join this world with us as his parents, nothing was stopping him. 

He couldn't have chosen a lovelier setting out of my life. Eric and I were spending a weekend at Sierraville Hot Springs, an amazing little getaway in the Tahoe National Forest. We had driven up from Grass Valley where we were living at the time. The gorgeousness of the scenery was amplified by our relaxation and elation... tall trees, clear skies, crisp air and soothing healing waters.  We slept at a picturesque inn, and hiked through the forest to get to the springs. During one of our walks a whole slew of deer ran past us, one stopping amidst the trees to stare right into our eyes. 

Returning to Grass Valley, we went to work - Eric on the farm, and I on my drawing and painting. Springtime was blossoming all around us as I indulged in sunny porch-sitting with the cats, strolls through the woods with the dogs, solo sessions on the yoga mat, and eager inspiration with my artwork. Our beautiful housemates buzzed about, gardening and homesteading, complete with chickens and bunnies. I was so uplifted by these surroundings that my inner world was lit up as well. I regained a confidence within myself, and went on an audition for a play (having not done any theater for many years, though I had majored in it in college). Community theater is quite strong in the Nevada County area where Grass Valley is situated, and I was excited to be cast as one of the leading pirates in a production of Peter Pan. 

Before rehearsals were to begin, Eric and I road-tripped to Colorado to visit his family in Aspen for a week. I am not a good skier in ANY way, but I sure did enjoy taking photos wearing the helmet. Also enjoyable were those incredible snowy peaks of soaring mountains, higher than any I've ever seen! The pure whiteness of all the snow, the warm connections with family, the mellow touristy outings I got to enjoy in a place I've always wanted to visit… were all really wonderful. Except, I couldn't quite shake this recurring sensation of unexplained nausea. "Must be the elevation," I kept repeating. 

After some more hot-spring soaking in a quaint, quiet Colorado boondocks called Orvis, we journeyed back to California through the ancient rock formations of Moab, Utah. I pointed my camera through the car windows at the gray day blessed by rainfall. The red rocks awed us with their grandeur, while we whirled through the roads between. Hiking up to the famous Delicate Arch would've normally been easy for me, but I huffed and puffed. Endless expanses of prehistoric beauty stretched all around us, reminding me of many dreamscapes I've flown through and scenes I've imagined in my mind… The depths and curves of our planet, the colors and textures of its form - like our bodies' skin and the tales it tells - the body of the Earth, and her land. 

We returned to Grass Valley and continued our colorful lifestyle… hiking, gardening, river-swimming. I drew and painted several new pieces, practiced my yoga, and… waited for my period. I contemplated: if I am pregnant, will I still want to attend rehearsals and then perform in the play? Will I still want to live in Northern CA away from my family? Am I ready to become a mother? I sort of felt that I was not. But I also knew that there is never a true state of being "ready," and that the possibility of new life is a huge opportunity and blessing. 

Having somehow forgotten how nauseous I had been in Colorado and how late my cycle was, I found myself slightly surprised one morning when I threw up my coffee and toast. So I hurried to Kmart and bought a pregnancy test. As I did so, I realized that the little digital reader on that stick would only be confirming what I already knew. Indeed, the little screen even said I was "3+" weeks. 

I worried about Eric's response. But he also already knew. He held my hands and hugged me close and said he would support anything I wanted to do. My heart knew that we could be amazing parents, yet my mind still ran through all kinds of reservations. It would still take several weeks before I felt fully committed to the pregnancy and huge change which would occur in our lives. Those weeks were some of the most challenging of my life.  Even though I was blessed with no further nausea or morning sickness, I was aware that my hormones were affecting my moods, and those moods began to affect my sense of comfort in my surroundings. I suddenly didn't want to be pregnant in a home with housemates (though I loved my roommates as if they were my siblings), and I didn't want to be in the play, and I didn't want to be so far away from my family. Suddenly, after two years of pursuing my dream of living in the countryside and being an artist, I wanted to be back in the middle of West Hollywood, as close to my Mom and Papa as I could be.

