Our oldest son Jeffrey turned 13 today. We now have three teens in the house and the hormones are raging. We only celebrate even birthdays with a big party. On odd birthdays we have a small family party and the children are encouraged to invite one close friend. Jeff invited his friend Jacob and we had a nice couple of hours doing what we usually do at boy birthday parties. We eat cake and ice cream, launch water balloons, and always end the evening with a wild water fight.
Jacob brought two new super soakers to the party, so we had guns for all, and the boys had a blast dousing each other with water. A long streak of water and mud went from my kitchen out to the front lawn as the boys ran in and out refilling guns.
It was a good time!
Because this blog is dedicated to the promotion of home birth, I think it would appropriate to share Jeff’s birth story, at least the condensed version, here on his birthday entry.
Jeffs birth was the event that convinced me I could never give birth in a hospital again. It was during his pregnancy that I discovered prenatal care was a waste of my time, and finally put all the pieces together in terms of understanding that the point of all those blood pressure, urine, and weight checks was to monitor for Toxemia. I had come to believe that Toxemia was a disease of pregnancy that was caused by malnutrition, and decided that it did not make any sense for me, as a well nourished woman, to submit to those tests and the fear mongering around protein spills in the urine, rapid weight gain, and high blood pressure. Even when those signs of malnutrition were observed, the treatment ranged from bed rest to low salt, low protein diets, which were the absolute worst way to treat a malnourished state.
Currently the “answer” for women who have toxemia is to deliver the babe by c-section and then let them grow in the NICU. The Medical Profession is so full of itself that I doubt they will ever admit or accept the true cause of the disease, even when presented with compelling evidence.
For this reason, or for the basic fact that I believe prenatal care is dangerous and deadly for the baby, I have weaned myself completely from the medical profession in regards to pregnancy and birth.
Here is the video Paul took of Jeff blowing out his candles.

Jeffs pregnancy was a gentle time for us as a family. We were settled in our little two bedroom apartment in Boulder Colorado. Paul was busy working for EDS and serving as the Young Mens’ President at Church is a ward filled with teens. I did not see him much that year. It just felt like he was always gone. I was wrapped up in my life as a home maker, a Bradley Childbirth teacher, and kept busy taking care of our two little girls.
I had tried to wean Allison, and spent considerable time researching Tandem Nursing, and breastfeeding through pregnancy. I was not sure if it was even possible to breastfeed through a pregnancy, but Allison would go nuts whenever I told her she needed to stop nursing and it finally just became easier to nurse her than not.
Instead I focused on eating for three, and upped my protein to 150 – 170 grams a day, and tried to eat upwards of 4,000 calories a day, and always salted my food to taste, and stayed well hydrated. I also tried to listen to my appetite, and just ate as much food as my body wanted. Many, many times I would awaken in the middle of the night to eat, and often left a plate of buttery brown rice and cold sweet potatoes waiting in the kitchen, so I could quickly eat and get back to sleep.
When I was about three months pregnant I made the decision to stop being a vegetarian. What I had decided was that IF I had a private chef, a nanny, and domestic help with cleaning and cooking and all I had to do was be pregnant, I could have easily found time to eat enough complex vegetable foods to build a baby and breastfeed through my pregnancy. But because I did that year of baby building while taking care of my two young daughters and all the chores around the house, I had to eat fast and concentrate my efforts and meat just made things easier. It takes condsiderable effort to eat that much protein from vegetarian sources.
I also spent some time working as a volunteer for my church. Serving as a visiting teacher and working with the babies in the nursery on sunday. I also sang in our ward choir and had rehearsals as well as a variety of solo singing peformances, and taught one childbirth class.
My growing network of friends, which were composed of dear hearts from La Leche League, church friends, as well as the association of Bradley Childbirth educators provided many social opportunities for me and the girls, and we had many happy bus rides to down town boulder for park day with our LLL friends. But the bulk of that year was spent cooking, cleaning, and napping whenever I could find a few minutes to lay down. I always tried to lay down for two hours a day, even if I did not fall asleep. This was my reading time, and I spent many hours researching VBAC, as I was determined not to have a repeat c-section. Allison had been born by C-section because she was breech two years before.
Here is a picture of Allison and Ben blowing up balloons for Jeff’s party.

