We walked by my favorite Grand Central Bakery here in the Eastlake neighborhood six, maybe seven times today. Round and round a four-block circuit we went, stopping every now and then to steady a Young Mama in labor. While she steadied, I tried to ignore my own pain.
I was Jonesing hard for a “Jammer.”
Jammers are the holy grail of biscuits. They are crunchy-topped, flake-filled, buttery pillows of white-flour joy topped with a generous crater of homemade raspberry jam. I haven’t had one in months, although for a good while there every morning I was the first in line to get one.
But today my gluten-junkie stomach grumbled in withdrawal as the little pastry-shaped devil on my shoulder stuck me with his fork. “Go ahead,” I heard him say. “Break that nasty anti-inflammation diet that REALLY seems to be helping keep your middle-aged joints from aching. Just this once. . .”
“This is worse than labor,” I whined.
Luckily it was under my breath, because a second later my companion’s heavy sigh snapped me back to the real discomfort at hand. I re-routed us away from the bakery’s sugar-scented air zone toward Lake Union to continue the work of walking this baby out.
At the beginning of our stroll, Posie pranced happily in front of us, slowing but not stopping when she heard Young Mama’s quiet murmurs. It was almost like she was pulling the mother along.
“We’re still early, just walk right through these,” she seemed to be saying.
After mom's contractions passed, Posie would back her bum up to a telephone pole or curb and leave her little mark – as if to say “There! You did it again!”
And thus we slowly strolled along, Posie glancing back at us frequently to affirm that we, and especially Young Mama, were still appropriately in line behind her. Like a short, camel-colored mother duck with ears. She barely glanced at me.
I don’t usually bring my dog on labor walks, in case you are questioning my professionalism. But Young Mama recently lost her beloved pug and actually requested Posie’s presence in this early phase of labor. And, of course, Posie was delighted not to be relegated to my kitchen for yet another separation. Her labor waiting days consist of ample toys and food, but not a lot of human contact beyond the occasional potty walks administered by the gentleman next door whom I will refer to occasionally on this blog as The Neighbor. (Insert great gratitude for The Neighbor here.)
Watching Posie with Young Mama, I wondered if maybe I should add her to my business website on the list of comforts used during labor. Emotional support, massage, TENS, labor tub, aromatherapy, seriously empathetic dog.
As the contractions began to build in strength and Young Mama’s response to them began to evolve, her body started to sway in the middle of the sidewalk and her sighs turned into more sonorous moans. Posie’s behavior changed as well. She stood stock-still and gazed soulfully into Young Mama’s eyes until each wave passed. I swear I am not making this up.
My little dog made herself a gaze point for a laboring woman’s focus. She became part of Young Mama’s labor ritual. Among birth workers this is a well-known coping technique. Ok, maybe I am making up her intent.
In hindsight it makes complete sense that Posie is a birth worker. She gets it. She’s been there, done that. She’s had babies naturally and surgically. She’s earned her “mother’s knowing” badge.
After being neglected by a previous human, she was impregnated at less than a year old by a much bigger dog in an animal rescue foster home. The rescue (for religious reasons I am told) didn’t believe in reducing or ending canine pregnancies. Thus, Posie carried four very large puppies to term. Too large for her short square frame. When her labor came, she could only get two of her puppies out on her own. The other two had to be removed by C-section. Her hips still bear the dysplasia.
Despite that trauma, here she was, an innate compassionate animal letting another animal know she too would make it through. Right in front of my eyes, my dog became a doula.
I looked at Young Mama and Posie and wondered at the mysteries of life that bring seemingly unrelated things together to achieve something powerful and needed – like the hope that every new child brings to the world. The strangeness of Young Mama’s dog passing away just weeks before her due date and the fact that I have a dog at all to bring her comfort. Posie came into my life by fluke really.
I’m not sure how far we walked, but over time it became clear that this little baby had received his eviction notice and stacked his bags by the door. We wandered back toward Young Mama’s apartment, which happens to be just blocks from my own. We made a pit-stop to deposit Posie in my kitchen, which, at first, she did NOT understand.
“Hospitals don’t like dogs,” I explained. “And also, they smell funny and you wouldn’t like it.”
I gave her a new bully stick and her eyes went from doleful to focused — not on mine, but on the treat. I texted The Neighbor. Posie gave a little bark as I shut the door. It sounded like “Well then. Good luck.”
I’ve walked hundreds of miles with laboring women over the past years. Make that thousands, who am I kidding? It’s been more than two decades now. Today’s walk reminded me that as much as I know about the act of giving birth and about how to help laboring people cope with the many discomforts of the process, there are just as many things that I don’t know.
