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Meadow’s Blossoming Bellies, Arvada, CO (2026)

01/26/2026

Swaddling can be comforting—for babies and parents—but it’s one of those practices that works best when it’s done thoughtfully, not automatically.

At its core, swaddling is about containment. Newborns are used to being held tightly in the womb, and gentle pressure can help them feel secure during sleep. But safety matters more than tradition or aesthetics.

Here’s what actually matters:

Swaddles should be snug around the arms and chest, but loose around the hips and legs. Tight legs can interfere with healthy hip development. Babies need room to bend and move their legs naturally.

Always place a swaddled baby on their back to sleep. Back sleeping is one of the biggest protective factors against sleep-related risks.

Once a baby shows signs of rolling, swaddling needs to stop. Even if they haven’t fully rolled yet—those early attempts are your cue.

Temperature matters too. Babies can overheat easily. A swaddle should be lightweight, breathable, and layered thoughtfully. Warm hands or a sweaty neck are signs it’s too much.

And this part doesn’t get said enough: not every baby likes being swaddled. Some fight it. Some settle better with arms out or no swaddle at all. That’s not a failure—it’s communication.

Swaddling isn’t a requirement.
It’s a tool.
One option among many.

Safe sleep isn’t about doing everything “right.” It’s about staying responsive, informed, and willing to adjust as your baby grows.

You’re allowed to learn as you go.
You’re allowed to change your mind.
You’re allowed to choose what works for your baby.

01/26/2026

When your body doesn’t feel like home yet

There’s a moment after birth—sometimes right away, sometimes weeks or months later—when you realize your body doesn’t feel familiar anymore. Not broken. Not wrong. Just… unfamiliar. Like a place you used to know by heart, but now have to re-learn slowly.

Postpartum bodies carry evidence. Of pregnancy. Of birth. Of survival. And when the body changes faster than the mind can catch up, it can feel unsettling. You might look in the mirror and recognize yourself, but not feel connected. You might move through the day feeling slightly out of sync, like you’re borrowing a body that hasn’t fully welcomed you back yet.

This disconnection is more common than people admit. Especially after complicated births, NICU stays, feeding challenges, or experiences where control was taken away. When the body has been medicalized, touched, monitored, or pushed beyond its limits, it makes sense that trust takes time to rebuild.

Coming back home to your body isn’t about loving it right away. It’s about neutrality first. About gentle noticing instead of fixing. About asking, What feels safe today? rather than Why don’t I feel like myself?

Sometimes reconnection starts small. Warm showers. Stretching without goals. Skin-to-skin contact. Sitting quietly and placing a hand on your chest or belly. Letting your body know you’re listening again.

Your body doesn’t need to be reclaimed or corrected. It needs to be re-introduced. Slowly. Kindly. On its own timeline.

If your body doesn’t feel like home yet, that doesn’t mean it never will. It means you’re still on the way back—and that path deserves patience, not pressure.

01/25/2026

Understanding postpartum bleeding

Postpartum bleeding—often called lochia—is a normal part of recovery after birth, whether the birth was vaginal or a caesarean birth. It’s your body’s way of releasing blood, tissue, and mucus as the uterus heals and slowly returns to its pre-pregnancy size.

In the early days, bleeding is usually bright red and heavy, similar to a strong period. Small clots can be normal, especially after resting or first standing up. Over time, the bleeding typically changes color and flow:

Lochia rubra (days 1–4): bright red, heavier flow

Lochia serosa (days 4–10): pinkish or brown, lighter

Lochia alba (up to 6+ weeks): yellowish or white, minimal flow

Bleeding can increase temporarily with activity, breastfeeding or pumping (due to uterine contractions), or if you’ve overdone it physically. That’s often a signal to slow down and rest more.

While postpartum bleeding is expected, there are times when it’s important to reach out to a provider:

Soaking a pad in an hour or less

Passing very large clots (larger than a golf ball) repeatedly

A sudden return to heavy, bright red bleeding after it had lightened

Fever, chills, or foul-smelling discharge

Feeling dizzy, faint, or unwell alongside heavy bleeding

Recovery after birth isn’t linear, and bleeding can ebb and flow. Rest, nourishment, and support matter deeply during this time. If something feels off, trusting that instinct and getting checked is always okay.