Eric had already committed to the full season on his farm, so even though he was understanding and supportive of my desire to move back to LA, he wouldn't be able to join me until the end of October. The baby was "due" December 2. We discussed every option for my staying or moving away, I spent time away from the house, I visited my parents (the moment when I told my Mother I was pregnant was so exciting! She literally jumped up and down all around the room).  I still went to the read-through/first rehearsal for the play, thinking maybe I won't drop out. Maybe I'll stick it out here in gorgeous Gold Country and bathe my belly in that magical Yuba River which I love so much. Maybe these moods will pass and I'll continue loving to live in this lovely home in the woods with the dogs and cats and bunnies and chickens. How can I just leave my love, my Eric, and have a "long distance relationship" while I carry his child? How can I expect to just move back to the city which had once driven me crazy? None of my brainstorms made much sense. My heart just felt it. It just wanted home. It wanted my Mom. I felt small and afraid. And northern CA was where I had come to feel big and brave. Retreating to LA at that time was definitely one of the hardest decisions I ever made.

After I quit and apologized to the director of the play, bid adieu to my friends and to the lovely little towns of Grass Valley and Nevada City which I had come to love so much, my sweet Eric packed up my car and bid me farewell after many kisses and long hugs. I treasure this man's ability to let go, and to trust. I treasure his dedication to his work, to which he knew he must remain committed, in order to secure a savings for our first year as parents. We knew that had he picked up and left with me at that time, there would not be a better opportunity for him in LA. We knew that I had to safeguard my sanity and follow my heart's yearning for my Mother, for it was her energy that I needed most. I was to become a mother myself! I had been so fortunate to be raised by this amazing woman, and yet, after high school I had scooted off to college and after that to traveling abroad and after that, living all over different parts of LA…  I suddenly wanted to just live with HER some more! With her and my Papa. The two most incredible and magical people I have ever known. Before I began life as a parent, I wanted one last summer with my sweet parents taking care of me. How truly lucky I was, and am! 

Settling into my old bedroom at home was comforting, although it had transformed into Papa's photo studio over the years. I enjoyed the minimal furnishings and blank walls painted in neutral grays. I felt I had a clean slate. I could dream and meditate in there easily. Though the rest of the pregnancy would be emotionally challenging without Eric at my side, my mental and physical well-being were assured. 

While enjoying time with my parents, kitty cats, and reconnecting with old friends, I began to voraciously consume natural-childbirth books, websites, articles, forums, and documentaries. I started by reading the classic, Childbirth Without Fear by Dr. Grantly Dick Read. I was motivated to birth my baby with as little medical intervention as possible. I downloaded hypnobirthing sessions, followed along with prenatal yoga videos, binge-watched Call The Midwife on Netflix, and read tons of birth stories. Upon my first visit to the obstetrician, I scooped up a stack of pregnancy magazines which a sign on the waiting room coffee table offered for the taking. I did most of  my reading and researching in that first trimester. 

 I was actually a bit obsessive with the reading. Perhaps not so much with the reading, as with my note-taking. I missed Eric and needed to fill my spare time, so I compiled pages upon pages of notes on natural birth, holistic pain management, doulas, midwifery, and a subject which I'd always wanted to explore: the history of bellydancing as a birth dance. 

Another fun way I kept my mind off of missing my man, and engaged in creative visualization of the colorful beauty which was to be the culmination of my pregnancy, was to collect images of artwork representing pregnant women:*


*I wish I could source and credit more of these images than I am able to, but unfortunately I was not thorough enough in my collecting. I saved the artist name where I could, but otherwise the image was floating around the internet anonymously, as it will continue to do here… (if anyone knows any info about any for these that are un-credited, please comment!)

At this point I think I'll skip the slideshow of the myriad of pregnancy, birth, and baby websites I bookmarked. Let's just say, I kept my curiosity and imagination quite busy.


The summer home in LA was truly splendid. At two months pregnant, I ventured to the beach and snapped my first belly shot. I wasn't really showing yet, but I stuck it out as fas as possible... 

At Solstice, I created an altar with some recent artwork, my favorite crystals, a family photo, 
and intentions for a healthy pregnancy, birth, and life for my child:

I went to get the first ultrasound. Even though I didn't get to share that moment with Geo's Papa, it was sweet having my Mom come along. (She squealed much more than I did.) And of course, I called Eric right afterwards. We learned that we would be having a boy! 

