Children, their Sacredness, and Social Media Privacy

I had trouble coming up with a title to encompass what I want to say/share with this blog post. First, let me preface by saying that these are feeling I have regarding my child, and do what you feel is best for your own family, based on your own beliefs, and family values. 

What I’m about to discuss is nothing knew, and, as with everything in this crazy kingdom of parenthood, comes with its own vastly differing opinions. When I had my daughter I had no trouble sharing images of her all over the internet. In fact I could barely wait (as could family members, who begged me). I grew up as a teen in the age of social media emergence (hello, Nexopia account and MSN Messenger), and it is just so normal, to share.

Now its the Social Media Kings that we share on: Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat. So, I shared. I love social media and the connections you can make, the sense of sisterhood gained in shared everyday experiences. How you can read something that someone else is going through and just relate and say, “Hey, I could have wrote this myself!,” which is so important in that lonely post-partum year, or two, or three. When you’re (mostly) alone with this one little person who can’t walk, talk, or in the beginning even focus their eyes on you, you want to reach out to other mothers, share experiences, find some belonging in a community. Social media is the easiest way. That, and of course everyone’s own baby is the cutest, cleverest, most brilliant baby they’ve ever met (insert wink).

I’ve “met” so many wonderful people by sharing mine and Alba’s stories, and experiences. Our first year was a good one. I have mom friends all over the world (mostly North America), a lot of these due to me sharing, quite openly, Alba’s photos and our experiences. But, the more I shared, and the closer we got to Alba’s 1st Birthday, the more uncomfortable I got with it. The older and more busy Alba got, the more uneasy I became. When the very first thing I hear from people when they see Alba is, “I see you all over Facebook” (or something along those lines), it really is a bit of a wake up. It made me take a good step back.

Children are good medicine. I got a great reminder of this by reading something from a friend who is about to have her own beautiful baby (and will not be sharing images). She reminded me of how sacred children are. Sacred. That word resonated with me. I know Alba is the most sacred thing in my entire world but in my effort to share and curate, I forgot to protect her sacredness. It’s difficult to not want to share her, as she is so beautiful, witty, and only good things for me but she is her own little person. I love photographing her as well but I was taught to keep Ceremony private. Because of my daughter’s sacredness, in a lot of ways she reminds me of Ceremony. All this realization and internal dialogue has made me question a lot of things in terms of Social Media:

  1. Why do I post? What is the purpose? Who do I post for? Myself? Does posting help me or my loved ones?
  2. Who is my audience? What is their intentions? Why do they need to see images of my baby? Who sees her images with harmful/negative intentions.
  3. What can someone do with the information I’ve put online? Birthdays, full names, etc.
  4. Do I value my daughter’s privacy? She is not a prop. She hasn’t given consent. Will it bother her in the future. Will it impact our future relationship. Will it affect her own relationships with others?
  5. How much time am I spending on Social Media? Too much. Can that time be better spent? Should I spend my time fostering relationships with the people I see day to day?

I ask you to ask yourself these questions. Think long and hard. Pop the bubble of naivety and rose tinted glasses. It’s not fun, but protecting our children is not supposed to be. I have begun to cut back on what I share. I’ve made my pages private, and am going through my followers list and friends list to make sure I recognize and know who I am sharing with. Originally, on Facebook and Instagram, I’ve accepted nearly every request in an effort to get exposure and meet potential photography clients, so my numbers aren’t small and there’s a lot to go through. Separating private/personal from public is necessary. I’ve very recently deleted my Snapchat in an effort to put the phone down a bit more. I’ve started reading a few more books and journaling. I am reevaluating my use(s) of social media and really trying to pinpoint my why. There is a very real addiction that exists and acknowledging it, knowing that I don’t want it for my daughter means I must break that addiction for myself.

 – claudine bull

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t&b collective: a quick look back

In honour of moving forward in the New Year, I’ve asked our collective to share a few words about their favourite images looking back over our past year, and if they were willing to share, what their creative goals are moving forward. 