If you want this rewritten as a social media post, a handout for clients, or softened into your more narrative voice, tell me how you plan to use it and I’ll shape it to fit.

01/25/2026

Postpartum taught me a kind of patience I didn’t ask for and couldn’t rush. Not the tidy, inspirational version—but the slow, uncomfortable kind that lives in the body.

I learned that healing doesn’t respond to willpower. My body didn’t care about timelines or expectations. It needed rest when I wanted progress. Stillness when I wanted movement. Repetition instead of breakthroughs.

Some days patience looked like letting myself sit with discomfort instead of trying to fix it. Letting emotions come and go without needing them to make sense. Letting my body move at its own pace, even when that pace felt unbearably slow.

Postpartum also showed me how often we confuse patience with passivity. What I was doing was active work—listening, adjusting, asking for help, learning when to stop pushing. Patience became a form of trust. Not blind trust, but earned trust, built one gentle choice at a time.

Recovery didn’t teach me how to wait. It taught me how to stay.

Stay present with what is.
Stay kind to a body that’s changing.
Stay open to a version of healing that doesn’t look linear.

Patience, I learned, isn’t about enduring quietly. It’s about giving yourself permission to heal on your own timeline—and believing that’s enough.

01/24/2026

Postpartum asks for softness. Not fixing. Not pushing. Just steady, gentle support while your body and nervous system find their way back to each other.

Herbs, for me, are about comfort more than cure. Small moments of care woven into long days and interrupted nights. These are a few I reach for often—not as prescriptions, but as companions.

Nettle feels like nourishment. Mineral-rich and grounding, especially when the body feels depleted and foggy.

Oatstraw offers quiet nervous system support. Gentle, steady, and especially helpful when everything feels a little too loud or tender.

Red raspberry leaf can be supportive postpartum too—helping the uterus regain tone and offering steadiness, especially when blended with softer herbs.

Chamomile is for evenings and exhaling. For sleep that isn’t perfect, but is kinder than nothing. For tears without explanations.

Lemon balm supports emotional regulation and can feel especially helpful when anxiety hums under the surface.

And rose—always rose. Not to fix anything, but to remind you that tenderness matters. In tea, baths, or body oils, it belongs in postpartum care.

Herbal support doesn’t need to be complicated. A mug you reheat. A bath you take when you can. Care that feels kind and realistic.

Postpartum comfort is allowed to be simple.

01/24/2026

Postpartum recovery is often talked about as six weeks—but the truth is, it can take up to two years to feel fully healed.

The body does incredible work during pregnancy and birth. Muscles stretch and tear, ligaments soften, hormones surge and shift, and organs adjust. Even after your six-week checkup, your core, pelvic floor, sleep patterns, and emotional regulation are still rebuilding. Some days feel strong, and some days reveal just how much your body is still adapting.

Recovery isn’t just physical. Emotional and mental healing—processing birth experiences, navigating identity shifts, managing hormones, and coping with sleep deprivation—takes time. Many parents don’t feel like themselves for months, or even years, after birth. And that’s normal.

Social narratives often push “bounce back” timelines or assume independence after six weeks. But rushing recovery ignores the real needs of postpartum bodies and minds. Healing requires patience, support, gentle movement, nutrition, rest, and compassion.

As a doula, I see how families thrive when they treat postpartum as a long, layered process rather than a checklist. Allowing space for gradual recovery—physically, emotionally, and mentally—creates resilience that lasts far beyond those early weeks.

Postpartum isn’t a short sprint.
It’s a marathon.
Your body, your heart, and your nervous system deserve time, care, and respect while they rebuild.

01/24/2026

Postpartum healing isn’t about bouncing back. It’s about learning how to live inside a body and a life that have been changed. And lately, the image that keeps coming to mind is a terrarium.

A terrarium is a closed or semi-closed world. Everything inside it matters. Light, moisture, air, balance. Too much of anything can overwhelm it. Too little, and things begin to wither. Healing after birth feels a lot like that—small shifts making a big difference.

In postpartum, your world often becomes very small. Your focus narrows. You’re tending to a tiny ecosystem made up of your body, your nervous system, your baby, and the people around you. What you let in matters. Who you allow close matters. Even the tone of conversations, the expectations placed on you, the pace of your days—all of it shapes what grows and what struggles.