I had a low risk pregnancy, was always able to function well, and the final month of pregnancy started taking people up on their offers to help by letting them watch the girls in the mornings so I could rest.
The final month of pregnancy, I started to get really concerned about the post maturity issue. My mother had been notoriously late with her babies, I was three weeks late before I was born, and one brother was a whole month late. I did not want to be induced as I was concerned that if I was it would lead me quickly down the path to another c-section.
The week before Jeff was born I agreed to a non-stress test because I was one week overdue. The nurse told me I was in labor and that I should be admitted. I told her, no, I have been experiencing regular contractions like that since I was in my first trimester. Wether that was because of the breastfeeding or just a normal thing for me, I don’t know, but I did have hundreds of hours of contractions during that pregnancy.
Allison and Jeff – Milk Sister and Brother. I tandem nursed Allison and Jeffrey together for two full years. They used to hold hands while they were nursing.

After the non-stress test I explained to my doctor that I did not want to be induced and would do just about anything to be left alone to give birth when the baby wanted to be born. She told me I could go until I was 42 weeks and then they would have to do something. A nurse midwife I contacted told me that if I was ready to go into labor, making love three times in a twelve hour span would kick it in.
It worked! I had good steady rhythmic contractions, strong enough that I could not sleep, but not strong enough to bring the baby, for the next three days!
It is difficult to put into words what that marathon of labor meant for Paul and I. We did it together. I had several friends who, like angels, helped with the girls, brought over food, and just supported us in any way possible. Our particular friends Pete and Sherry, gave the most help of all. They walked in the door with a hot turkey supper with all the trimmings. I chowed it down, and continued laboring non stop…contraction after contraction after contraction. Paul and I would walk, he rubbing my back with each contraction. And I took many many baths.
A couple of hours before we checked into the hospital we went over to Pete and Sherrys house to see the girls, and have some time with them. I just kept contracting through the whole visit. We prayed together and Paul and Pete gave me a priesthood blessing. I was feeling so nervous about being in the hospital and prayed that I would have angels to watch over me and help me achieve a good natural birth. We had an office visit with the partner of my doctor and he confirmed that I was at four centimeters dialated. I had not wanted to check in until I was at least five, but he said my cervix was really stretchy and everything looked good. I expressed to him my fears of having another C-section.
And bless him, he told me he had every confidence that I would be fine and all would be well. His words of confidence meant so much to me at the time. My doctor had been pushing me to just let her break my water and give birth (Soemthing I was determined NOT to do), and I was comforted knowing that at least one person in the practice was supportive of my desire not to have any interventions that would hurry things along.
We checked into the hospital about 6PM on a sunday night. April 18th 1994. As I was getting settled into my room, our angel of mercy showed up. The doctor who had checked me had gone down to the hospital (In the same building as his office) and requested that a certain nurse who had worked as a granny midwife in the Philippines was our nurse for the night. I did not find this out until later, but he knew that I was a Bradley Teacher and really wanted to have a natural birth and VBAC, and this little lady made it possible.
She was so hands off, and willing for me to do whatever I wanted during the birth. I kept requesting that she let me go into the huge birthing pool that they had at the hospital, but she said I could not until my doctor showed up at 8PM and gave me permission to labor in the tub.