Come February, tea&bannock will be celebrating two full years as a collective. As our lives are busy with post secondary schooling, old and new business ventures, love, friendship and family, we’ve definitely slowed down and learned to pace ourselves in this digital storytelling platform. Finding the right words and editing the images we want to share takes special space in our hearts. Breathing deep and laying our successes and stumbling blocks out into the wide open space, and trusting that our community will connect with the ideas we’re sharing – it’s powerful and humbling, and we thank you so much for being part of our lives. It’s a constant learning experience. 

Happy New Year.

I’m looking forward to what tea&bannock will be bringing to the table in 2018. 

 – tenille k campbell 


 

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“It was hard selecting my favorite photograph from 2017. It was either a picture of one of my rez dogs as a puppy, or a soon to be first time mother in regalia on a beach in Alert Bay, or my youngest son dressed as wolverine sitting next to his princess Eva (he has told me he will marry her and have five kids), or this unsettling photograph of my dad. He was diagnosed with laryngeal cancer a couple of years ago which has left him with no voice box. Last fall, I made an impromptu trip to Saskatoon to pick my dad up after being discharged from St Paul’s Hospital. He had been hospitalized for two weeks with pneumonia. My father was very ill and had this horrible smell. I’d never smelled anything quite like it and I knew it was the smell of something dying. When we said good bye, I was sure that was going to be our last hug but months later this stubborn, grumpy, mean, old man is still alive.

This summer my family and I moved back to Victoria so I could go back to school. I’ve been taking perquisite courses, such as chemistry, biology and Statistics, for the RN (Nursing) program. The pace of our life has changed drastically. Student life hasn’t left me much time to work professionally on photography. I’ve taken to shooting more of my day to day life with my iPhone and occasional grabbing the Canon 5D iii + 35L to take photos of whatever inspires me in that moment.

My art goal for 2018 is to find inspiration in this urban landscape and to continue taking photos amidst the chaos.”

Amanda Laliberte, British Columbia

 

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“The photo of my Jijuu in her fish house is by far my favorite image because the photograph is a true reflection of who she is. My Jijuu is hard working, she is a provider and she is so knowledgeable about our Gwich’in culture and land.

My art goal for 2018 is to create meaningful images. I want to be aware and present. I want to go to my fish net, hunting out in the mountains, and chasing the northern lights to capture all of those traditions and precious memories. I want to capture my family, especially my grandparents. I just really want to make art that matters.”

– Shayla Snowshoe, Alberta

 

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“The photo with Alba in the bonnet is my favorite of the year. I embarked on a weekly photo project where I took portraits of myself and my daughter together. This project was so important to me because I have no photos of myself and my mom from my infancy or childhood.”

– Claudine Bull, Alberta

 

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“I was at The World’s Smallest Dessert in Carcross, YK. This is one of my recent favourites  because it represents a place I never thought I would get to go to, as well as the traditional territory of one of my newest friends, Heather Dickson. It’s a reminder that I should be more open to new people who come into my life, as you never know how they are going to change and challenge you. For me, this picture is about kinship and story.

2017 was all about new adventures and new friendships. But for 2018, my art goals consist of learning some more about Photoshop and Video Editing. I want to brush up my skills, try new things, and create more community.”

– Tenille Campbell, Saskatchewan

 

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“A moment to myself in a whirlwind year of travel. Taken on July 7, 2017 – Treaty 7 and traditional Blackfoot territory. My goals for my art practice this year are to take more moments for myself.”

– Joi T Arcand, Ontario

 

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“My fav image is of my friends baby in a bunting bag. My goal for 2018 is to make more of an effort of reaching out to other artists in the NWT to begin collaborating and creating amazing images, and hopefully gain some kick ass friendships along the way…. and to learn how to post my blogs up on the tea & bannock website by myself!”

– Shawna McLeod, Northwest Territory

 

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“Art Goal of 2018 – Build a stronger art community/Collective”

– Caroline Blechert, Oregon via Northwest Territory

Traveling + a Baby

I remember the advice “travel before you have a baby.” It’s like some age-old advice ingrained in our current society, or something like that. So when I became pregnant we discussed vacations and had decided that we’d wait until our baby was a bit older before doing something big and tropical. It seemed the smart, responsible thing to do. “Wait until she can remember.”

