Hyp Mama: Lesson 2 - Out Like a Light!

Many of you have seen these posts and expressed interest in finding out more about Hypnobirthing. You can find all the posts I've written about it here:

My Discovery of Hypnobirthing: 

Hypno-What?!

The Hypnobabies Lessons I've blogged through:

Hyp-Mama: Zero Day 

Hyp-Mama: Lesson 1 - The Power of Words

Hyp-Mama: Lesson 2 - Out Like a Light!

Hyp-Mama: Lesson 3 - Blissfully Numb

Hyp-Mama: Lessons 4&5 - Push it to the Limit

Hyp-Mama: The Grand Finale - Ethan's Birth Story! 

And also be sure visit the Hypnobabies website, www.hypnobabies.com, for more great information. (Some of the Hypnobabies links embedded in my posts may be outdated since Hypnobabies has updated their website). If you have any questions or want more details, please feel free to send me a message and ask away!

---              ---              ---

Okay, so I know I've been slacking on my hypno-blogging. But better late than never, right? Thanks to my incredibly devoted husband, I'm now back on track and (may!) even get through all the lessons before our little guy makes his arrival.

So without further ado, here's Lesson 2!

In this lesson's the 30-min relaxation sessions on the CDs, "deepening" techniques are introduced. These techniques are meant to help reach the most relaxed state possible more quickly than we would in everyday life, and involve concepts like deep breathing, creating a "special place" and "bubble of peace," and finally, the "light switch" concept. The "special place and "bubble of peace" help create a state of mind where you feel safe and comfortable so you can allow your mind to fully relax and let go of any anxiety; the "bubble of peace," also allows you to create a visual barrier which prevents negative thoughts, stories, and ideas from affecting your ability to stay relaxed and positive.

The kids' lightswitch--cutest
around! If only it
calmed them down too...

The "lightswitch" is another visual used to help a woman distinguish between the three different states of that she may experience during her birthing time (and during practice):

-the non-hypnotic state
-the complete hypnotic state 
-the 'eyes-open' hypnotic state (as Hypnobabies calls it)

The "lightswitch" helps you control the hypnotic state you choose to enter any given time. In Hypnobabies book, there's a great cartoon drawing of a woman with a switch on the back of her neck...almost like a robot person in one of those sci-fi movies. When the switch is all the way up, you're "on," or in the non-hypnotic state. When it's down, you're "off," or in the completely relaxed hypnotic state. In this state, you're in a completely supported position (sitting or lying down), your eyes are closed, all of your muscles are completely relaxed, you feel no need to move (in theory!), and you're completely content. When the switch is in the middle, you're in the "eyes-open" hynotic state, which means that you are still completely relaxed, but can open your eyes, talk, and move around while still maintaining a relaxed and positive state of mind. This is essential for the natural birthing process, which encourages movement (walking, squatting, sitting on a birthing ball, etc.) to help the baby descend and arrive without delay, as opposed to a woman lying down with her feet up in stirrups, which requires her to have to work harder, fight gravity, and possibly delay the entire process. (No, thank you!)

Now in theory, you should feel no need to move around if your lightswitch is off. Not so much for me. Maybe I'm just fidgety, but it's always as soon as I "turn off" my lightswitch that my legs feel jumpy or I need to itch my nose or something. So I make use of the "middle switch" quite often...flip it to "middle" to adjust a pillow, scratch an itch, roll over, whatever. I probably do so more often than I should, but hey, I want to be comfortable! And if my last birthing experience is at all telling, the concepts worked wonderfully even if I was a horrible student!

When the lightswitch is truly "off," though, is the time to practice "deepening" techniques. One of the Lesson 2 sessions devoted to creating that "bubble of peace" as well as a "special place." I spend a good deal of time flipping my lightswitch back and forth to get comfortable, but once relaxed enough, I love drifting off to my special place (or in many cases, off to sleep).

'Home'

As I've mentioned before, one of the most peaceful places I've ever encountered is the Catholic Chapel at West Point. I spent four years of my childhood getting to know the place, and when I returned to West Point for college, it became my second home. I spent many a Wednesday night there in the quiet, dimly lit chapel, pouring my heart out to God with the beauty of stained glass and a few flickering candles surrounding me and a soft glow from the altar in front of me. Just thinking of it now sends a feeling of warmth and contentment through me. Exactly the feeling you want to channel during the most difficult work of your life! When I did this last time during the birthing process--imagining myself in that amazingly peaceful place and remembering with all the sights and smells and feelings--it helped keep me relaxed enough to work with the birthing process and keep my discomfort to a minimum.