I was frustrated by this and feel that the next few hours were defined simply by me waiting for the doctor to show up. I kept taking showers, Paul rubbed my back during contractions and I ate and drank to keep myself well hydrated. I had brought some raspberry juice and NuPlus, which is a Sunrider Herbal food for energy. I kept making sunrider shakes all night long and I’m convinced those NuPlus shakes gave me the energy to go one more night without sleep and then have the energy to push for an additional four hours before Jeff was born.
My doctor did not show up at 8PM, she showed up at 11PM and immediately requested that I let her break my water. I said “no way”. I was only dialated to five, and felt that the chance of a prolapsed cord and/or my natural birth would be threatened by her hurrying things along. She threatened to send me home. When she tried to pull that little power trip, I just saw red. I had been waiting hours for “permission” to get into the birthing tub, and knew that if she broke my water they would not let me get into the tub.
She had just given birth to a baby six weeks before and I honestly believe she just wanted to hurry me along so that she could get home to her own baby. After she had told me she was going to send me home, she had left the room, and was down at the nurses station. I went storming down the hall after her in my nightgown. Paul ran after me and said, “Jenn, what are you going to do?” I told him that I had had just about enough of her power tripping ways, and that I was fed up with her care.
When I arrived at the nurses station, I confronted her, voice shaking, more angry than I can express. I told her she was fired. I told her that I had wanted to work with her, that I felt a real connection to her as a mother, but that I was enraged by her wanting to hurry my labor along when all I wanted to do was have a normal natural birth that was not hurried along. She did not say too much. I told her that I wanted her partner, the one who had checked me into the hospital, to take over my birth. She said “He is on call”. I told her, “I know he is on call, please call him and I do not want to see you again while I am in labor.”
All of the nurses at the station were just staring at me, including my little midwife nurse.
I stormed back to my room and immediately got into the shower. When my nurse showed up, she did not mention the confrontation, but the attitude she expressed to me was, “lets put that behind us and get this child born!” I once again requested that I be allowed to get into the birthing tub. She called the doctor and he told her that I could do whatever I wanted. So I jumpted into that huge whirlpool. Paul put on his swim trunks and we had three glorious hours of labor in the tub. I was able to make great progress and Paul and I enjoyed our alone time during the midnight to two am time frame. Then we got out and went back to our room. Our labor support showed up and for the next three hours I experienced a three hour transition.
At the time I had never heard about anyone having three hours of transition, but since then have talked to several moms who had a successful VBAC, and they said they too had a Long hard transition. During this time I went into an altered state where I was crying, upset, facing all of my demons. I was very afraid about having another surgery, and felt extreme hormonal ups and downs as my body just went to the place where it needed to work through some major energy and fears. Towards the end of it, I was in the shower, crying, and Paul asked me what he could do for me. I asked him to sing to me….Primary songs, and so he sang to me for an hour.
He sang, I am a child of God, and a few other quiet songs, and then he gave me another priesthood blessing. Those were the final things I needed to get me through that time. I stayed in the shower alone for a few more minutes, and when I came out Paul, Pete, and Sherry were all sprawled in our room asleep. I had to laugh because we were all working so hard to get our baby born, but they just could not stay awake. I had a few minutes alone with two dozen roses that Sherry had bought for me. I was standing up, dancing, and kept going over and sniffing those roses while I labored alone. It was perfect, me, God, and those Roses.
Then a wave of sleepiness came over me, and I climed into bed and just fell asleep.