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Over this past summer we took a few “mini” vacations within the province.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. It was time for our annual family road trip to Las Vegas (which we missed the previous year because I was pregnant). Its a long drive for us (that we split up into three days of travel), and we’re there for about 7-10 days. Insert some serious nerves about bringing a teething 11 month old on vacation, thanks to above mentioned “advice”. What I wasn’t expecting was that before the end of our trip we’d be planning a tropical vacation for the following year!

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Something never sat well with me and the advice to “live your life” before a baby. I was someone who yearned for motherhood for quite a few years before my husband and I made the leap into parenthood and I remember doing so many things with my extended family wishing I had my own little to enjoy it with me (including going trick or treating every Halloween, I was the aunty without children tagging along, ha!). Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed and fully appreciated the wonderful time when it was just my husband and I in our relationship and I will always value that, but now that my daughter is here I can’t imagine doing life without her!

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Where I’m going with this is that children are not a stay-home-and-fun-life is over sentence that they’re made out to be. Of course there are challenges and changes that need to be made to accommodate them, and I don’t have the experience of parenting a toddler (which is its own challenge) but I can’t help but imagine our ancestors, traveling across North America, with their families in tow. What I take the most from them is that it really does take a village. If you have extended family, relatives willing to help, use them! We were in a fancy restaurant (in our hotel) and my daughter was going nuts in there. There was no way I could eat, when she just wanted to explore. Luckily my mother in law graciously kept her in the hotel room and let her run wild while I enjoyed a meal. She was in her hotel room and I asked, and she happily took the crazy child. Do not be afraid to ask for help if its there.

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Overall, apart from teething and getting sick of her carseat, my 11 month old did so good on this trip and it was worth it seeing her eyes get huge at all the new things to see. It seems she came home a new baby, so much further developmentally than where she was before we left. It may have just been good timing, or the the experience itself but she knows and understands so much more now. We enjoyed ourselves and now we can’t wait to take her to the ocean within the year. I could kick myself for thinking to not travel with a baby, and that to do big trips she should remember. I’m going to remind myself to enjoy this time with her and even though she will not remember, that these experiences enrich her life regardless, and mine as well.

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No More Silence

I remember it vividly. Social class, 2007. Our teacher, Mr. P., was always great at starting class conversations and he was teaching us about World War II, and The Holocaust. I remember thinking about how ridiculous it was that the Nazi’s were able to “get so far” with their hate and that so many people died. It was unfathomable. It still is. I remember thinking to myself that people should have “done something sooner”. “Why didn’t people speak out against it?“. “I would.” Of course, people were. Good people. I also remember the message that we learned at an even younger age, “why do we have to learn about history?” “So we can learn from it.

I was young, naive, and foolish. I found it inconceivable that something like that could touch us here in this day and age in Canada. I knew there were some racists out there, but I had yet to really have any experiences myself. I looked around at my “diverse” (or so I thought at the time) classmates. Less than 15 of us in our class. Of varying backgrounds. We had the Cree kids from the reserve, and the farm kids from the country. We all got along really well. I loved my classmates and my teachers and high school was one of the best experiences for me. Again, I was an inexperienced kid and just didn’t know about the real world. I had very little knowledge of World Wide events. Everyone didn’t have Facebook quite yet (hello, Nexopia), no iPhones, and our limited free time that we did spend online was chatting on msn messenger (at dial-up internet speeds).

