Part 1: Labor Land-My Birth Story to Simon

It’s been a week now, Simon, that you have been in our arms and hearts. Your birth journey was a long one. Immediately after you were born my heart opened up and sang. At first the labor was a hazy, misty time. Images floated up and then submerged. There was no linear memory of time and events.

Memories of this kind, with my mind deep in the hypnotic waves of hormones and contractions and pain were of feeling wrapped in a circle of love, of faces close to mine, words of encouragement, moments of anger and doubt; and one of sharp, intense fear for your well-being.

I remember your father most of all, his support was constant, unwavering. His excitement and awe and the experience of anticipating your imminent arrival and supporting me as I worked to bring you to us. He rarely left my side unless I encouraged him to go and take care of himself, eat, shower, drink. He was back faster than I thought possible to accomplish those things. He held me, stroked me, massaged me, took my pain away with the rebozo, slept beside me and startled awake with me in between contractions. He helped me try to make my contractions stronger at the end with the pump. He held my water, told me he loved me at every moment and that I was the strongest person he knew. Not once did he falter or fail in his devotion and acceptance of what we faced. He didn’t show his fear that I now know he had, when we decided to transfer to the hospital and he bounced back when we were finally at a point of pushing and we could work together again to bring you to us. He was uninhibited in his joy at seeing you, both laughing and crying. He kissed and touched you immediately and told you he loved you and called you “Buddy.” When the excitement settled into a dreamy aftertime and everyone had gone, your father held you on his bare chest, you also naked, except for your small diaper. Since that time he has craved every extra moment he can get with you. He loves cuddling with you and soothing you and even relishes a dirty diaper to change. He welcomed you into our bed without hesitation. Today, the one week anniversary of your birth, he took you on your first of many to come, dog walks. It is a gorgeous, sunny day with blue sky, after days of rain and gray clouds. You will forever be safe and secure with Markus as your father.

Other memories that float out of laborland are of my sister arriving, your Aunt Rebecca…she flew in on the day labor started. I remember hugging her and fighting tears at seeing her there. Then I had to turn away fast as another contraction hit me and I had to go to the bedroom to cope.

In the middle of the night, Jesse, my doula, and Markus and I all curled on the bed, dozing in between the contractions. A sleepy, dream state broken by the contractions sending me hurtling into a void of pain, which, as they ended, seemed to drop me back down to earth and sleep again.

There was a surreal, ancient feeling of being inside the labor hut or tent, huddled in the back of the house, keeping to our large bedroom and bathroom for most of the time. A murmur of activity, and smells of food from the women tending to the practical needs of the laborer, the partner and the attendants. Even the eternal icon of boiling water on the stove, a huge plume of steam visible every time I would venture a peek at the kitchen, water to keep the birth tub warm.

I remember feeling tended and served when surrounded by two or three people to be dried from the shower or tub and dressed. I remember the chills and shakes so exaggerated in my tired and exhausted body.

The pain of your labor was so different than I expected, so unlike anything I’d helped other women through. The pain also didn’t seem to respond to any of the tricks I’d known and I was forced to find new ways to relieve it. I worked with the Jesse and Markus experimenting, identifying and finally through Jesse’s divine inspiration finding a method that gave some sweet relief. Jesse was a rock coming up with suggestions and supporting both me and your father without fail even without proper sleep and rest, having come from another woman’s delivery to your labor. I remember her fanning me with a fan I’d brought back from Samoa.

Hope came a few times to just quietly sit in the room. Her presence felt warm and solid. Every time I saw her I would get a swell of gratitude. Towards the end I remember a circle of women in front while I was in the tub, Markus behind me. I could lock onto a face during a contraction and get guidance and feedback.

Jesse remembers me saying to you, “Come out baby whale.” During my pregnancy I’d listened to humpback whale song at one point and you’d gone crazy, jumping around inside. I’d started to fondly think of you as a little whale inside there, sloshing around, getting ready to be born. The size of a whale wasn’t what I was excited about birthing but your slow birth progress started to make me wonder.

