An expectant mother is often told to open herself to the possibility her birth won't go as planned. That
unexpected complications may arise. That she shouldn't feel guilty or
disappointed when things become difficult.
It's good advice. I've had
emergencies in birth. I've had to deal with the reality of things not
turning out perfectly.
But now I know this--and I yell
it from the rooftops to all the mamas out there--birth can be just as peaceful and beautiful as you can imagine. So plan for the worst. But also hope for the best. Open yourself to the possibility of a birth filled with peace and joy,
with minimal pain and without fear. Birth can be as warm as a stack of familiar quilts, as peaceful as a swim in tropical waters. That's just the birth I had with my fifth child three weeks ago.
In the final weeks of pregnancy my husband and I couldn't agree on where to set up the birth tub. I wanted it upstairs by my bedroom and bathroom. Jared--a structural engineer--claimed the floor joists couldn't support the weight of the tub and we should do it downstairs. I couldn't prove my point of view with calculations, so he won out.
It ended up being the perfect place to give birth. All the kids slept peacefully upstairs, undisturbed by the goings on. In our school room I was surrounded by reminders of what I love best about being a mother. It filled me with excitement to meet this little spirit who wanted to join us on our adventure through life. I also had another sweet image on which to focus--I set on the table a painting my daughter did of me pregnant. I look so happy and confident in the picture. It reminded me how the choices I make deeply influence her view of motherhood and womanhood.
It was Friday afternoon. I spent the afternoon outside with the kids painting the sky. Then I came in to have a check up with my little midwife. My little daughter listened for the baby. Checked his position. Recorded my blood pressure. Then she decorated my tummy. "Remember how your friends decorated your tummy with you last baby?" she asked. "And how Sam redecorated it when it wore off? Well I was wondering if I could do that for you this time."
She took out her tub of washable markers and lovingly, carefully, designed a flower pattern on my bulging abdomen. "There. It's perfect."
When Jared got home from work we went for a family walk down an abandoned road in our neighborhood. The slight breeze carried the smell of lilacs and wisteria. The evening light poured down on us in soft streams of gold. The kids stopped to throw rocks in the irrigation ditch. Then they found a field full of white top. The blooming weeds were so tall the kids could drop down into the ocean of white and be completely hidden from view. Jared and I stood and watched our four little ones for half and hour while they played hide and seek. Their laughter. Their heads popping in and out of the flowers. The warm light. The beauty of it all was so overwhelming I said a silent prayer thanking God for my life.
The kids picked all the white top they could carry and brought it home, filling jars and covering the kitchen table with it. Never have weeds seemed so beautiful to me.
Jared and I tucked the children in bed. A couple hours later we went back, hand-in-hand, to check on our sleeping treasures. In and out their little chests breathed. Their closed eyes fluttered with dreams. Their little fingers curled into sweet fists. The miracle of their lives brought us both to tears.
We said a prayer of gratitude together and then we climbed into bed, filled with peace. I'd been having contractions, but nothing different than every night for the last couple of weeks. Instead of worrying or wondering if I'd go into labor soon, I was open and relaxed, simply interested in finding some good rest.
A couple hours later at about 1 a.m. I awoke with a contraction. It wasn't terribly intense or anything. But somehow I just knew this was it. Baby was coming. I woke up Jared and then headed for the bathroom.
We called the midwife and then both went downstairs. Jared filled the tub while I labored on the birth ball, rocking back and forth on my hands and knees with my arms hugging it. Jared started a glowing fire in the fireplace across the room. He rubbed my back and told me how much he loved me. It was a precious, sacred time with just the two of us that can't really be shared here. I climbed into the tub about ten minutes before my midwife and her assistant arrived.
The water slowed things down a little. It felt wonderful. I was able to really relax through the contractions. They didn't feel so much like painful contractions. They felt more like surges or waves, and I was riding them with confidence and peace. Jared rubbed my back. The midwives helped me relax and rubbed my shoulders.