Fast forward a decade. 2017. I have more experience. I have seen, experienced, and heard some horrible things. With Facebook, news travels as fast as our fingers can move. With the recent Charlottesville protests, it is quite clear that the hatred surrounding Second World War is very much alive. It’s terrifying. I cry for 17-year-old me. I cry for my daughter. I stay up late thinking about it. I whisper with my husband at night discussing it. Long drives with my sister talking about our disbelief, anger, disgust at the White Supremacists. Shock in the US President. Private discussions where no one can hear us. Then I realize that that is how hate groups gain momentum. Passiveness. Being “hush hush” about it. Looking the other way. Pretending it’s not happening. The mentality that “it’s not affecting me directly so I don’t need to do or say anything” OR “I don’t need to say anything because obviously I’m against the White Supremacists, because I’m not white” OR “Other people with louder and more important voices will speak out.” I’ve noticed a lot of silence on this topic via Social Media, and in-person with people. There seems to be a “don’t talk about it” attitude, and I noticed I wasn’t talking about it either, unless it was with the two people closest to me. Or maybe people just don’t know? For the sake of Love, I think we do need to talk about and acknowledge it. For my daughter’s sake, I need to acknowledge it. No more pretending it’s not happening and sticking our heads in the sand. Jimmy Fallon said it best when he stated that it was important for people to speak out, that ignoring it is as good as supporting it. That spoke to me.

How would I explain to Alba when she’s older that I didn’t speak out? In my minds eye, I see us having conversations, and I hope I can tell her I was stronger than I am. Less scared. More brave. Condemning the bad, instead of quietly watching it unfold, unknowingly in the middle of it. These groups also exist in Canada and it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. So here I am, for my sake, my daughters sake, and for the future, speaking out. Raising awareness, and saying that it’s so very wrong. Opening the conversation. When Alba asks, “Mama, what did you do when the White Supremacists had their rallies with their torches blazing and their Nazi flags flying?” I can say with confidence that I spoke out against them, instead of whispering behind closed doors about it. It breaks my heart that this is happening in her lifetime, and I pray and will work towards a less intolerant future for her, full of more compassion, love, understanding, and acceptance.

I have hope.

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 – Claudine Bull

Making Connections

One of my favorite things about becoming a photographer are the amazing people I’ve been privileged enough to meet and work with. In 2011 is when I started facing my fear of strangers and meeting people and started to network and make connections. These connections still hold and 6 years later I am so happy to have made the leap all those years ago.

I remember when I first started “putting myself out there” and setting up photoshoots in my Edmonton apartment I would get extreme anxiety before people would come over. I would think of many ways to cancel. It took all of my willpower not to. I know, it’s flaky, and not cool, but I was seriously terrified. I was scared of people, and scared of not producing images that I liked (or that they liked). It may be a touch of social anxiety, or who knows what. That all being said, I am so glad I silenced those fears.

Since then my photography has evolved much more. My style has changed, as has my subjects (hello, Alba). I still treasure the experience I gained that year, and the people, of course. These were all before I had an iPhone or Instagram account! Time is a crazy fast thing. Here are a couple of shots from some of my favorite photoshoots that year.

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MUA (above 6 images): Saige Arcand

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Model above: Julie Laflamme

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MUA: Angela Gray

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MUA: Starrly Gladue

Model: Jennifer Calliou

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Model: Roseanne Supernault

I find that the more I write for Tea & Bannock, and the more I explore myself and my journey, I am able to discuss and acknowledge uncomfortable pieces of myself. I am well aware that I have a bit of an anxious personality (my wonderful, understanding husband, and my close family members who are with me every day like my mom and sister are well aware of it), and that its okay. The best part is, as humans we can evolve and change and grow. It’s marvellous and I’m 10 times less scared of meeting new people now than when I was 21 with a fancy new camera.

 – claudine bull

Journey to Motherhood (with a Birth Story)

Mid-February. We are curled up on the couch with comforters and coffee. By “we,” I mean my daughter and I. She is napping and I am writing. Surreal, I have a daughter. I am a mother.

In June, I did a blog post discussing me being pregnant (and my various thoughts on it), and announced that my husband and I were expecting our first child after Christmas. My baby arrived over a month early. I want to share why she arrived early and my experience with having the healthiest pregnancy turn high-risk (with me getting hospitalized at 35 weeks and having baby a week later), in hopes that others can relate to or just learn something from our story.

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The majority of my pregnancy was “quiet”, or as quiet as a pregnancy can be. I had next to no symptoms. No nausea, Braxton Hicks contractions, heartburn (yup, I have a bald baby!), or much swelling. I had an anterior placenta so kicks were even harder to feel. If I didn’t have a baby bump and get a positive pregnancy test so early I could have been one of those ladies who doesn’t even know she’s pregnant until she was 5 or 6 months. I did feel tired and get occasional headaches and leg cramps but, up until the end, it was a pretty uneventful pregnancy. I was grateful, because I didn’t exactly enjoy being pregnant.