I remember a few moments of anger and frustration. Hours without change and progress. Feeling stuck in a perpetual loop of contraction and relaxation. I remember wanting something to just be DONE about being stuck and not knowing what to do and trying everything I knew.

There was the point when my water was broken. In the beginning I had demanded this and then been convinced against it. Now I had to allow it to happen, knowing full well that with the rupture of membranes came more pressure and more intensity. I remember saying, “OK, everyone, things are going to get crazy, now.” Thinking to myself, “I can’t believe it can get crazier than this.” And the pain did change, but not as I expected. The groin pain lessened, the cervical pain lessened, the contractions seemed more “normal”. I was able to describe them as a midwife, “starting in the back, wrapping around to the front, pushing down from the top.” I thought the hypnobabies program that I had been listening to continuously throughout the pregnancy, was now WORKING…I could have a low pain delivery now. I put on headphones and breathed and worked with the contractions. I said your name out loud, “Simon” and at that exact moment and for the first time in days, the sun streamed through the window, and I thought to myself, “Yes, this is it. This is going to go somewhere now.” It was hours later when I realized that my contractions got weaker after the breaking of the water…something I’ve rarely encountered.

At the end, we needed the breast pump to get my contractions to match the “longer, stronger, and closer together” mantra. The surreal feeling of having to use my analytical brain to MAKE myself contract. Attach the pump, wait for the contraction, tell Jesse or Markus to turn the pump off, deal with the contraction, rest, be told it was time again and repeat this over and over. Sometimes, rarely, getting my body to respond with it’s own series of contractions. The intensity of the four minute long contraction that had me spiraling into the outer limits of the universe, scared out of my mind that it would never end and that when or if it did you wouldn’t have been able to tolerate such a long, hard squeeze without much oxygen. But it did stop and you did tolerate it and we tried other things.

Then the realization that though I’d made it to 8 cm, now my cervix was swelling, my dilation diminishing with lack of progress. The things we were doing just weren’t working. The decision was made and I was out of labor land. Things came into sharp focus, my medical brain taking over, except when the contraction came. I was dressed and going out the door within minutes of deciding to seek extra help. Markus never faltered though exhausted and strained. My team totally supportive of the decision. The transition to the hospital was surreal and intense. So many people around, my midwife advising, “Go into your bubble now.” This was a place I trusted but there was no place to be out of my head. I had decisions to make, greetings, and questions to answer. I remember thinking how hard for all those women to deal with labor pain in the hospital without medication…it would be so incredibly hard.

All the things we needed to get help happened fast. I was soon resting, sleeping, trying to recharge for the time when we would need to push you out. It came fairly soon. Despite the medication I started to feel you down further and the need to push. It was such a change to feel all my hard work paying off and getting progress. They brought a mirror and I began to see your head. Markus came and helped holding my leg for the pushing. It felt like we were a unit again. The physician came and during a push manipulated your head into a straighter position and that made progress much easier. After delivering so many other babies, I was able to watch in the mirror as your head slowly emerged and you became real as a baby, no longer inside of me. Your shoulders were delivered and I reached down and brought you to my chest. You were screaming and crying before you were even fully born, making it known you wouldn’t be needing any more medical attention, thank you very much. You were perfect and warm and calmed a little when I held you. I was so high and happy after your birth. You were so perfect. I was crying and touching every part of you. I told your father to touch you and feel your little butt, it was so cute. Markus cut your cord and you were at last our baby, no longer a mystery inside my belly, but here and very, very real. We each took turns cuddling you skin to skin and time seemed to stand still. Our support team peeled away to rest after such an epic journey. Leaving the three of us, so tired, to rest and start our new life of firsts together.

Simon, your birth was so long and so varied. It was an amazing experience and I wouldn’t change a single moment nor do I regret a single decision. Life with you in it will be an amazing adventure and I want to be with you and your father to savor every moment of it.

I love you with all my heart, all my soul. Bless you for making me your mommy.

Love,

Mom