Beginning

Our little girl was born three days ago, Friday November 23rd. We named her Layla Hazel. The named seemed to fit, when I finally saw her face. It's a sweet, beautiful face. Hopefully she will be blessed with a modicum of beauty as an adult. Too much beauty would be a burden; likewise too little. I think she looks a little more like me than Mazin did as a newborn. She seems to have my honker, anyway. I like that... I feel like I deserve a little recognition after what I did to birth her into this world.

Where do I begin her birth story? A long line of spirits and genes precedes her; choosing a beginning feels like leaving out so much. But in terms of her passage from my body into this world of air and light, it began the morning of Thanksgiving. Mild contractions that were more than just the tightening sensation I'd been feeling for a few days. These were definitely contractions, although they were pretty irregular and only as painful as menstrual cramps. I worried a bit over disrupting everyone's holiday plans, but then decided that based on past experience, I would just trust that labor would take a while and everyone would get to enjoy their gatherings. John and I spent the morning cleaning (a bit frantically) and baking an apple pie, while Mazin tore the play room apart, putting all of his toys in a huge pile in the middle of the floor. Maybe that was his own version of nesting... too bad it worked in direct opposition to my own nesting instinct, which was driving me to put everything precisely in its place!

When my contractions stalled out for half an hour, we decided to make the trip to my mother's house for our own Thanksgiving celebration. Upon getting in the car, however, I realized it was probably a bad decision; contractions intensified on the ride up, and by the time we got to my mother's an hour away, I was already going into "labor land" and just wanted to be home. So we ate quickly (and I took a teeny plate of food, afraid to overeat) and got back in the car, leaving a somewhat surprised and sad Mazin in my mother's care.

The car ride home was uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the trip to the hospital during my labor with Mazin. Soon after we got home, my massage therapist friend Hanni came over to work on my sacrum, back, and neck. The minute she touched me my contractions stopped completely... it was quite strange! So we only did about 20 minutes of sacrum work and then I got back up to get things going again. Hanni stayed for a couple of hours, working on my back and neck in between contractions while John prepared the house for birth, setting up the portable tub, moving the futon mattress, and collecting supplies. Just as she was getting ready to leave, something shifted and I cried a bit in John's arms. I could feel the labor intensifying. Sure enough, contractions increased to five minutes apart for about an hour, each one over a minute long. That was the "5-1-1" rule for calling the midwife. I had warned Peggy in the morning that things seemed to be happening, but now it was time to make the official call. It was around 10 or 11 pm when the team of three midwives (Peggy, Stephanie, and Annie) arrived with their bags and gear. The minute they walked in the door, contractions slowed down. "That's normal," they explained. I felt immediately comforted by their presence. I realized that while my partner was essential, I needed the reassurance of other women--especially women who have attended childbirth hundreds of times. I felt safe, secure, at ease.

Soon after the midwives had settled in, taken my vitals, and checked on the baby, Susan arrived. It was so wonderful to see the face of a good friend--someone who knows me intimately and was present for my first labor. Peggy and Annie went upstairs to sleep, while Stephanie and Susan stayed downstairs with me. I told John to go upstairs to sleep. I wanted him to be strong and rested for the following day. Between midnight and 6 a.m., I spent a lot of time resting on my side on the futon. Susan rubbed my feet and back and kept me great company. Although contractions felt more painful in that position, I wanted to be able to rest as much as possible in between them. We turned out most of the lights and just had a couple of candles burning. The house was quiet; it felt a little odd to be laboring while others slept, but it also helped keep me calm and quiet and restful. I got up every once in a while to walk around and have contractions in different positions. What seemed to feel best was standing up and leaning forward slightly, bracing myself against Mazin's learning tower. I did a lot of moving during those contractions, swaying my hips back and forth and rocking forward and backward on my feet. It felt good to move. It also felt so good to be in my own space. I kept comparing the experience to being in the hospital, pacing around the cold, tiled hallway of the birthing center. At some point during the early morning, Annie relieved Susan and gave me a wonderful back massage that was a welcome distraction from the pain of contractions.