The Chapel!

So it turns out that all those daydreams they depict in movies, (you know, when the main character is lying on a pristine beach with a mouth-watering cocktail while island beauties fan him with palm fronds) really are worth something!

Still skeptical? Try it!
(I dare you)!

Next time you have a moment (when you know) you won't be distracted, close your eyes and imagine the last place you felt truly peaceful and comfortable. Picture the details, the colors, all the sounds and smells and sensations. Build it up in your mind for a minute or two, remembering why you felt so peaceful and comfortable there. Chances are you'll find that your breathing is a little calmer, your jaw isn't so tight, and your muscles are a bit more relaxed. Call it what you will--hypnosis, meditation, simple relaxation--but somehow, no matter what stressors you have in your life at the moment, you'll probably feel a good bit lighter after just a few minutes in that special place! Pretty sweet, huh?

You just might have to make a return trip...

Goodbye, Summer...Hello, Fall!

GOODBYE, SUMMER...

Summer always fades too quickly here in the North Country, so this year we decided to go out with a bang. We rented a boat for what will probably be the last time (since we'll likely move before next summer rolls around) and cruised up and down the gorgeous Thousand Islands region of the St. Lawrence River.  We had the pleasure of hosting my family for the long weekend, and had a blast out on the water, watching huge tankers pass by, deciding which of the incredible island homes we'll live in one day, and docking to eat at some restaurants. We also docked at Heart Island, home of the beautiful Boldt Castle, and enjoyed a glimpse of royalty. Since getting a taste of the nautical life, Peter and I have been tossing around boat names for the day we become independently wealthy and must name our yacht. Which we'll be docking at our private island, of course.(Hey, it could happen...)

Thus far we've narrowed it down to three, all inspired by our daily interaction with our beloved employer, Uncle Sam. (Sorry to all you non-military folk who may not 'get' the references).

After a nail-biting vote, the results are in!

1) The Way Ahead: 45%
2) Officership: 33%
3) Mission Essential: 22%

So The Way Ahead it is! (Mostly because Peter and I decided it was our front runner anyway)!

 The kids were delighted when they spotted a big tanker...meanwhile, I was fixated on the Grecian-inspired bungalow on its own private island!

A veiw of the Boldt Castle pump house, then dropping anchor to swim!

We each relished the luxury of the weekend in our own way--Peter and I got to sit back and relax (!!), the grandparents/grandkids got to spoil/be spoiled, and the teen got some early driving lessons on the water!  

The beautiful Boldt Castle. I think it suits us well, don't you? 

...HELLO, FALL! 

  

I usually vascillate between distress and excitement when I see the first tree turning blazing orange. Distress because summer just can't be over that quickly already (and I am not ready for ceaseless snow!), but excitement because I just love fall. Cozy sweaters, crunching leaves, delectable treats (read: anything that with pumpkin and/or spice), and of course, apple picking! 

We made our annual trip to the orchard last weekend, complete with the perfect oh-so-slight chill in the air and lots of excitement! 

Riding the tractor and hanging out in pumpkin land!

Pondering which apple is best...so many delicious choices!

Best part of apple picking? Apple snacking! Cheers!

In the Space of A Year

It’s amazing to realize how much has transpired in the space of a year.

Pearl earrings from Peter--for
our baby who would have
been due in June

A mere year and change ago, I was in a pretty dark place, having seen yet another “specialist,” trying to process the word ‘infertility’ as it was being thrown at me, and wondering what it meant for our future—a future that we’d dreamed would be filled with the beautiful chaos of lots of kids in the years to come. Then, within weeks of hearing that ugly word, we were face to face with the full reality of my diagnosis as it played out in front of us, saying goodbye to the new little life that we’d created with God’s help, seemingly filled with promise. Three months later, another painful goodbye. I knew it was pointless to question God’s will, since my mere human logic simply couldn't comprehend infinite wisdom. But I felt I wasn't ready to let go of the dreams we had or the expectations that we’d set for our future. If God was taking us down another road, I knew I had to learn to let go and try my hardest to trust Him, whether that meant bearing and raising another child or not. Yet in my humanness I wanted more time to come to terms with it all.

My daily argument with God (either while driving to work or trying to fall asleep at night) usually went something like this:

Me: "God, why?"
God: [silence]
Me: "Is it because I was being selfish? Did I not deserve them?"