Terrariums don’t thrive on disruption. You don’t constantly open them, rearrange everything, or demand quick results. You observe. You adjust gently. You notice when something needs more water or more light. Postpartum bodies need the same care—attention without urgency, support without pressure.

And just like a terrarium, postpartum healing doesn’t always look impressive from the outside. Growth happens slowly, often beneath the surface. Roots take hold before anything visible appears. Rest is not inactivity; it’s part of the system working.

Sometimes mold shows up. Sometimes a plant doesn’t make it. That doesn’t mean the whole environment has failed. It means something needs tending. In postpartum, hard days, grief, rage, or detachment aren’t signs you’re doing it wrong—they’re signals asking for care, containment, and compassion.

A terrarium isn’t meant to mirror the outside world. It has its own climate, its own rules. Postpartum deserves the same respect. This is not the season for comparison, productivity, or proving anything. It’s a season for protection.

Healing after birth isn’t linear, fast, or tidy. It’s intentional. It’s relational. It’s alive.

And like a well-tended terrarium, when postpartum healing is given the right conditions, growth happens—quietly, steadily, and in its own time.

01/23/2026

How doulas reduce unnecessary interventions

Doulas don’t prevent interventions by “fighting” the medical system or pushing a certain kind of birth. We reduce unnecessary interventions by changing the environment around labor—through information, presence, and support that helps the body do what it already knows how to do.

One of the biggest ways doulas make a difference is time. Continuous support lowers stress hormones and increases oxytocin, which supports effective contractions and labor progress. When a birthing person feels safe, seen, and unhurried, labor often unfolds more smoothly. Fewer stress responses can mean fewer situations where interventions are suggested simply because things appear stalled.

Doulas also help families understand their options before decisions are urgent. When people know what’s normal, what’s optional, and what actually requires intervention, they’re less likely to consent out of fear or confusion. Informed consent—and informed refusal—create space for care that’s responsive rather than reactive.

During labor, doulas offer physical comfort measures and positioning that can help babies rotate and descend. Movement, rest, hydration, touch, and breath are simple tools, but they matter. These supports can reduce the need for things like early epidurals, continuous monitoring, or labor augmentation when those aren’t medically necessary.

Another key role is communication. Doulas help translate medical language and slow conversations down. Not to override providers—but to make sure families understand what’s being offered, why, and what alternatives exist. That clarity alone can change the course of care.

When interventions are needed, doula support still matters. Families are more likely to feel grounded, involved, and respected—rather than rushed or powerless.

Reducing unnecessary interventions isn’t about avoiding medicine. It’s about creating conditions where interventions are used thoughtfully, intentionally, and only when they truly serve the birthing person and baby.

01/23/2026

Birth is unpredictable. Plans rarely survive exactly as written. And yet, birth plans still matter—more than many people realize.

A birth plan isn’t about controlling every detail. It’s about clarifying values, preferences, and priorities so your care team knows what matters most to you. It’s a communication tool that helps everyone—providers, support people, and you—stay aligned when things shift.

Writing a plan forces reflection: what matters most for your body, your comfort, your emotional safety, and your baby’s wellbeing? Pain management? Movement? Presence of support people? Immediate skin-to-skin? Knowing this ahead of time creates a roadmap, even if the route changes.

Birth plans also empower. When interventions arise, having a plan to reference makes it easier to ask questions, request consent, or make informed decisions—without feeling pressured or unsure. They’re not guarantees, but anchors.

As a doula, I see how birth plans help parents feel seen and heard, even in unexpected situations. They foster collaboration, reduce anxiety, and honor the person giving birth.

A birth plan isn’t about perfection.
It’s about clarity, communication, and advocacy.

Even when birth surprises you, a plan gives you a voice that travels with you through every twist and turn.

01/23/2026

There’s no such thing as a typical birth day—but there is a rhythm.

It often starts quietly. A text that says, “I think this might be it.” Or sometimes no warning at all—just a call in the middle of the night when the energy has already shifted. I pack my bag, double-check snacks, water, notes, and grounding tools, and step into a mindset of listening more than directing.