I tried a few different positions. But what I liked best was a kind of squatting position on my knees where I hung my arms over the side of the tub.
Then the waves brought with them a low pressure and the breaks between them became smaller. I started to make noise with each one. The overriding feeling was still peace. But it took more focus now. I opened my mouth and made a low "Ahhhhhhhh." After a few contractions the low ahhh turned into a pushing sound. My body was beginning to push my baby out. I remember thinking, "Wait a second. The baby is coming out and it hasn't been painful or scary. I still feel peaceful and calm. Wow. I can't believe that birth can be like this!"
Jared and my midwife pressed on either side of my pelvis. The counter pressure was very relieving. With each surge I felt the baby helping to push his way out. I could feel him rotating his body with each push. He seemed to be pushing with his feet as well. He was my partner in this beautiful dance. My water broke. I felt a burning and intense pressure as his head was born. The next surge brought his shoulders. He was born gently into his Daddy's strong hands about two hours after that first contraction. Jared lifted him out of the water and handed him to me.
My baby didn't cry. Like his mama, he was filled with peace and calm. I held him close and whispered into his little ears, "Thank you for coming to me. Thank you for choosing me to be your mama. I will love you forever."
I was filled with delight. Physically I felt great--filled with relief and peace. I pulled my baby close. His pink skin was warm and slippery, as soft and delicate as petals against me.
Just as I was pushing the baby out my two year old had awoken crying. But my daughter let him climb into bed with her and quickly calmed him down. Jared went upstairs after the baby was born to check on things.
He sent my daughter down to see the baby. (She'd been begging for weeks to see the entire birth. For a variety of reasons I told her no.) Her brown eyes opened wide, filled with wonder and reverence as she approached the tub. I could see the miracle of the birth reflected in her gaze. For months she had relished the magic and wonder of pregnancy. And now here was her little brother!
"I'm so glad I'm a girl," she later told me. "Our bodies are amazing. You grew a baby in your body. He came out and he wasn't afraid. And now you can feed him with your body. It's a miracle!"
Above is my midwife, also pictured below with her wonderful assistant.
My mother arrived right after the baby was born, while I was still in the tub waiting for the placenta to come.
Baby weighed eight pounds, eight ounces. Twenty inches long. My biggest baby yet.
Every birth I've experienced has been unique. A miracle. A gift. I keep the first four births of my children on a prized shelf. There they glitter and gleam. The colors are rich and vibrant, different on each one. I pick them up from time to time and appreciate them, learn from them. But then I set them down again. There might be a sharp edge on one or one might be a little heavy.
But this birth is a precious polished stone too sweet to leave on a shelf. I'll carry it in my pocket. It's smooth and cool and comforting in my hand. I want it where my fingers can hold it and roll it around. I'll pull it out and look at it on days when things get crazy so I can remember that deep peace is possible. Like yesterday evening, for instance. Still Baby was crying. Still toddler was vomiting all over the kitchen carpet. Still Middle had just peed all over the bathroom floor. Even though it was late on a Friday night after a long week, Jared still wasn't home to help.
I cleaned up the vomit. Wiped up the bathroom floor. Started the washing machine. Apologized for yelling at the kids. And then I stepped into the shower. I pulled it out, my peaceful little stone. I breathed deeply as I gazed at it, knowing that life can't always be perfect. But bits of it can be.
During this whole pregnancy I prayed for God to tell me this was all His will. That this child at this time wasn't merely an accident. I didn't get my answer until the night this baby was born. Then the answer came like a flood. "Thank you for accepting this child when it wasn't convenient and you didn't ask for it. But you needed this child right now. And he needed you."
It was true. I looked down at my baby and already couldn't imagine my life without him. He's only an infant and already this peaceful little boy is teaching me. Sometimes you have to ask for blessings. You have to knock on a door before it opens to you. But thankfully sometimes what you need comes in through the back door, uninvited. At first you feel interrupted. Then you turn and see the beauty life has brought you. You welcome it with open arms, forgetting everything else. My fifth child came into life this way.
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