At around 6 a.m. things shifted. Peggy was up and on duty. I went upstairs to lie on my own bed for a few minutes alone with John. It felt important to have a little time to connect. I didn't last long up there; after a really intense contraction on the toilet, I cried again and felt ready for the relief of the birth tub. Getting in that tub was one of the most pleasurable sensations of my life. All night long it had been waiting for me; I had looked at it longingly for many hours, knowing it would be better to put off the relief until I really needed it. No water ever felt so soothing, so perfectly warm and supportive. All of my tissues seemed to relax and melt in that perfect water. That must be how my baby feels in the womb, I thought. I labored in the tub for a while--I don't know how long, before feeling like I needed a break from the heat. Getting out wasn't as bad as I thought it would be; it felt good to change position and get dressed. By that time the morning was sunny and the temperature had risen to about 45 degrees, so I decided to go outside. I put on a sweatshirt and John and Susan took me out for a walk around the house. It was so invigorating to breathe fresh winter air. I tried hanging from a branch for a couple of contractions, and it felt good. Before too long I felt a little chilled, so we went back inside and I revisited the Learning Tower position again. At some point I got back in the tub, and Shana arrived. She took her place at my side and put cold washcloths on my face to help distract me from the intensifying pain of the contractions. They were getting pretty powerful by that point, and had also begun to come about three minutes apart. I had my third sobbing episode in the tub when we put on the music that had accompanied Mazin's birth. I felt so emotional and in pain, and I just wanted to see my little boy. I was missing him and feeling anxious for him, worried about how he would feel to come home to a new baby. I said, "I don't want him to see me like this, but I just want to see him right now." Susan saw a photo on the fridge and brought it over to me. It was the picture of John throwing him in the air on Bernal Hill in San Francisco. His face was so joyous and wonderful, it made me sob. I thought about what I endured to bring him into this world--and how very worth it that trial had been. I thought, "I can do this again."

I had more contractions in the tub, some of them manageable, but many of them powerful enough to make me say, "no, no, no" over and over again. In my mind I was running from the pain. I tried making myself say "yes" instead, and that seemed to help just a little. I also tried laughing during really intense contractions--more like a forced and violent "HA HA HA" instead of genuine laughter, but the point was to lighten the sensation by re-framing the pain, mentally. I kept thinking, "how do so many women do this?" I also thought, "I'm not strong enough," and a few times I even secretly thought, "I wish I were in the hospital getting an epidural right now." Which was interesting, because with Mazin that thought never even entered my mind, even though I was in the hospital and could easily have requested one.

Finally I felt my water break. Even though I was in the tub, I could feel the gushing sensation. It made me so happy, because it meant things had really progressed. Immediately I felt the urge to push at the end of my contractions. Peggy suggested I get out of the tub so she could check my dilation. She said she couldn't do that in the tub, but I found out later that she wanted me out of the tub because they had seen meconium in the water. I guess that can be cause for a little extra preparation. They didn't tell me any of this, of course; they just quietly placed the oxygen tank within easy reach of the futon. I moved from the tub to the futon, where Peggy examined me and said I just had a little lip of cervix still in the way. I took the next few contractions on my side, and a couple squatting with my arms around John. I could feel the cervix melting away, and the urge to push because absolutely unstoppable. Peggy said to go ahead and listen to my body. So I began to push with every contraction. It was so different from the first time: the pushing came naturally and really originated in my pelvis, not in my mind. I was not in control. I just had to put my mental will behind my instincts. It felt like I was pooping out the most gigantic poop imaginable, or like I was pushing out my entire rectum. There was so much pressure and unfamiliar sensation. It was terribly painful, but at the same time it was a relief to be able to do something about the pain--to be on the road to relief.

I only pushed for an hour. Crowning happened so fast. I had pushed for a few contractions on my side with lots of help from the women who positioned my legs so they wouldn't cramp, and I could feel the head descending between my legs. It felt so terrible, and so good at the same time. After a particularly enthusiastic push, suddenly I felt the ring of fire sensation. I couldn't believe I was there already. I was screaming by now of course, and the midwives were yelling over me, telling me to change my high-pitched screams to low grunts. They gave me specific instructions: breathe, puff your bangs, hold it there, etc. I listened between screams and did what they told me. I just wanted that baby OUT. I would do anything they said. They made me wait in the ring of fire for an eternity; they wanted the tissues to have time to stretch. The sensation was unendurable, but of course I endured it. What choice did I have? Birth, it turns out, is all about surrender.

When I finally got the signal to push with the next contraction, I pushed like my life depended on it. I wanted this push to be the last one. I longed for that feeling of relief I remembered so well from Mazin's birth. I longed for it with all of my being. I got it. A hot, slippery gush, and my baby was passed up to me. The first thing I did was tilt her to see her gender. "She's a girl!" I cried. Such joy. I didn't cry this time, although John was sobbing. I was just too happy to cry--not from having a girl, but from having made it through, once more, this indescribable journey of childbirth.

And although I've written so many words to describe the experience, the experience ultimately eludes description. I have merely chronicled the framework for what was happening inside: a becoming, a beginning, a birth.