Do not mistake my lack of loving the experience the wrong way. I was so happy to be pregnant, and that I was having a baby, but I really wanted it to be over already, and to be on the other side of pregnancy. And now that I am on the other side, I have to say I don’t feel any differently. I’m not one of those ladies that misses my bump or can’t wait to be pregnant again. It was an anxious, long eight months for me. Maybe it was the lack of kicks, maybe it’s just my slightly neurotic personality (ha), or maybe it’s just normal and people don’t talk about it often, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of that “something is wrong.” It was such a mental battle throughout my pregnancy. Despite gaining weight right on track, feeling pretty good, and having normal healthy OB appointments, I was so worried all the time that I would miscarry or have a stillbirth. It happens. I felt so guilty for not revelling in my experience, especially since I wanted to be pregnant for so long, and I know so many women who suffer from infertility. I kept thinking, “how dare I not enjoy this experience 100%.”

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Like I said above, I had an anterior placenta. I didn’t feel my baby kick until I was 23-24 weeks pregnant. I remember being at work when I was around 22 weeks pregnant, with my little bump, and a coworker asked “so you must feel her kick all the time.” Um, no. When finding out that I didn’t feel anything, not even a flutter she got this super worried look on her face and notified me that I should feel something by now. Cue panicked call to my OB to notify them that I hadn’t felt a kick yet. The nurse assured me that it could be awhile before I feel any kicks and that my placenta was in the front so it wasn’t anything to worry about until I was 28 weeks.  I even got an ultrasound the next day and sure enough, baby was kicking away and I didn’t feel a thing.

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Pregnancy isn’t a set in stone, must follow “this template” experience. Every pregnancy is different, as I was learning. My anterior placenta acted like a squishy cushion between me and my baby. It made it really hard to feel (and see) movement from her throughout my pregnancy. It caused me to visit the ER in a panic a couple of times in my third trimester because she didn’t kick x amount of times in x hours. I felt like a crazy lady! Was I normal? Everyone talks so much about the physical discomforts of pregnancy. That was what I was expecting (which didn’t really happen for me). The throwing up, the swelling, the waddling (okay, I definitely waddled). Women talk about that. What isn’t talked about is the mental health aspect of it which made me feel so much more isolated and wrong. I felt guilty for my unborn baby that I was worrying so much. Because I didn’t feel normal I didn’t talk about it much with anyone. Even when I was hospitalized with health complications I STILL didn’t talk about how worried sick I was.

On Monday November 7, 2016, (I was 33 weeks pregnant*) I went to my regular OB appointment and my healthy pregnancy started to take another turn. I had borderline high blood pressure which the doctors informed me is a symptom of pre-eclampsia. They ordered for blood tests and urine tests to see how my organs were functioning. They wanted me to know that I was high-risk for developing pre-eclampsia. Pre-eclampsia is a “pregnancy disease.” The only way to “cure” it is to get the baby out ASAP. It is characterized by high blood pressure which can affect the mom’s organs as well as the baby’s placenta. If left untreated, it can turn into eclampsia which can result in death. My mom had pre-eclampsia with all four of her pregnancies. I was born at 31 weeks gestation, my brother at 33 weeks. She almost died. We weren’t taking this lightly and I went home with a blood pressure monitor and religiously checked my blood pressure. My OB appointments were increased. I was terrified.

*Just a quick aside. My doctors and I went with different due dates. They had my official due date as January 2, 2017, based on my first ultrasound. I went with December 24 as I felt this was more accurate, based on LMP, conception, and my gut mama feeling. That, and baby was always measuring really big at the rest of my (many) ultrasounds. This matters, as it affects induction schedules, and the “premieness” of a baby.*

IMG_9067.JPGI got a call from my OB office on Thursday asking me to come in the next day. They wanted to see how I was progressing, and to check my blood pressure. If everything looked good they would post-pone my next appointment. I was feeling positive that everything must be looking good on my blood tests.

