Four months and five days ago I gave birth to my first child: a boy named Quinn. I went into labor while I was at work one morning, several days before my due date. I stayed at work long enough to participate in a conference call and attend a staff meeting, because I wasn't convinced that the strange sensations pulsing through my tired pregnant body were what I had been waiting almost 9 months to experience. At about one o'clock, I decided to go home, "just in case."

Good thing I did. After doing everything I was told to do to stop false labor pains (eat, take a walk, take a bath), I finally concluded that this was it: this was real. I expected panic to set it at this point, but to my surprise, it didn't. Instead, my husband and I starting putting into practice all the techniques we had learned in our child birthing class. I breathed deeply, he massaged by lower back; I relaxed my muscles, he reminded me not to tense my shoulders and furrow my brow (a nasty habit of mine when I am stressed.)

Time passed quickly. We stayed at home for as long as possible, until the contractions were coming one quickly after the other and the pain was bordering on being unbearable. As we made the short drive to the hospital shortly after midnight, the pain intensified, and by the time I was in my hospital room it had definitively crossed over to the realm of the unbearable. For those of you who might have read my previous posts, you might already know that I was planning on having a natural child birth (i.e. without pain medication). By this point, however, I was seriously doubting my ability to go through with a natural child birth. But as each contraction faded, I kept telling myself that I could make it through one more. Just one more. And one by one, doubting myself the entire way, one by one, telling myself I could do it, the contractions gave way to an irresistable need to PUSH.

Fifteen minutes later it was over. A small, warm, beautiful boy lay on my chest. Fatigue gave way to joy, and I couldn't take my hands or my eyes off of him.

At that moment, I thought that child birth would be the most difficult thing I would ever endure. But the first few days of being a mother quickly convinced me that giving birth is cake compared to what follows. Becoming a mother, that's the real work.

At those moments when panic threatens to set in (and it sometimes does more than just threaten), I try to remember to breathe, relax, lower my shoulders and unscrunch my face. I'm constantly reminding myself that parenthood, that life, is not easy. Life is a long journey that requires endurance. The exercises from my child birthing class help. But what helps even more are the spiritual expercises I've learned during my time in the church.

This Lent I recommitted myself to several spiritual exercises. I have to admit that in recent years I have become lax in this area. But as surely as I would not have been able to give birth to Quinn naturally without putting into practice several key exercises, so I am convinced that I cannot make it through this life without putting into practice several key spiritual exercises. Prayer, reading, service--these are the breaths that get me through from one "contraction" to the next. And one by one, doubting myself the whole way, one by one, telling myself that--with God's help--I can do it, fear gives way to faith.

A few weeks ago, I went to see the Tulsa production of The Vagina Monologues. I have a very close relationship with TVM, as I affectionately call it. I put a four-person production in Belfast, with three actors and a guy to do the lighting, in the upstairs concert room of a local pub. I love the monologues! I love the electric energy in the room, the power of the words, the feeling of secrets finally being spilled. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, it never loses its power or its authenticity.

But I think what I love most about TVM, is introducing new people to The Vagina Monologues. Otherwise known as Vagina Virgins. I remember rounding up my sorority sisters to go to the midnight production. “You have to go,” I said, “Jenny is producing this year’s performance. And all these women, who in theory are very well acquainted with their vaginas, would grimace. To these Vagina Virgins, sitting through TVM was almost as nerve-wracking as surviving initiation night.

Then there was the time when I took my mom to see Eve Ensler herself perform TVM in Tulsa. This might have been the hardest one for me to sit through. I kept turning to see if she was going to purse her lips or turn white. But she didn’t. She laughed with the rest of us, and chanted with the rest of the crowd the Happy Fact about the clitoris. And the next year, she took the ladies in her bridge group to the production. You see, you just never know what will happen when you bring along a Vagina Virgin.

When I performed TVM, I remember standing in front of a crowded room of women and men, nursing their pints. As I stood there and talked about hair, abuse, and sexuality, I knew that many people were hearing these words for the first time. I believed the words I was saying really could change the world.

So now, I’m on a mission…to bring The Vagina Monologues to every citizen of the world! I’d love to hear about your own experience with TVM…and whether it made you nervous or you left feeling empowered.

by Hailee Barnes
NNPCW Coordinating Committee member

I had a great conversation with one of my bosses from this summer on Monday of this week. I worked at a YMCA day camp in Seattle last summer and at the biannual staff meeting for our YMCA branch the branch executive director asked any of us camp staff to meet with her if at any time we had questions about the YMCA, careers at the YMCA, or wanted to chat about life in general. So I emailed Lonnie a few weeks ago and asked if week could meet and on Monday we met in her office, once she had determined that I had a sufficient amount of questions and we would be spending a while together she asked if I wanted to go to a coffee shop down the street. We walked into the greatest den of a coffee shop--it was a great place!

Among updating her on my current life events and reminiscing about this summer we discussed a lot about the YMCA, why she works there, why I was attracted to working there, and clarifying what is it that really interests me and that I am passionate about. One thing that I care a great deal about is children and their right to education, an enriching and safe environment, the opportunities to succeed, and being treated with respect. Lonnie responded by telling me a short story about an event that she helped organize for senior citizens at the Y. They invited seniors and families for a luncheon where there was food and music, basically a time to be together. She received little feedback as this was a rather ordinary event, but the feedback that she did receive from a few seniors was that they did not like the children there and that next time there should be no children there. I had heard of instances like this before, but had never really thought about it. Why is it ok and accepted when people say “I don’t like children, I don’t want them around”. Children are people! If this was said about women, Hispanics, Blacks, deaf people… it would not be tolerated, so why is it tolerated when said about children? I understand that some children can be rude or distracting in social situations, but shouldn’t the point be to educate the children and teach them how to behave rather than say you do not like them and don’t want them there?

At our leadership event this past summer we focused on ageism from a perspective of the gap between college and young women to older women of our parents and grandparents age, but we did not focus so much on children. What are your thoughts about this? I will start a discussion about this in the Cybercafe,, I would love to hear your thoughts.