Baby on Board

Upon responding to my inquiry, she said, “That’s a fine time to reschedule. I’ll have my baby with me if that’s okay.”

The winter of ’14/’15 started off — like most blind dates do — all romance and giddy conversation, flowers and promises. Soon, however, the true howling nightmare of its essence came forth. Most of New England has been buried under torrents of snow, and frozen in places it didn’t even know it had.

Not a pretty picture, but like a person you can’t get out of your life, winter’s been hanging out and making a hash of things. Including business. Especially the little business of me, trying to keep clients in my book and having to scatter them to other places in my schedule every 3 to 5 days because of another snowstorm.

I was looking forward to seeing this client but getting her in was tricky. I’d seen her all through her pregnancy, when her life was pretty much her own and long before the blizzards had started. Now she’d had her baby and I had to put her where I could.

Having her baby in the room? Was, I have to admit, not really something I was excited about. Rogue elements in session — other people, pets, phones, even snotty, cough-y head colds — are never something I’ve dealt with well. I am a Pisces, and when I’m working with clients I go into my fish cave and take my client with me. I want no disturbance. A baby baby seemed pretty risky.

I agreed, however, for 2 reasons: 1) I liked this woman a lot and 2) I knew the baby – being less than two weeks old – would most likely not be ambulatory. Probably strapped into something.

“Yes, that’s fine,” I replied. “Come on in.”

When they arrived my heart leapt within me. Erin was so small, so very small, and cute, so very cute. She was also very much ensconced in her car seat. I breathed a sigh of relief.

My client and I just stood in front of this precious thing for a while, silent as could be. The babe slept, in that gooey soft tender sleep of the wee and precious. I kind of melted.

The three of us (not something I usually get to say) came into my treatment room. My client and I did a brief intake. How did the labor go…what areas of pain and tension did she have…any injuries since I saw her last?

“You wouldn’t believe the labor,” she said. “Under 7 hours but I’ve never felt such pain in my life.” My client is in her late 20s, tattooed, fit and bright. If she said it was that painful, it was probably more than I could ever take. I was horrified for her, but impressed. As I’ve always suspected: labor is for badasses. (ergo, not me.)

Where did we want Erin to go?

“I think over here, she’ll be okay. She gets a little fussy but if her pacifier is in her mouth, she’ll self-soothe.”

Looking at Erin, I wasn’t sure she was capable of fussing: I mean look at her. Totally blissed out, in some realm of heaven. (Only someone who hasn’t had children herself could be capable of thinking this, I grant you.)

When I left the room to wash up, I heard the start of a small cry. Clearly the babe, not my client. I knocked on the door.

“Come on in,” my client replied.

I poked my head in. There was my client, hunkered over Erin, tattoos blazing, putting the pacifier back in Erin’s mouth. The baby was catching on that Mama was too far away: even 3 feet was too much. My client had been been on the table, but hopped off to sort things right.

I volunteered to take over. With neither of us sure how this session would go, my client got back under the linens and I attempted inserting the pacifier myself, with all the art and finesse of a mule trying to get itself in a Porsche. I looked over my shoulder. My client had her head lifted up from the face cradle and was smiling at me.

“I’m willing to keep both of you as happy as I can,” I said. “For as long as I can.”

“She also calms down with movement,” my client suggested. I could see the car seat was rockable. I got it going first with my hands, and then, as I stood up, kept it moving with a foot. Just as quickly as Erin had turned into a purple, wriggling bawl machine, she returned to her adorable somnolent self.

I began the massage. And, shortly, realized that I needed to become an octopus: my hands, massaging, and a foot, rocking. If the room got too quiet or still, Erin began to fuss. My client spoke gently and encouragingly to her from the face cradle, I plied the pacifier and diddled the seat. Working prone ended up being fine.

Turning my client supine, things came undone. Erin was not having this lengthy break from her mom’s arms, not at all, and my ineptitude was not fooling her, not for one minute. She was pushing the pacifier away – even at less than 2 weeks! I was amazed – and clearly trying to focus on me, as if to decipher who this fool was in front of her.

“Oh I had a feeling she was going to get fussy,” my client said as she attempted to get comfortable supine. This was not striking me as a good scenario for a happy duration. Even with my limited ability to go with the flow, something in me knew I needed to break my protocol for there to be peace among us.

“What if…I handed her to you? For just a little bit?” I asked my client. My client registered surprise. “Yeah,” I continued. “She probably needs your touch.”

My client sat up and thankfully could not see my inexperienced attempt at bringing her beloved daughter out from the straps & buckles of her seat. I picked Erin up and felt – for the first time in a long, long while – the heft of a tiny human in my hands. It nearly brought tears to my eyes.

I handed the baby over. Instant relief. For all of us.

“Can I nurse her for a little while?” my client asked.

“Of course,” I replied. “In fact,” I said with growing understanding, “this is probably a great time for me to grab a snack as well.”

We all took a little break. What a novel idea. By the time I came back in the room and got my client all pillowed up, us ladies were ready for round two.

I see a lot of things when I work with my clients supine. I see them in all forms of relaxation: some with knit brows, deep worried furrows, eyes closed. Some rest with tiny smiles. Some have their eyes closed, but tears are leaking out the corners (which I deftly wick away, nobody likes the feeling of tears in their ears.)

Some talk a mile a minute, waving one hand around and then the other. Others have their mouths wide open, in a happy snore that threatens to cover me in phlegm. A lot of my clients, I just take their face in from above, and marvel, briefly, at all they’ve seen, and all they’ve done.

I’ve never looked down on my client before, while I worked on her face, head, neck and shoulders, and seen an exact replica of her head cradled in the crook of her arm. Never before has the baby — that I’ve prayed for, talked to, and encouraged while in utero — actually been in the room.

18329_10152792341028727_4125336222356690322_nErin was asleep. My client was asleep, or just about asleep. And I sunk into a realm of womanhood, of motherhood, that I have not experienced, personally or professionally. I wouldn’t say I’ve gone out of my way to not have a baby or deal with babies, because that probably makes me look bad? But I have.

I have gone out of my way to not deal with them or have them. I’m a career girl, always have been, and anything too unpredictable, dependent or messy I’ve steered away from quickly. Babies disqualified themselves on all three counts.

In this moment — before the session was over, and believe me, I went waaaaaay over my time limit, I so did not want it to end — I had a baby.

And it was so immediate, fragile and eternal all at once.

“It was our first spa day!!” my client said excitedly, when I finally wrapped it up and they were getting ready to go. “That was awesome, thank you so much.”

“You have no idea,” I said, “you cannot believe how much this meant to me.”

We discussed the whole baby-in-the-room-during-massage thing.

“Yeah, if I were you I wouldn’t do this with any situation,” she said. “I wouldn’t start advertising it, you know?”

We laughed. “Yeah,” I replied, “it has to be the right mom, right baby.”

And — I thought, very humbled — maybe the right therapist.

***

I wrote this blog post in less than 45-minutes and I’m posting it as it is: virtually unedited. It has a due date: it has to be out there before the end of February, so I think I’ll make it before my client arrives today.

I am breaking my rules to deliver something, in a new way.

It’s almost spring. Protocol matters less and less.

 

 

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