My "Precious Feet" bracelet,
with little feet the same
size as a 10-week-old
baby in the womb

God: [silence] Or maybe that exasperated sigh came from Him?
Me: "I promise I won’t worry about what others think this time. And I won’t complain about anything at all if I'm pregnant again!"
 God: [silence…while rolling His eyes]
Me: "Okay, I know, deals are stupid. But was the doctor really right? Please just tell me if there’s a chance or not!"
God: [silence]
Me: "So are You saying we should adopt? [pause] Because if that's what we're supposed to do, then it would be better to do now since we have the money because when we get out of the Army we might not and...and..."
God: [silence]
Me: Sigh. "How come you never tell me anything?!"
God: "Trust Me."
Me: [silence] Did He really just say that or did I think it? 
God: "I can hear what you’re thinking."
Me: "Oh, right. Okay, You win.. I’ll work on the trust thing. But I still wish You would tell me more…"

And so my daily battle continued; I tried not to give up hope as the prospects seemed more and more dismal. Finally, on an ordinary day while driving home from work, my heart and my brain finally met halfway and resolved to give up the reigns. “Okay God…whatever you say. And I’ll try not to be disappointed if it’s not what I want.”

He must have just been waiting for that simple concession, because it seemed like no time at all before we had clearly discovered what God had in mind. We've since been party to an absolute miracle, rapidly growing into plain sight despite my initial doubt; now a full eight months have passed with one Ethan Hjelmstad gracing our lives.

Miracle boy Ethan at 4, 10, and 20 weeks!

So many other little miracles have been born from the uncertainty and loss of the past year as well: as husband and wife, our love has matured and grown wiser as we support each other, both in “for better” and in “for worse.” We’ve found some meaningful ways to honor the gifts of life who graced our own lives for such a short time, mostly because of the efforts of my wonderful husband who I swear sometimes knows me better than I know myself. And most importantly, we've learned how vital it is to appreciate the gifts we have in front of us instead of only concentrating on controlling the future.

15, 18, 24, and 34 weeks!

If this past year is any indication, I’m sure we’ll be in for a wild ride in the coming months. While I know the answer to my prayers isn’t always going to be the one I (think I) want, and the coming year holds even more uncertainty than ever in terms of career plans, health, and life in general, I also know that God’s plan trumps ours for a reason. It’s always easy to see it in hindsight, but I just pray I continue to remember that invaluable lesson in the days to come.

To Those Who Serve

"This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." --Psalm 118:24

Lately I’ve had some heavy things weighing on my heart, and it’s hard to write about more light-hearted subjects with more important things running through my head. Though I’ve tried to push such thoughts away when it comes to putting words on the page, my motivation for triviality has fallen flat. So I’ve realized that maybe it’s time to do just that—time to address the things that matter most.

On certain days my heart sinks as soon as I pull in to the parking lot at work. It has nothing to do with my workload that day or a busy schedule; it’s the flag in front of my Division Headquarters that gets me. Most days it flies high and mighty and proud above the building for all to see. But more often than it should, it flutters quietly at half-mast, the same level as the monument that stands across from it to honor the soldiers from Fort Drum who have died from combat. And when the flag is at half-mast, it usually means one thing: we will be adding another name to the plaque on that monument.

If only it were just a name.

Not a life. Not a son or daughter, father or mother, brother, sister, cousin, friend.

Maybe I was naïve when I signed up to be in the Army, devoting a what seemed like a huge chunk of my young life to military school and a mandatory five years of service after. It made perfect sense when I was still starry-eyed and didn’t really know, when I only thought of it as an honorable way to contribute to society like my own father did, and at the same time an opportunity for a great education and exciting job once I graduated.

My disillusionment didn’t last long, but I was already bound by contract. So I quickly learned in the “real” Army to still put every ounce of effort I had in to a job I disliked, a job with significantly less value than I’d anticipated when I first raised my right hand eight years ago. I learned to grit my teeth when hearing the same elusive phrases during meetings, the ones that meant we would be wasting more time and getting nowhere. I learned to choke down the guilt each time I walked out the door to a little voice saying “Mommy, I don’t want you to go to work!”…or worse yet, the shame and hurt when that little voice didn’t even care to acknowledge me when I arrived home because it was so customary for me to be gone. And when so many well-meaning people happened to see my uniform in public and thank me for my service, I've learned to smile graciously, trying to push aside the bitterness while thinking, “it's not me you should be thanking...if only you knew.”

But these things don't hold a candle to what so many others have been through.

And that’s what these last few years—specifically the past few months—have really taught me. What I do and how I serve is just a miniscule cog in the big green machine. My work pales in comparison to the work of others with whom I serve; my sacrifices are small. I can lament all day long about the things I didn’t consider when signing up, but in reality the sacrifices I continue to watch others make paint a pretty rosy picture for me.