This part of the labor was so key. Think about it, I had been up for three nights. No sleep whatsover. I had that ugly confrontation with my doctor, and then a three hour transition. I was totally exhausted. But bless my nurse. Paul told me later that she had poked her head in the door and when she heard I was asleep, she just quietly shut the door and left me alone for an hour. I woke up clear headed and ready to do the work of pushing my son into the world. My contractions had completely stopped when I was asleep, but I got up to see if I could get them going again.
It was about six am, and I went back into the shower to see if I felt pushy at all. The contractions started again, and at the peak of each one, I squatted down and tried to push a little bit to see if that would move Jeff down more into the birth canal. Paul helped by handing me washcloths that were covered in olive oil to help me stretch.
At 7AM a new nurse came into our room. She was the head of the birthing classes, and we had met a few days earlier when she did my non-stress test. I had told her about my plans to have a natural VBAC the week before, and we gave her a copy of my birth plan when she showed up in the room that morning of Jeff’s birth. The contrast between her and the other nurse was startling. I am convinced that if she had been my nurse during the night that I would have had another c-section.
She was so interventionist minded, and kept saying that she wanted to break my water and put in an internal fetal monitor. She wanted me to be continuously monitored by the electronic fetal monitor, and did not feel comfortable with my getting up and using the bathroom and shower as I had been all night long. We butted heads over a couple of issues, and I finally agreed that she could monitor me twenty minutes on the hour. When she would leave the room I would take off the monitor, go back into the shower and push. I did not tell her I was pushing however. I knew that if she was aware that I had been pushing since 6am that she would use that as an excuse to give me the whole arsenal of tricks they have up their sleeves to get the baby out.
We sort of kept going the rounds, and finally she told me that the baby was have decels in heart rate and she simply had to break my water and get an internal monitor going. I told her that I would only allow that if my doctor confirmed it. She was mad about that, but I would not budge.
Then about 8:30 the doctor showed up and he said I was fully dialated and could push at my leisure. We set up the bed with the pushing bar, I got into the full squatting position and went for it.

Shelly and Allison had been a Sherrys house and I had Paul call our friend Kinde to see if she would be willing to pick them up and bring them over to the hospital. We had taken a sibling birth class at the hospital and they had watched birth movies from the time they were toddlers, so we felt they were fully prepared to see the birth, however Shelly told me that she did not want to watch Jeff be born because she didn’t like to see all that “fluid” as she called it. I had asked Kinde to watch the girls out in the waiting room and then bring them in right after the birth. When Allison showed up she wanted to see Paul and I, and she arrived right as Jeff was being born and so she was at the birth.
Shelly came into the room right after.
My water broke on the second to last push, but Jeffs head was so low that only a little bit came out. The cord was wrapped around his head, and the doctor easily looped it over just before his body was born. I was able to breastfeed him right away, and we had a joyous hour right after the birth.

I am so grateful for a kind doctor who understood how important it was to me not to have the cascade of interventions right at the end of our birth. I did not tear and he did not perform an episiotomy, which made my recovery so much better. He was also supportive of our choice to not vaccinate and did not pass out when Allison jumped up on the delivery table and started to nurse right next to Jeff.
When my milk came in a few days later, Allison got one taste of it, jumped off the bed and went running down the hall of our apartment yelling in a sing song voice…”the milk is back, the milk is back!!!”
While I was so grateful for the wonder of experiencing a VBAC, and reclaiming my rights by standing up for my right to give birth how and with who I wanted, Jeffs birth was a defining moment. At the moment of birth we had over twenty people in the room. A couple of nurses had come down from the station, our three friends, daughters, etc etc…and I just felt so stressed by the loss of sleep and the final hours of fighting with the nurse over what to do.
In the months that followed I became increasingly concerned about our plans to have a large family. I just was not sure I could advocate for myself while in labor again, and was angry that I even had to. I also discovered Laura Shanleys book about this same time, and after reading I just knew that UC birth was the route I wanted to go to welcome our next babies into our home.
Jeff has been a joy to mother. He was such a fun little child, always full of mischief, and playing practical jokes on his siblings. He is a good friend, and watches out for his two younger brothers. He loves to camp and as a thirteen year old has almost completed the requirements for his eagle scout. He loves scouting, sports, and is a very good student.
He is planning to serve a mission for the LDS church when he is nineteen and has been a good roll model for his friends and family. I really enjoy talking to him about politics and he has good spiritual insights when we talk about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
It has been an honor for me to be his mother and I love him with all my heart.