Friday, November 18, 2016. I drove myself to my appointment (50 mins), I thought it would be a quick in and out and then my plans were to head over to my mom’s house to prepare for my baby shower that was the next day. My husband was at work. All I could think about was getting out of my 9:00 am appointment quickly so I could go decorate. I was excited. I was also excited to take my 35 week bump picture the next day, what would I wear?  My bump was getting big and my clothing options were limited. Was baby kicking enough? I wonder who will all come to the shower. I was itchy last night, I should tell my doctor. My mind kept going back and forth between my appointment and the baby shower.

My blood pressure was higher than ever at this appointment. We also did a test because of my itchiness for another pregnancy disease called cholestasis (which has itchiness as one of the only symptom). I was disappointed. The doctor ordered more blood tests, and an ultrasound for that day at 2:00 pm to do a biophysical profile  and NST (non-stress test) on the baby and make sure she was doing good in there. Okay, I guess I’ll have to decorate in the evening. I did my blood tests and waited around for my ultrasound. The ultrasound was neat, baby looked great, and we got a 3D look. Baby was measuring at about 6lbs.

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The nurse informed me that the doctor would come talk to be about my results and that I could wait in the hospital room that my non-stress test was in. The doctor didn’t make it in until after 6 pm. She came in, informed me that my urine and blood pressure indicate that I do indeed have pre-eclampsia. I may need to be induced that night and they were transferring me to the Royal Alexandra Hospital 3 hours away via ambulance to be admitted there, as they did not have the proper NICU facilities to handle a 33 week premie (as they thought I wasn’t as far along as I thought I was). We got steroid shots to get the baby’s lungs to develop more. I was shocked, scared, nervous, unprepared. I guess we were postponing the baby shower! All my “plans” for the birth were thrown out the window. I wouldn’t know what it would be like to have contractions start at home, or have my water break and rush to the hospital.  I was terrified but also excited to meet my baby.

New doctors, another ultrasound, and a new hospital. My new doctors agreed with me that my original due date was wrong and instead I was given a due date of December 21, 2016. This is almost 2 weeks further along than my previous doctors thought! They also decided that because my blood pressure went down and baby was doing great that I would just stay there to be monitored until it was time to have baby. That was good news. The bad news was that my tests came back for cholestasis and I did indeed have it. Another reason to monitor me and baby throughout each day.

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I had a team of liver specialists visit me daily. The goal was to keep baby in as long as possible until it became too hostile for baby. They informed me that because I had cholestasis there was a chance that my baby could be stillborn. I was heartbroken. Terrified. All my greatest fears. Stillborn. Every day I had multiple blood tests, and urine tests to check my bile acid levels (the liver does not function properly because of the cholestasis). Multiple medications (which increased a tri-fold in the time I was there) to keep my bile acids down and keep the baby in me as long as possible. My arms were bruised from so many needles. Non-stress tests every morning and before bed to make sure the baby was doing well. Non-stress tests if she doesn’t kick enough. During a non-stress test they strap on monitors to my belly that show if there are contractions and also record the baby’s heart rate. It tells us how much she’s moving. They have expectations for what a baby should be doing in utero. Too high of a heart rate, too low of a heart rate, or not enough movement (heart rate accelerations) and they may make the decision that the baby is too “stressed” and would preform an emergency C-section. Some non-stress tests would take a bit longer because the baby would be sleeping and I would have to drink some really ice cold water to get her to wake up. Mostly they were all good and reassuring. I wished that I could be strapped to the monitor the entire time, to ease my anxiety.

Despite it being a fairly quiet stay, and grateful that I was so far along, I couldn’t shake my fear. Every night I cried. I wanted my baby out now. I know inside is good but I didn’t want her to die in me. Every morning when my OB would visit me I’d hope that it would be induction day. My sister Nicole visited me every day and kept me sane. We watched Grey’s Anatomy and she brought me junk food. She is amazing.