And soon after that, oh joy! Eric and I were reunited! We indulged in a week of sweet sunshine at his parents' beachfront summer place in Oceanside, CA. Floating in the water with my pregnant belly felt so wonderful! We took photos of my 5-month tummy in front of my favorite mural, and I posted it on facebook as the announcement of our happy news. I was so touched to see how many friends old and new responded and congratulated us!

Eric then spent a few days in LA before heading back up north. We did a long hike in Topanga Canyon, hung out with old friends of mine, and cherished each other's company as much as we could. It was tough, yet again, to part with him - but I observed that I had matured in a certain way. Earlier in my life I would never quite be able to let a partner go and exist without him physically near to me at all times. Suddenly here, I was able to part with my beloved, wait for our reunion at a future point, and find a way to utilize and almost enjoy the energy of missing and longing - devoting myself to meditating on the health and happiness of our child and family, and writing about the sensations of romantic love, familial love, love for the world, and this new exciting mystery of upcoming motherhood. I continued reading birth materials and collecting pregnancy art, swimming in the ocean as much as I could (on lovely beach trips with my Mom), chatting with Eric on the phone every evening, drawing in my sketchbook, and enjoying the City of Angels. 

Soon enough it was time for my trip north, where I got to spend a week on Eric's farm in the beautiful woodlands! Fresh food from the garden, delicious well water, a billion stars at night, and a trip to the Yuba River made it a truly special time. Memories of the silent forest, while sleeping in the cozy tent beside my love, with our baby growing inside me, will stay with me forever. 

Back home in LA, my best and oldest childhood friend Lena threw us a beautiful baby shower. Eric came down (just for the day), as did his parents (his mom brought so many baby clothes, Geo's wardrobe was set for pretty much his entire first year!). My closest family and friends celebrated with us, and I enlisted the cooperation of all the ladies to join me in a "Birthdance" circle. In my research on the origins of bellydance, it was this circle idea which had inspired me most. In ancient times, women would gather around the laboring mother, undulating their hips in order to help her likewise move her body and encourage the baby to pass into the world. Of course I wasn't in labor at the shower - but we danced in a circle nevertheless, to honor the ancient tradition, and to bond as women. It meant a lot to me to have my best friends there, along with my Mom, my Aunt Marina, Lena's Mom Regina who is like an aunt to me, and my amazing little niece (who's really my cousin but I like to call her niece) Rachel. (And not so little anymore either, as she recently turned 13, and I again had to to pause and marvel, how quickly "time" really does run. It runs so quickly, my Baby G will be 13 in a few blinks… I better breathe and enjoy every moment!)

I spent the following month offering a weekly Prenatal Bellydance Class at Elderberries, my favorite little vegan cafe in Hollywood. While I didn't have a huge turnout, I did connect with a couple of fellow pregnant women in a special way. This lovely lady, pictured below, later wrote to me to say she had a wonderful birthing experience, and was empowered by what we had discussed in class. I may not have reached hundreds of ladies, but the few that I did, meant the world to me! Not to mention that I grew a lot as a woman and instructor, as short term as the class was. It gave me a glimpse of what kind of effect I'd like to make once I have my own studio in the future!

Seven months pregnant now, and it had been a beautiful summer. I was feeling wonderful. At my next ob/gyn prenatal visit, however, a challenge arose.  "Everything looks great. Fluid is good. Baby's weight is good," my doctor said while viewing the ultrasound. "But we have one issue."

My heart heaved and I froze. 

"See his head…

we want it to be here…" He pointed towards my groin. 

"But right now, it's here…" He pointed towards my diaphragm. 

My perfect little baby was breech!

Ah nooooo! Everything had been going so right! I was doing all the right things! I was STUDYING dangit!

Well, here was my opportunity to let go of what I thought to be "right" and "perfect." The doc said the baby could still turn, and I was only at 32 weeks. I began voraciously googling - when do babies turn, how to turn babies, how to have vaginal breech birth. I lamented all the over-zealous squats and lunges I had done on my yoga mat, even though the doctor said, "It was nothing you did. It just happens." 

I read that it happens to only 4% of pregnancies! I learned that no doctors in California, except for two, deliver breech babies "naturally." I cringed at my doctor when he said, "If he doesn't turn by 38 weeks, we have to schedule a c-section for week 39." Oh my sweet lovely doctor. I had adored him up until that moment. Suddenly, he said the words I had dreaded most. Suddenly I didn't adore him so much. 