A Clip from Jeffs Birth. Pete had brought his video camera to the hospital. I had asked him to tape the girls meeting Jeff for the first time, but he went ahead and filmed the birth for us. It is our only birth that we have on video and each year that passes it becomes more precious. I only included the few minutes from right after the birth.
Jenny Hatch

LET’S MAKE AMERICA A ‘SAD-FREE ZONE’!
“But instantly, on the day of the shooting at Virginia Tech, the media were already promoting gun control and pre-emptively denouncing right-wingers who point out that gun control enables murderers rather than stopping them.
Liberals get to lobby for gun control, but we’re disallowed from arguing back. That’s how good their arguments are. They’re that good.
Needless to say, Virginia Tech is a Gun-Free School Zone — at least until last Monday. The gunman must not have known. Imagine his embarrassment! Perhaps there should be signs.
Virginia Tech even prohibits students with concealed-carry permits from carrying their guns on campus. Last year, the school disciplined a student for carrying a gun on campus, despite his lawful concealed-carry permit. If only someone like that had been in Norris Hall on Monday, this massacre could have been ended a lot sooner.
But last January, the Virginia General Assembly shot down a bill that would have prevented universities like Virginia Tech from giving sanctuary to mass murderers on college campuses in Virginia by disarming students with concealed-carry permits valid in the rest of the state.
Virginia Tech spokesman Larry Hincker praised the legislature for allowing the school to disarm lawful gun owners on the faculty and student body, thereby surrendering every college campus in the state to deranged mass murderers, saying: “I’m sure the university community is appreciative of the General Assembly’s actions because this will help parents, students, faculty and visitors feel safe on our campus.”
Others disagreed. Writing last year about another dangerous killer who had been loose on the Virginia Tech campus, graduate student Jonathan McGlumphy wrote: “Is it not obvious that all students, faculty and staff would have been safer if (concealed handgun permit) holders were not banned from carrying their weapons on campus?”
If it wasn’t obvious then, it is now.”
Jenny Hatch

A Culture of Passivity
Point two: The cost of a “protected” society of eternal “children” is too high. Every December 6th, my own unmanned Dominion lowers its flags to half-mast and tries to saddle Canadian manhood in general with the blame for the “Montreal massacre,” the 14 female students of the Ecole Polytechnique murdered by Marc Lepine (born Gamil Gharbi, the son of an Algerian Muslim wife-beater, though you’d never know that from the press coverage). As I wrote up north a few years ago:
Yet the defining image of contemporary Canadian maleness is not M Lepine/Gharbi but the professors and the men in that classroom, who, ordered to leave by the lone gunman, meekly did so, and abandoned their female classmates to their fate — an act of abdication that would have been unthinkable in almost any other culture throughout human history. The “men” stood outside in the corridor and, even as they heard the first shots, they did nothing. And, when it was over and Gharbi walked out of the room and past them, they still did nothing. Whatever its other defects, Canadian manhood does not suffer from an excess of testosterone.
I have always believed America is different. Certainly on September 11th we understood. The only good news of the day came from the passengers who didn’t meekly follow the obsolescent 1970s hijack procedures but who used their wits and acted as free-born individuals. And a few months later as Richard Reid bent down and tried to light his shoe in that critical split-second even the French guys leapt up and pounded the bejasus out of him.
We do our children a disservice to raise them to entrust all to officialdom’s security blanket. Geraldo-like “protection” is a delusion: when something goes awry — whether on a September morning flight out of Logan or on a peaceful college campus — the state won’t be there to protect you. You’ll be the fellow on the scene who has to make the decision. As my distinguished compatriot Kathy Shaidle says:
When we say “we don’t know what we’d do under the same circumstances”, we make cowardice the default position.
I’d prefer to say that the default position is a terrible enervating passivity. Murderous misfit loners are mercifully rare. But this awful corrosive passivity is far more pervasive, and, unlike the psycho killer, is an existential threat to a functioning society.
— Mark Steyn, a National Review columnist, is author of America Alone.
Jenny Hatch