You can bet I’m going to be doing a deeper dive into research on animals as part of labor support. If you’ve ever had an animal, you know they often find ways to bring us the strength we need in difficult times. Every dog or cat I or my kids have ever loved – and there is a virtually a pet cemetery in the backyard of the house they grew up in – have demonstrated this.
“What do we do with the dog?” is a question I get a lot during prenatal meetings. Most expectant parents stress excessively and make elaborate plans on where to leave their pets when labor ascends. But rather than handing out pet-sitting ideas, as I often do, I think I should suggest leaning into the beautiful, primal instinct our animals offer.
It’s not just Posie and today. In these years I’ve seen lots of dogs and cats and at least one ferret comfort their humans in labor, curling around legs or purring and kneading a leg through contractions. An image from nearly 15 years ago flashes across my mind as I write. In it, a small white dog stands above a laboring mother as she lays on a bed. His two paws are placed strategically on the mother’s hips. I remember capturing this image – a cute photo – for the couple. But today, what I see is a tiny dog doing a hip squeeze.
Animals know how to give birth without ever reading a book. Perhaps we should read them and give the internet a rest.
With Posie settled in, Young Mama and I waddled on, stopping every three minutes now to rock and sway and roll with her sounds.
We came back into smell-shot of the Grand Central Bakery, at which point she perked up considerably. Our senses are at their very peak in labor – so things smell either very bad or very good.
“Oh my god,” Young Mama said. “I just realized I’m sooooo hungry.”
It all comes together, you see. The right place, the right time, the right things where you need them.
“I’ve got the perfect thing for that,” I laughed. We got in line, six feet from the gal in front of us.
“Two jammers,” I said when we moved up to the order window.
I’ll get back to the anti-inflammation diet tomorrow. Today is all about following animal instincts.
FOODIE NOTE: Never had a Jammer? Not from Seattle or Portland? Here’s the recipe courtesy of Leite’s Culinaria
“Hospitals don’t like dogs,” I explained. “And also, they smell funny and you wouldn’t like it.”
I gave her a new bully stick and her eyes went from doleful to focused (not on mine, but on the treat.) She gave a little bark as I shut the door. I sounded like “Well then. Good luck.”
I’ve walked hundreds of miles with laboring women over the past years. Make that thousands, who am I kidding? It’s been more than two decades now. Today’s walk reminded me that as much as I know about the act of giving birth and about how to help laboring people cope with the many discomforts of the process, there are just as many things that I don’t know.
You can bet I’m going to be doing a deeper dive into research on animals as part of labor support. If you’ve ever had an animal, you know they often find ways to bring us the strength we need in difficult times. Every dog or cat I or my kids have ever loved -- and there is a virtually a pet cemetery in our backyard in Shoreline -- have demonstrated this.
“What do we do with the dog?” is a question I get a lot during prenatal meetings. Most expectant parents stress excessively and make elaborate plans on where to have their pets when labor ascends. But rather than handing out pet-sitting ideas, as I often do, I think I should suggest leaning into the beautiful, primal instinct our animals offer.
It’s not just Posie and today. In these years I’ve seen lots of dogs and cats and at least one ferret lean gently in as their human labors, curling around legs or purring and knitting through contractions. An image from nearly 15 years ago flashes across my mind as I write. In it, a small white dog stands above a laboring mother laying on a bed. His two paws are placed strategically on a mother’s hips. I remember capturing this image -- a cute photo -- for the couple. But today, what I see is a tiny dog doing a hip squeeze.
Animals know how to give birth. No books or Googling necessary. Perhaps we should read our animals and give the internet a rest.
With Posie settled in, Young Mama and I waddled on, stopping every three minutes now to rock and sway and roll with her sounds.
We came back into smell-shot of the Grand Central, at which point she perked up considerably. Our senses are at their very peak in labor -- so things smell either very bad or very good.
“Oh my god,” Young Mama said. “I just realized I’m sooooo hungry”
It all comes together, you see. The right place, the right time, the right things where you need them.
“I’ve got the perfect thing for that,” I laughed. We got in line, six feet from the gal in front of us.
“Two jammers,” I said when we moved up to the order window.
I’ll get back to the anti-inflammation diet tomorrow. Today is all about following animal instincts.
FOODIE NOTE: Never had a Jammer? Not from Seattle or Portland? Here’s the recipe courtesy of Leite’s Culinaria
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