OCTOBER 2026
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Mothering the Community
The village that raises the people raising our children
We may have heard the saying, "It takes a village to raise a child". I have come to believe that it also takes a village to raise the person raising that child. I am a community midwife. The setting of that village spans from a client's lanaʻi, holding a newborn so a new parent can eat with both hands, to the street, conducting a reproductive health check-in for one of our unsheltered families. Years of working in international and rural settings have taught me that a midwife's role can extend far beyond mother and baby, becoming a presence of support that reaches the whole family. When hands are offered, they are meant to embrace everyone within reach.
Giving time, my favorite questions are, "How are you doing?" and "Who is your support system?" We may discuss breastfeeding, recovery, or nothing particular at all. At the end of the day, I go home to my own two kids, a two-year-old and a four-year-old, and most nights I am just as tired as the parents I spent the day sitting with. Watching a family find its footing again and again has become its own kind of strength for me, one I find myself borrowing. I think about the nights when I have asked myself, "How am I doing this" at 2 a.m. while nursing, only to catch a second wind when my toddler wakes up wanting Mommy cuddles. Parenting has a way of finding the very edge of our capacity, and then asking us to stretch a little further. Doing this work does not exempt me from needing a village. If anything, it has taught me how much I need one.
Care Is More Than a Visit I had both of my babies while working at Healthy Mothers Healthy Babies Coalition of Hawaiʻi. The team of mana wahine became my village to endure the early hard yards. Living in a multi-generational household with both my mother and my mother-in-law became the backbone I found again after labor. Birth had left me feeling unmoored in my own body; everything was fluid, unfamiliar, and raw. Their presence steadied me as I moved through postpartum, helping me reconnect with my body, my strength, and myself as a mother. That is the same idea our work is built around, that health does not stay inside the clinic, it extends into the community, shaped by relationships, housing, food, transportation, safety, culture, and whether a person has someone they trust enough to call when things get hard.
Our Mana Mama mobile clinics, including Big Mama, the Hawaiʻi Island van that's practically an extension of my own body by now, let us meet families where they are, but that means more than driving into a neighborhood. It means slowing down enough to actually know the person sitting in front of us. Noticing when a parent looks exhausted. Asking if they have eaten. Knowing that sometimes the most useful thing I can offer is not information, but company.
Mothering the community also means being honest that none of us do this perfectly, even the people whose job is to help. Parenting gets described in milestones. Prenatal appointments, delivery, postpartum checks, well-child visits. Those matter, but families live in the spaces between them. It is the diaper blowout five minutes before you have to walk out the door. The toddler melting down while the baby cries. The quiet exhaustion that adds up. The moment a parent wonders, "Am I doing this right?"
Building the Doorway Back
Trust is built through repetition. When a family sees that I come back, that I remember their child's name, that I ask about the cough that worried them last visit, something shifts. There is comfort in knowing who will be on the other side of the door. That comfort runs both ways. A parent becomes more willing to say, "Something doesn't feel right" or "I'm having a hard time." Because trust already exists, I have a better chance of hearing what is actually happening. I feel this from the other side too. I lean on my community in Hāmākua, where we come together for brunch and let the kids explore, collide, and take in the outdoors together. These relationships do the same work in my life that I hope my visits do in someone else's.
Not every family has a midwife, doula, or neighbor who can sit on the lanaʻi with them. Sometimes the question comes later, after everyone has gone home. Is this normal? Who can I ask? Where do I start? Resources like The Parent Line can become another doorway into the village, connecting parents with support, information, and community resources when they need somewhere to turn.
The Village Shows Up
I watched this play out across Hawaiʻi Island as our communities recovered from Hurricane Lala. In hard times, people show up. Someone brings food. Someone watches the keiki for an hour. Small acts, and they are how communities become resilient. My experience has taught me one lesson that has followed me everywhere. People are not just recipients of services. They carry incredible knowledge and strength. My job is not always to arrive with the answer. Sometimes it is to sit down, listen, and notice what already works.
We All Have a Role
Mothering the community does not belong to mothers alone. Fathers, partners, grandparents, kūpuna, neighbors, healthcare workers, and teachers all have a place in it. It can be as simple as bringing a meal to a new parent, or asking a mother how she is doing and staying long enough to hear the real answer. Building a village does not require a crowd. It might be one or two relationships that feel safe and dependable. Think about who you would call at your most exhausted. Who could bring dinner? Then ask the harder question. Whose village can you be?
You do not need a special role to do this. Most days, with my own two underfoot, I do not feel like an expert either. You just need to show up. The early years can feel small and repetitive, feedings, diapers, laundry, tantrums, bedtime, and doing it again. But none of us were meant to do it alone, including the people who show up to help. The village gets built in ordinary moments, on the lanaʻi, over a shared meal, sitting quietly beside a parent who needs to know that someone sees them. Some days that starts with something very simple. We sit down. We ask,
"How are you doing?"And we stay long enough to listen.
Pennie Bumrungsiri is a Licensed Midwife and Director of the Wraparound Reproductive Access Program with Healthy Mothers Healthy Babies Coalition of Hawaii. When not on the road in HMHB’s mobile clinic, she is floating in the ocean with her family.
'Ohana Safety Tip: Keeping your baby safe while they sleep is easy as 1, 2, 3!
October is designated as Safe Sleep and SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) Awareness Month to educate caregivers on reducing sleep-related infant deaths.
Back to Sleep
Always place your baby on their back for every nap and night (pacifiers are okay)
Firm, Flat Surface
Use a crib, play yard or bassinet with a firm, flat, tightly-sheeted mattress
Avoid inclines, loungers, cushioned surfaces, couches and adult beds
Own Space Near You (Room Share, Not Bed Share)
Baby sleeps in their own safe space next to your bed in a safely dressed, empty crib
No smoking, vaping or substance use nearby
Books We Love This Month
Sleep Baby Safe and Snug By: Dr. John Hutton
Big Pumpkin
By: Erica Silverman
The Little Old Lady Who Was Not Afraid of Anything
By: Linda Williams
'Ohana Activity: Decorate a Pumpkin Together! 🎃
Pick out a pumpkin and turn it into an ʻohana creation! Use paint, stickers, markers, or other craft supplies to decorate it together. Let each family member add something special. When you're finished, find a spot to display your ʻohana masterpiece!
Parent Tip: Let your keiki make choices about the colors and decorations. There’s no “right” way to create it—the fun is spending time together. 🧡