Those sacrifices are many, too many. Out of respect for privacy I’ll not go in to detail, but I will say this: I did not sign up so I could helplessly wipe away the tears of a young and newly widowed mother, or to watch friends’ lives turned upside down and inside out as they face a completely altered future and navigate the twisted annals of the army medical system. I did not sign up so I could name the names of classmates or those from my unit now memorialized. I didn’t sign up to face that flag on the days it floats at half-mast, knowing that I will soon be verifying the information to put on this year’s plaque—knowing that for each name on the plaque there are three or four times as many injured Soldiers at a hospital somewhere figuring out how to redefine their lives. And these are just the Soldiers; beyond each one, there is another family rallying around a hospital bed or left at a gravesite, begging to wake up from their nightmare. Though each of these Soldiers may have signed on the dotted line, none truly signed up for this.

The weeks leading up to the 10th Anniversary of September 11th only stoked the fire for me. Our nation was suddenly roused to incredible patriotism, patriotism that’s seemed sadly latent for much of the past ten years. Yes, as a nation it was important to reflect on the monumental events of 9/11 that changed the course of our history forever, but I can’t help but feel that it was all been a bit sensationalized. As I digested the mounting number of news stories and radio shows on the subject, all analyzing the events and trying to somehow reinvent their meaning (as the news must do), my frustration also mounted. Were the other anniversaries not so important? Those really touched by the tragedies certainly grieved just as much in previous years. On most days there was no buzzing media trying to make headlines out of their tragedy or support them through their grief. The families and friends of victims as well as a growing group of affected soldiers and their families have had to live with the true reality of those events every day for the past ten years.

It’s easy in these instances to ask, “why?”

It’s easier yet for me to ask a more pointed question: “why them, and why have we been so lucky?”

I posed this question to my husband one night a few weeks ago, wondering aloud why so many good people have to suffer through such unjust sacrifice, and wondering why we haven’t (yet?) been tested as such. Not that I’m inviting tragedy, by any means. But none of the wonderful people I love were asking to go through their trials, either. “I almost wonder if that’ll be us soon,” I said to Peter.

“Well, we can’t just live every day in fear,” he said. And of course he’s right. But it didn’t ease my mind much until I heard some very timely words of wisdom during our priest’s sermon at church the next morning—it was like he could read my mind.

To paraphrase, (since I wasn’t exactly taking notes) he said this:

Watch TV or listen to the radio long enough and you’ll see that the world does a good job of writing off weekdays. You’ll hear complaints for every Monday, comments about living for the weekend. But we need to realize that EVERY day—Monday or not—is a gift from God. I can continue to plan for the future, but at any moment my plans for tomorrow could be completely altered. I don’t know if I’m going to wake up tomorrow or not. I may not see another Saturday again. Or my life might change drastically in some other way. But regardless of what day it is or what my life circumstances may be, every single day that we are on this earth is a gift from God, another chance to make our lives count.

Such a perfect (and perfectly simple) concept, yet so difficult in application. But the the light bulb went on for me, and it immediately challenged me to see the flip side of my previous question: instead of  asking,“why,” I should ask “what.” What have I done to make today count? And instead of seeing only the pain in others’ tragedies, I can understand that each new day they are given is also a gift. It doesn’t mean that their pain will disappear, or that their days won’t be incredibly difficult. But their days still matter, and God in His wisdom (that we so easily fail to understand) has a purpose for each new day He grants.

So instead of living in fear of the future or sorrow for others, I can let go of my woeful attitude in favor of something more meaningful. Instead of wallowing in despair or frustration when I see another headline or flag at half-mast, I can try to find a tangible way to help to carry a burden or at least send my honest, sincere gratitude to those who deserve it most. And I can always work harder on turning each heavy thought into a prayer for someone that really holds weight. In my own little bubble, I can continue to plan for a future with hope and confidence while thanking my husband more, hugging my kids tighter, turning off social media distractions and spending more time tuning in to the amazing blessings in my life right now, the ones I so easily take for granted. Even as I continue my countdown to “better” things—like getting out of the Army—I will try my best to remember that there is no guarantee for tomorrow. That I should face each day—even Mondays, even the work I wouldn't choose again—with a sense of joy, embracing them with everything in me.

Only then can I truly honor those who have sacrificed—and will sacrifice—so much more than I have. The friends who carry on with undeniable courage, the families who grieve, the names on a plaque with so much more life and meaning behind them. Maybe, just maybe I can make make this gift of today that I’ve been given truly count--not just for me, but for them.

*And thank you--you know who you are*