But I still had time. Time which was spent in not the most stress-free ways… in that I still missed my Eric, and I was apartment-hunting relentlessly all over town. Hot, sweaty, and very pregnant is how I remember all those viewings and visits to tiny pads in Los Feliz and beyond. Thank goodness the search finally ended with a lovely little home right here in Hollywood close to my parents! But it did take over two months, and a lot of running around. 

Thankfully, by the time I was moving in on November 1st, my man was moving south! Finally, we were together, cuddled in our little city nook - which was quite the change for him, coming from the woods!
Eric had worked so hard, been such a good sport, and was now at my side. I was so happy and so grateful, 
even though our baby wasn't in the ideal position for the "natural" birth I had been imagining. 

We were determined to try everything to get him head-down. I practiced all sorts of techniques and stretches, gentle inversions, and meditations. We sought out a well-known chiropractor who specializes in turning babies. He gave us some mugwort incense to burn near an acupressure point at my pinky toe (a Chinese medicine technique called moxibustion, to stimulate movement in the abdomen). As with many challenges, this practice turned out to be an amazingly positive endeavor, as it brought Eric and me super close into a mutual meditation. I would dim the lights and put on a brain-wave entrainment music track (theta waves work great for relaxation and healing), lounge back on our sofa with my feet propped up, and Eric would hold the incense stick (much thicker than regular incense, but not smokey, just very hot)  near my left toe for fifteen minutes, then my right, alternating a few times. It was so cool to sit together in such a way, and drift into a trance state, with the shared intention of moving our little baby. 

After my second massage and chiropractic session with Dr. Berlin, we went into my OB for another ultrasound, hopeful that our attempts at turning the baby had worked. They hadn't. 

I was at 37 weeks. We continued the moxibustion, and began thinking about the option of an ECV (external cephalic version), which is a procedure where the OB tries to turn the baby by pressing with his fists on the belly. This creeped me out for some reason. Despite youtube videos where the woman is laying there all relaxed and then is elated once it's successful, I felt terrible nervousness at the idea. As a person who wanted a home birth when I first learned I was pregnant, suddenly I was feeling like a c-section actually scared me less than the ECV. I know that sounds strange, and it felt strange. But that's what my intuition was. 

Before I explain why I ended up not having to go through with an ECV, I'll summarize why I chose not to have a home birth. It came down to not wanting to alienate my family. It's not that my parents are overly traditional, but the idea of not having the baby at a hospital worried them. If you're thinking I shouldn't base my decisions on what my parents think, you're right. But at this point in my life, I observed that I had just spent an entire decade of going against my parents' opinions and preferences. Bellydancing as a career, living in Egypt for a year, moving away, etc. Not that they didn't agree with my needing to find my own way and make my own choices… but they might've preferred I not spend all my savings on life abroad or live 800 miles away by the time I did move back to the states… Either way, at 31 years old, when I learned I was pregnant, I found my heart yearning to reinstate the magical bond I had had with my parents as their only child. I resolved to allow my instinct to guide my decisions, and as strong as I had thought my instinct for a home birth had been, the desire to defend it and make it happen just wasn't there. Eric had preferred a home birth, but was still  supportive of my every whim. We looked into many birthing centers and doulas, but when it came down to it, I felt most comfortable with the doc I was hooked up with through my insurance. I could've researched a million more providers and locations, but it wouldn't have mattered. When I first saw my doc and looked into his kind, blue eyes, I knew he would bring my child into the world. He wasn't a woman, and it wouldn't be at home, or even in a tub of water,  but I was completely ok with that.


I will share the rest of my story in another blog post soon, which will be the actual "birth story." I suppose this has this has been more of a "pregnancy story..."

This photo is with my best childhood friend, Lena. She had a lovely idea to get a photo of the two of us together while both pregnant. She was at about 4 months, and I was at 9 (Geo was born a day after this photo was taken). Her second child, a beautiful baby boy, was born about two months ago. I am so excited for her, and for her kids to be friends with my Baby G. It will be amazing watching them grow up, being moms together, as we had once been little kids together. So grateful for these life cycles of joy and love. 

See you back here soon, for the story of Geo's birth! 

Thank you for reading! 

Photo by Alex Chemerisov alexchemer.com

Image by Chris Saunders