Hakima Midwifery at Eco-Fair

Tomorrow, November 6, from 11-4, the MCA in Santa Clara, California is hosting it's annual Eco Fair. I'm going to have a booth there with lots of giveaways, including Erba Organics mom and baby body care products. I think I might even have some chocolate to give out too. So, come and say salaam, there will be children's activities, a mini farmer's market, demonstrations, a book and hijab exchange, and more. Come and support the Muslim Green Team!

What Luke Said

Home births don't always happen at home. On average around 10% of attempted home births end in the hospital. This is the story of one such birth and the feelings and raw emotion such a transfer can evoke. This acute disappointment and sense of failure is the domain of women who attempt natural birth and don't end up with one. They are the brave ones, the ones who risk, struggle, go out on a limb, and after their labor, in this case two days of it, end up in the place they had hoped to avoid. Unlike women who intend a hospital birth and well, end up with one, women who attempt a home birth and then end up in the hospital have the extra burden of processing what went 'wrong'. Another curve on the long road of motherhood.



Maceo was my client. She is an example of the intelligent and thoughtful women who choose out of hospital birth. A talented writer and warm presence, she brought joy to her pregnancy and was one of the rare women who enjoyed the pregnancy more and more as her belly swelled, all the way up to and past her due date! She will always have a special place in my heart as after my own baby was born, in her fifth month of pregnancy, she brought me delicious Cuban food and her cheery presence. We measured her belly on my couch with my two week old sleeping nearby. During her first night of contractions, I slid my sleeping daughter into the car, and drove the mile to Maceo's house, my daughter never waking the entire night. This type of shared motherhood is the glue of friendship and community. Thank you Maceo!



So without further ado, here is a re-posting from Maceo's own blog, Dripping River Water, which of course, you all must go subscribe to right now, as I'm sure there is much forthcoming mama wisdom from this source! And welcome to the sweetest Omar!

There is a table in the lobby. It is long and wooden positioned right below a big mirror. There people leave things they no longer want: old fax machines, magazines, sneakers, books. I am the resident manager and this leaving of things annoys me only when no one takes it. I am left to throw away these items. Things that could have easily been given as a donation, somewhere else, not in the lobby of my building. There was a pocket sized New Testament once. I picked it up. This is a book I couldn’t throw out, I couldn’t leave it on the sidewalk, I couldn’t give it to a random person. I had to keep it and for a year it lived between my Moroccan Arabic Phrasebook and El diccionario de sinonimos y antonimos bought in Venezuela when I was there in 1996.

My son is now 5 weeks old. He has lived his days between arms of those who love him. I have only been away from him minutes at a time, missing him and calling my mami to see how he is doing. Yesterday I went for a walk with my friend. I left my mami with 5 ozs of my milk. I gave her instructions and hoped that it wouldn’t be too hard for either of them. The sun was out. Its rays hit my toes. There was a chill in shady areas. I was afraid to catch a cold. I thought of myself confined in my bedroom pumping milk, sweating and sick, not able to see my son.

We went to Arizmendi. I was treated to pizza and a root beer sitting outside. I watched the beautiful people of Oakland pass by. I saw the mamas pushing the strollers or carrying their babies on their backs. I saw the dogs. The endless amount of dogs take over the sidewalk. I wondered if my skin would darken sitting outside of Arizmendi. I have been home for weeks looking out the living room windows at the trees and the birds. The root beer was good. It became my new favorite. There on the table was the cap. It had writing. In the inside it read, Luke 1:37. I thought the root beer bottling was more hipster than religious. Or maybe it was both.

For the past five weeks I have only written in my head. I write books and plays while I nurse my son in his sleep. I wish that the words would leave my mind and walk unto the page. Any page. Somewhere else. But the words don’t. They are locked away and I wonder if I will be able to write. Then I read stories of writers who have shared similar nights. Perhaps not nursing their sons but still in bed writing words on the walls with their pupils.

For the past five weeks I have begun learning what it is to be a mother. I have learned what it is to remain still, to be totally dependent. There is a scar above my bikini line. It is black and sometimes it is sore. All throughout my pregnancy I was pleased not to have any stretch marks. Instead I got a scar where they pulled my baby out. That scar reminds me of my imperfections and my failures.

I wonder sometimes why I couldn’t give birth at home. Sometimes I have a hard time completing things. The end is always so hard. I go through my over fifty hours of labor at home and four days in the hospital. I try to figure out what exactly went wrong. I know everything is God’s will but somehow I feel at a loss. I wonder if somewhere in back of my mind I was too scared to finish the job. I couldn’t give birth naturally in a birthing tub, in my kitchen because it meant I actually had to complete something. I needed help. Like heavy drugs to soothe me, to make me relax, to actually fall asleep. I went to the hospital, a place I still don’t want to give birth in again. They helped me. I had sweet nurses who gave me more pillows and filled my water bottle. I knew that with a touch of button someone would be at my side. So the whole time I had to not be upset. I had to take everything in stride because I had my baby in my arms. And if I got frustrated at the nurses constantly coming in and asking me the same questions, at them grabbing my breasts without asking me anything to see if my milk was coming out, at my son being picked up all hours of the night to be weighed, I would have made it worse for myself and I would have been ungrateful. I still have to write about that. All of that. But I am afraid that it will make me cry.

On my bedside table there is a tube of Barq’s root beer lip balm. I don’t like that root beer but I like the taste on my lips. I put it on last night before getting into bed. Then I remembered. Luke 1:37. I went to the living room to the shelf where the pocket size New testament lived. I took it into bed. My husband perplexed. I have not read the Qur’an in weeks and here I was with the Bible. I opened it to Luke right away. There I read: “For with God nothing will be impossible.”

Sighs and smiles.

the end.

Good Bacteria

This article came out a few months back, but time has not diminished my amazement! Of the myriad species specific qualities that breastmilk possesses, one of the more fascinating is the 'probiotic' qualities. A newborn, born with a very sterile gut, lands in a world full of bacteria, good and bad. The probiotic qualities of breastmilk, or the good bacteria in breastmilk, sufficiently protect newborns from a host of sometimes lethal gastrointestinal diseases. The recently discovered, bifidobacterium longus, passes through breastmilk to the infant, and on its way out, coats the babies intestine with a protective coating, thereby serving the role of stomach acid, a substance babies don't yet possess much of. This coating acts as a decoy to potential bacteria and viruses, coaxing it to bypass the baby's gut.

Dr. E. Stephen Buescher, a pediatrician and scholar of breastmilk's many anti-infective and ant-inflammatory qualities, has an interesting theory as to why this protective coating not only benefits the gut, but also may contribute to the dramatic reduction in ear infections in breastfed infants. He had an exclusively breastfed son who spit up, a lot. After watching a plethora of spit up episodes, ones that sometimes exited the nasal orifices, he reasoned that the breastmilk when spit up was coating the upper respiratory tract with all of it's soothing and protective qualities, just like it coats the intestine. Embrace the spit up. It's better than an ear infection!

Scientists are beginning to understanding that breastmilk can serve as a lesson plan for how to nourish and protect the human body against pathogens, not just in babies. It is after all a food, specifically designed for humans, and the most vulnerable, swiftest growing of humans. The researchers aren't sure what happens, or where these bifidobacterium bacteria hide out in adults. But probiotic supplementation in America is a booming business, sales of it tripled between 1994 and 2003. Perhaps we could save our children some money in their future, by breastfeeding them now. As one of the researchers so eloquently summed it up, "It’s all there for a purpose, though we’re still figuring out what that purpose is,” Dr. Mills said. “So for God’s sake, please breast-feed.”

Nursing on Both Sides

And because I love this life

I know I shall love death as well.

The child cries out when

From the right breast the mother

Takes it away, in the very next moment

To find in the left one

Its consolation.


-Rabindranath Tagore
from Gitanjali

Guardian Angels

NPR just posted a story on Afghanistan's midwives. The training of midwives in a country with the second highest maternal mortality rate in the world (approximately 1600 women for every 100,000 women who deliver die) is proving to beneficial, not only for the women who deliver at these midwives hands, but for the midwives themselves. It is an occupation accepted in a society with deeply entrenched customs concerning women and work. With midwifery, everybody wins. The head of woman's affairs in the province of Badakshan, recently declared that the midwives are like, "...guardian angels for infants and mothers."

A world away, here in America, a world where woman's rights are supposedly sacrosanct, we are also struggling to make midwifery safe and legal. Illinois is currently debating the role of midwives in their state, a state with a large rural population, who sometimes end up delivering with no licensed practitioner attending them. Rural areas could grealty benefit from legal midwifery. It allows access to qualified health care providers, something all women should have the right to, during pregnancy and childbirth. Time magazine recently detailed the lengths some women have to go to in order to have a licensed midwife at their birth. It is reminiscent of the what some women used to go through in this country in order to obtain an abortion.

It astounds me how similar the struggles of a woman in rural Afghanistan and a woman on the 'El' train in Chicago truly are. Both are entitled to safe, smart, professional care during their childbearing years. Why then, can we laud such care for Afghan women, but fear or deny it for ourselves? It's time America realize all of the benefits of midwifery care, and it's time we stick up for woman's rights on our very own soil too. For as the head of woman's affairs summarized, midwives really are guardian angels for mothers and infants. Don't all mothers and infants deserve such a watchful, tender eye?

Labor Popsicles and Lactation Cookies

Eid Mubarak! Maybe because the past few days have been all about food, I've decided to bring you a food post, replete with recipes! Let's start with the labor pops. This is a simple way to stay both hydrated, and nourished throughout labor. Many women experience nausea with contractions, and these labor pops are a great way to head that off. The coolness is also refreshing and easy to take in.

You'll need:

1-2 oz of dried red raspberry leaf
1 quart of water
Quart size jar with lid
Honey and lemon to taste
2-3 1mg calcium tablets
ice tray

To make the labor pops, steep 1-2 ounces of red raspberry leaf in a quart of water for at least 20 minutes up to four hours. Strain and sweeten with lots of honey and lemon, these will add much needed calories and lemon can help ease the nausea (as well as the red raspberry leaf). Crush the calcium tablets and add to the tea. Calcium is a muscle relaxant and can help with some aches and pains during labor. Pour the mixture into the ice tray. When labor commences, eat throughout the labor. They really are easy to eat when nothing else sounds to good!


Lactation cookies purportedly can increase and/or maintain milk supply. I find them more of an excuse to eat cookies, but, oh what a great excuse! They are also nice to just have around to snack on, or take with you while on the go; an easy way to up your calorie intake while nursing. And they happen to taste really, really good. Here is a recipe that I like and that makes enough to feed everyone in your house. Just don't tell them they are 'lactation cookies'!

• 1 cup butter
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
• 4 tablespoons water
• 2 tablespoons flax seed meal
• 2 eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 2 cups flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 3 cups oats
• 1 cup chocolate chips
• 2 -4 tablespoons brewer's yeast

1. Preheat oven to 350°.
2. Mix the flaxseed meal and water and let sit for 3-5 minutes.
3. Beat butter, sugar, and brown sugar well.
4. Add eggs and mix well.
5. Add flaxseed mix and vanilla, beat well.
6. Sift together flour, brewers yeast, baking soda, and salt.
7. Add dry ingredients to butter mix.
8. Stir in oats and chips.
9. Scoop onto baking sheet.
10. Bake for 12 minutes.
11. Let set for a couple minutes then remove from tray.

I hope you enjoy these recipes as much as I have! Finally, here's a beautifully portrayed home birth of one Leo Hart. Scroll down to see the video, it's well worth it. Have a great weekend!
















photo: watermelon and cucumber popsicles by rakka and cookies by ilmungo

Mother Roasting

Please check out my article entitled, "Mother Roasting" at Rhythm of the Home's fabulous and inspiring online parenting/craft magazine. My article contains a how-to on preparing a nurturing postpartum gift basket, or experience for you or a friend. It also speaks a bit about postpartum practices worldwide, where warmth and nourishing of new mothers and babies is an art form.

There are some intriguing articles and craft tutorials from this season's edition that I can't wait to dive into. If you've been directed here from Rhythm of the Home, welcome and thanks for visiting!