November 23, 2016. My 27th birthday. Still in the hospital. I did get a pass to go out for supper with my family. It was exhausting. I bought some tiny newborn clothes for my little baby that I would be meeting soon. I felt so unprepared! I had nothing that would fit a 6 pound baby. I was expecting a 10 pounder (like my husband was). The next day before bed my nurse informed me that my acid levels were really high. I may get induced really soon! My doctor would decide in the morning. I was so excited (but also scared of what the high acid levels meant).

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November 25, 2016. Possibly induction day! I woke up feeling so positive. Usually my doctor visits at 9:00 am, after breakfast. I waited, and waited. Finally at noon another doctor visited me. I didn’t recognize her. She informed me that my doctor was sick but that I would be getting induced that day anyway. We just had to wait for some space to clear up. I was elated! I messaged my husband that it was almost baby time and to get to Edmonton after work. The doctor said induction can take days so I told him to finish his shift and to not rush.

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Right after finding out I was being induced I took a shower and took my last mirror bump selfie.

Finally at 5:00pm I was induced (using foley bulb and cervidil). My mom was with me. She brought me food and we waited. Still so excited. The nurses informed me (again) that it could be days, and it could take 36 hours for the cervidil to get me to start dilating and contractions started. Husband arrived. It got late and I tried to convince him to go sleep at the hotel. Nothing would be happening that night. He insisted on staying with me.

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November 26, 2016.

1:00 am. I woke up. I had a back ache. Annoying. I wanted to try get rest before my contractions started. Back ache kept coming (and going). I decided to go walk, maybe that would help. I noticed a rhythm to my back ache and started timing it. The nurse noticed me walking around and asked me what was wrong. I told her I had a back ache and that it kept coming every two minutes. She informed me that I very well might be contracting and they hooked me up to the machine and sure enough the contractions were lasting about 30 seconds every two minutes. 2:30 am, they checked and I was 3 cm dilated. The pain started to really be (what I thought was) painful. I cried. They gave me a little morphine and that took the edge off and I slept until the pain woke me up again at 5:00 am. I texted family member and gave them updates.

6:00 am I felt a huge POP. I knew my water broke, but there was no water. I sat up, called for my nurse. Shifted a bit, and then there was water flowing out. A LOT of water. How exciting! This show was finally moving! They checked me again and I was still only 3 cm. How disappointing. But still, water! I thought it would take days! Lucky my husband stayed with me.

This is when things really started to get painful. Right after my water broke the contractions were faster, lasting longer, and more painful. I moaned and groaned and cried through them. No more texting or looking at my phone. I asked for the epidural almost immediately. They moved me upstairs to wait for a delivery room.

7:30 am. The pain was unbelievable. Breathe. Where is my epidural? The anesthesiologist was in surgery so it would be awhile before he could get to me. They checked me and I was 5cm dilated.

8:00 am. I finally arrived in my delivery room. The pain is making me crazy. I shake the bed, I cry. I don’t want to be talked to or touched. Where is my epidural? I want relief. I screamed. I’m sure the entire floor could hear me. I was one of those ladies from the movies. My nurse informed me that it could take hours to get to 10 cm. I tried to mentally prepare myself for a marathon, but the pain was very overwhelming. All in my back. Wasn’t my uterus in the front? I kept thinking.

8:30am. 2 hours after my water broke they finally checked me again. 9 cm. I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t this supposed to take hours? The nurse then informed me it was too late for an epidural. My heart sunk. The pain was so unbearable. She gave me fentonyl to take the edge off. It helped a little, but made me feel so loopy.

9:00 am. Epidural man came! The relief was almost immediate. I could breathe. I could talk to my mom and husband without snapping at them.

10:00 am. I was 10 cm! But, the epidural was too strong. I couldn’t feel anything and they wanted it to wear off a little so I could push.

10:53 am. Finally, time to start pushing. My nurse again informed me that it could be a few hours of pushing. Every contraction I had to attempt to push for 10 seconds, 3 times. My husband and mom were the counters. They didn’t count in sync. At the time it wasn’t very funny but looking back I can’t help but giggle. Pushing was exhausting in its own way. Branden would wipe my brow and leave a cool cloth on it (which would fall and cover my eyes while I pushed, again, not funny at the time, hilarious now). My sister arrived to help coach me to push. “I can see her head, Claudine! She has black hair,” Nicole told me excitedly. Doctors flooded in because she was almost here. NICU came in on standby because she was a 36 week premature baby.