Before labor really takes hold, my job is often reassurance. Helping someone trust what their body is doing. Reminding them that early labor can be slow, stop-and-go, or intense right out of the gate—and that all of it can still be normal. We talk through options. We rest when we can. We wait.

Once labor deepens, the outside world fades. Time stops making sense. I’m watching breath patterns, shoulders, jaw tension. Offering hands, pressure, movement, quiet encouragement—or silence when that’s what’s needed. Adjusting lights. Advocating for rest. Holding space when emotions spill over, because they often do.

I help translate what’s being said in the room. I help slow conversations down. I remind families they can ask questions, ask for time, or ask for a pause. Not to create conflict—but to protect clarity and consent.

Sometimes birth is long and winding. Sometimes it moves fast. Sometimes plans change. My role stays the same: to stay steady. To support the person giving birth and their partner. To make sure no one feels alone in the room, no matter how things unfold.

And when the baby arrives—whether through a vaginal birth or a caesarean birth—I don’t disappear. I stay for the first breaths, the tears, the relief, the shock, the joy, the quiet. I help with first feeds if desired. I make sure the birthing person is warm, heard, and oriented. I notice details they may not remember later.

A birth day ends when the family feels settled—not when the clock says it should.

It’s not glamorous work. It’s slow, intimate, emotional, and deeply human. And it’s an honor every single time.

01/22/2026

Cesarean birth recovery is often described as “six weeks,” but the reality is far more nuanced.

The body does a lot in those six weeks: the incision heals, bleeding slows, and mobility gradually improves. But internal healing—the uterus shrinking, ligaments and muscles regaining strength, abdominal and core stability returning—can take months. Some parents notice lingering fatigue, soreness, or emotional shifts well past the six-week mark.

Recovery isn’t linear. Some days feel easier than others. Sleep deprivation, feeding challenges, and the demands of caring for a newborn can make progress feel slower. Scar tissue, adhesions, or sensitivity at the incision site can take additional time to fully settle. Emotional recovery—processing the birth experience, reclaiming confidence in your body, and navigating identity shifts—also doesn’t follow a calendar.

The “six-week checkup” is a medical milestone, not a magic reset. True recovery requires ongoing care: gentle movement, rest when possible, supportive postpartum help, and compassion for the body’s pace. It’s normal for strength, balance, and energy to return gradually over months—or even up to a year or more.

As a doula, I see how important it is to normalize this timeline. Feeling frustrated, sore, or emotional after six weeks doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means your body is doing exactly what it needs to do.

Cesarean recovery isn’t a sprint.
It’s a long, layered process that deserves patience, care, and support every step of the way.

01/22/2026

Why sibling doulas matter for family stability

When a new baby arrives, the whole family is reborn—not just the birthing parent. Older siblings feel that shift deeply, even when they don’t have the words for it. Excitement, fear, confusion, regression, pride, jealousy—all of it can show up at once. A sibling doula helps hold that transition with intention.

Sibling doulas focus on the child or children who are about to become big siblings. Before birth, that can look like talking through what birth might be like in age-appropriate ways, building coping tools, answering questions honestly, and helping them feel included rather than pushed aside. It’s not about preparing them to be “good helpers.” It’s about helping them feel safe.

During labor and birth, sibling doulas provide continuity. Instead of siblings being shuffled between caregivers or removed abruptly when things feel intense, they have a familiar, calm adult whose only job is to support them. Someone who can read their cues, offer reassurance, keep routines steady, and respond to emotions without urgency or judgment. That steadiness matters.

After birth, sibling doulas help bridge the gap between “before” and “after.” They support reunions, early bonding moments, and emotional processing. They notice when a child is holding something in and gently create space for expression—through play, conversation, or quiet presence.

Family stability isn’t just about managing logistics. It’s about nervous systems. When siblings feel seen and supported during a huge change, they’re more likely to regulate, adapt, and trust that there’s still room for them in the family story.

Sibling doulas don’t replace parents. They protect the attachment by supporting everyone’s transition—so the family can settle into its new shape with more ease and less rupture.

Meadow’s Blossoming Bellies

01/26/2026

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Monday	9am - 8pm
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Wednesday	9am - 8pm
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