Nancy Bardacke - Mindful Birthing: Training the Mind, Body, and Heart for Childbirth and Beyond

NANCY BARDACKE, CNM

To all parents everywhere for birthing and nurturing the future in this very moment

ITS 6:30 A.M. and the early morning fog outside the window seems to add to the hush of the house. Ry, my two-year-old grandson, and I are contentedly sitting on the floor putting the last pieces of a farm animal puzzle into place. Everyone elsemy son Ted, my daughter-in-law Naomi, and Rys older brother, Nikois still asleep. Im happy that Ry and I can share this special time together and that Ted and Naomi can sleep in this morning; they certainly need the extra rest. Ry is in a bright, cheerful mood. As he puts the last puzzle piece into place, the one that completes the head of a cow, he throws his arms into the air and with complete satisfaction announces, Done! I did it!

Hooray! I respond. Yes, you did it!

Im hungry, Ry suddenly declares.

Do you want some breakfast? I ask.

Yes, he says as he toddles over to his high chair and climbs into it. After a brief conversation to sort out which cold cereal he wantsthis morning its a combination of Cheerios and granolahe settles happily into the task of feeding himself. Within minutes he says, Grandma, I want some orange juice.

Under ordinary circumstances this would be a simple enough request, but not today. You see, yesterday Ry had diarrhea, enough so that by bedtime he had developed a painful diaper rash. Since he was obviously not sick, the family consensus had it that the most likely cause was the large amount of fruit he had enjoyed throughout the day. We had decided that today would be a no fresh fruits or vegetables day. (Milk was definitely off the list as well.) So the dilemma of the present moment is this: How does Grandma Nancy respond to the request for orange juice?

I take a breath and say, Ry, remember how much you pooped yesterday? And how much your bum hurt? Well, we dont want you to get a sore bum again today, so you cant have any orange juice. I can give you some water....

As I say this I am perfectly aware that, first of all, water is a pretty lame substitute for fresh orange juice and, second, that my rationale for denying Ry orange juicethe connection between orange juice and pooping and his sore bum yesterdaymakes absolutely no sense whatsoever to his two-year-old mind. As any neuroscientist worth their salt would tell you, his prefrontal cortex just isnt myelinated enough yet to sort through what Im talking about. All Ry knows is that he is thirsty, that he desires to rid himself of this uncomfortable body sensation called thirst with a desired pleasant experience (delicious orange juice), and that I, his trusted grandmother and the potential instrument for fulfilling his desire, am not cooperating.

Ry immediately begins to cry.

I want orange juice! he wails loudly.

A totally human reaction on his part, I think to myself. Desire arising, desire thwarted, sadness arising.

And then comes the cry, I want my mommy. How intelligent my grandson is! Desire thwarted by Grandma, he tries another option for fulfilling his desirehis mother, who he expects, based on his past experience, will not only comfort him in his sadness but might actually give him some orange juice!

I become aware of a growing tension in my belly and a tightness in my chest in response to his cries. I know that one solution to the situation would be to just give him the orange juice. That would stop his crying for sure, and, like Ry, I too would be able to get rid of a very uncomfortable feeling in my body. But Im supposed to be the adult here, and my job is to hold the larger picture of his health and wellbeing despite the agitation, discomfort, and unhappiness I too am feeling.

I bring my attention to my breath as I watch my mind race. Oh, no, I think to myself, I dont want him to go running into Ted and Naomis room and wake them up. I want them to be able to sleep! And I dont want to prove myself a failure as a grandmother who cant handle this situation! The cries are getting louder as the thought arises again: Well, maybe just a little orange juice wont hurt.

I want my mommy! The wail continues. And I take a breath.

How about some water with a splash of orange juice in it? I offer, pleased to have come up with what, at least in my opinion, is a nice middle-way solution. I pour half a cup of water into his plastic cup and splash a teeny tiny bit of orange juice into it, just enough to barely turn it a light orange color.

Noooo, he wails. I dont want water with orange juice! I want orange juice!

The tears, which are surprisingly voluminous, flow freely down his cheeks. Passionately attached to what he wants, he is totally and completely awash in suffering. My heart goes out to him. The tension, mostly in my belly, is stronger now. I am really having a contraction, he really cant have orange juice, and I really dont want Ted and Naomi to wake up!

I pull up a chair close to his and sit down beside him. Looking gently and directly into his tearful eyes, I begin to speak. I have no idea what I am going to say, but words come tumbling out.

Ry, Im so sorry that I cant give you some orange juice and that it is making you so sad. It is making me sad too. What is happening right now is that you are stuck in desire, grasping and clinging to your wanting the pleasant experience of orange juice. I cant believe I am sitting here about to explain mindfulness to a two-year-old, but thats what is happening. I dont know what else to do.

I feel exactly like you do sometimes, when I really, really want something and I cant have it. But then I use my mindfulness practice to let go of my wanting and my attachment. But you see, I continue, you are only two years old, and your brains capacity to let go is not so well developed yet. I wish I could tell you to just pay attention to your breath and be with your sadness and know that eventually it will pass, but that wouldnt do any good right now. You are really thirsty, and just desperate to quench your thirst. A solution to your thirst is right here in this cupwater with a splash of orange juice in it (I point toward the cup), but you cant see that. You are so attached to the orange juice-only solution that you cant let go. Your mind, your attachment to what you want and cant have in this very moment, is making you suffer. He continues to cry, but he is watching me intently. He is definitely listening.

Its just like the story of the monkey and the banana. Im definitely on a roll here, I think to myself. I wonder where were going to end up.

Do you know the story of the monkey and the banana? The hunters want to catch a monkey, so they put a banana inside a coconut and tie the coconut to a tree. The coconut has a hole in it just big enough for the monkey to put his hand inside and take it out again, except when he is grasping the banana. Then his hand is too big to get out through the hole. If the monkey wants to get away, all he has to do is let go of the banana and run. But the monkey is just too attached to the banana to let it go. And so he is caught. Totally stuck. Just like you are right now. I see how much you want the orange juice and how much you are suffering, and Im so sorry.

With that statement I gently pick him up from his high chair. No more cereal will be eaten until this emotional storm has passed. I carry him over to the couch, where, to my great good fortune, his blankie is waiting. Ry simultaneously reaches for his blankie and puts his thumb into his mouth. Mercifully, the cries subside and the tension in my belly lessens. I hold him on my lap, and we quietly sit together. I feel his warm body relax into mine. I breathe in the sweet smell of his hair, which I shampooed the night before. A feeling I can only call love pours through my body. When I observe the feeling more closely, it seems to emanate from somewhere deep in my chest. Around my heart.