11:23 am. With the loudest, most indignant cry – my daughter was born. NICU left immediately because her lungs were so strong. Her papa cut the cord and up she came to my chest. What a gift. Surreal.

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Alba Mae Bull weighed 6lb 3oz and was 19.5 inches long. Perfect. Healthy. She is mine and I am hers. I am a Mother.

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Alba is now 3 months old. I am so excited to share my experiences as a mother in my future posts. It’s wonderful, messy, terrifying, and the best role I’ve ever had.

 – claudine bull

Finding Motivation

I still remember clearly all the things I would do “when I got pregnant”. One of the main things I was so positive I would do is stay really active and have a fit pregnancy à la Ashley Horner. Then I got pregnant. My reality is that I am definitely not having that fit-excercise-often-do-daily-prenatal-yoga pregnancy that I thought I would have. Maybe I was naive but I think the truth of it is that pregnancy is just something crazy that I couldn’t have prepared for.

I walked a bit in my first trimester, and did maybe a handful of light weightlifting workouts. I remember thinking, “oh, in my second trimester I’ll get into a better routine because I’ll have tons more energy!” Well, I am nearly 20 weeks pregnant and although I have a little bit more energy, I still am loving the nap life.

Am I disappointed? Definitely. I feel like we aren’t allowed to talk about it because baby’s are truly a huge blessing, and pregnancy is such a gift, but watching my body change is so much harder than I thought it would be. I had this idealized “perfect” pregnancy in my brain where I would be all belly and then BAM first trimester I gained 10 pounds, and a lot of it was on my belly, but other places too. I have cellulite on my legs and I am so used to having muscular, toned legs. I’ve gained weight on my back, which was a huge surprise to me. Of course I love what my body is doing, growing and nourishing a little baby girl, and my pregnancy has been so easy when I compare it to stories I’ve heard, but a large part of me wished I had maintained a better workout routine throughout these last 4.5 months of being pregnant.

The main reason I didn’t workout as much as I originally planned (okay, maybe the second reason, because fatigue is real) was fear. I’m a little sad to admit but fear has coloured a bit of this pregnancy, and maybe because it’s my first, but I have all these fears that swim around in my brain. In part it’s due to people’s voices, and I really need to learn how to shut my ears. One of the first things people usually say to me is “you aren’t still lifting weights, are you?” or “you stopped working out, right?” In fact, when I was two months pregnant I picked up a bag a flour and someone was so shocked and told me to put it down right away because I shouldn’t lift anything. I so understand. My body feels so different. It feels like I’m breaking from the inside, my insides are stretching and my ligaments are loosening. Sometimes just getting out of bed the wrong way makes me feel like I’m going to bust my underbelly open. The wrong movement could very likely hurt us, and I am so aware of the physical limits of this new body. It’s new, it’s amazing, its uncomfortable, and it’s sobering, because there’s so much more stretching and growing that’s in my future.

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In order to prepare for growing this baby, labour, and post-partum I’ve decided, despite the little ridiculous voice of fear in the back of my head that whispers, “don’t move or you’ll hurt the baby,” to get into a decent workout routine, and find that motivation to get this body moving. I really don’t like the culture of fear that surrounds pregnancy, or at least my pregnancy because I don’t know what it’s like for other women. This past week I got into my garage and just got moving. Lightly, slowly, with lots of breaks, and let me tell you, it feels AMAZING. I am healthy, not high risk, and I was in the best shape of my entire life before I got pregnant, so as long as I do recommended exercises with proper form then there is no reason for me to not stay active. I am finding my motivation, for myself, and for this baby.

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I post often on my Instagram (that I made to document my weightlifting journey) @claudine_bull. I post tons of progress belly shots and clips from workouts. Feel free to follow along. 🙂 The following is a short clip from this past week doing some light back squats: