It was around 5am when I felt the rhythmic achings of contractions. I smiled to myself. I knew what these were because I had been here before. Tingles ran through me, to think of my baby girl announcing that she was on her way. I said a quiet “Thank you, baby.” She had given me a full night’s rest for the strength I knew I would need for the work that lay ahead of us.
The contractions continued mildly, akin to intermittent stabby gas pains. My husband, Brian, and son, Micah, awoke and started their day too. We made breakfast, read Harry the Dirty Dog, and then the boys played separately. I was overtaken by the undeniable compulsion to nest. I nested hard. I did all of the laundry, vacuumed the entire house, cleaned the bathrooms, and did the dishes. The house never looked so tidy. I really didn’t think much of it at the time, but I’m sure looking back that this was my body’s way of ensuring that labor continued instead of petering out. I also, on a deeper level, was cleansing the house as if to start fresh for a new chapter with a baby girl.
As afternoon approached, I remember feeling like I needed to spend more time with Micah. So the three of us went on our last “walkabout” as a family of three. Our walkabouts were a staple at the time, wandering our little complex leisurely. We would stop at the stoplights and watch them go from green, yellow and to red for sometimes 30 minutes. It was a time of exploration that Micah loved. Throughout the walkabout I felt strong and able to manage my contractions on my own. Movement was helpful for me, it seemed to distract me and ease the pain.
It was later at home, around 3pm, when everything shifted from light and manageable to something much stronger and untenable. I remember slowly swaying and pacing through the living room between contractions as Brian read books with Micah. I would tell Brian when a contraction was coming and he would record its duration. Micah watched me with his big, curious eyes. I moaned deeply, and at the conclusion of the contraction I would sigh and say, “the end.” Micah would echo me with his sweet little voice. Just another day at the house.
I gave my mom and sister, Amy, the call, and so they came over to watch Micah while Brian and I would be at Push, the birth center. I felt myself needing to labor upstairs, and required support from Brian to apply counter pressure on my back. It was so hot that day, especially upstairs. We called Robyn, our midwife, who asked to listen to me laboring over the phone. She said I sounded good, and that things would probably pick up more when the sun went down. I remember thinking how distant and impossible that prospect was! Nighttime? That was forever away, how could I maintain this? It’s going to get more challenging between now and then? We called her back, or maybe texted, and said we needed to come over right away.
By this time, my mom, sister and their dogs had arrived. They had gifts for Micah, and I remember squatting down behind him as he was opening and playing with new toys. I remember trying to cope with the contractions so as to minimize their impact, in an effort to keep my mom and sister’s concern at bay.
Crouching low with my son, in the midst of full-blown active labor, I was caught between worlds. The safe, familiar one Micah knew, and a new world filled with foreign challenges to navigate with a little sister. I remember wanting to savor my last few moments with him, but I could not focus on him anymore. I don’t think I even said good-bye. If I did I don’t remember.
I had asked that Amy drive us to the birth center, so that Brian could continue to support me in the backseat with counterpressure. Just as we were getting in the car to leave, a delivery guy showed up and parked directly behind my car, blocking us in. Brian started to bark at him to move, when Amy told us that she had ordered meals to be delivered from him. The timing was unfortunate.
Amy dropped us off at Push and Brian and I made the arduous walk from the car to the birth center. That is the hardest walk in the world. At this point I was deep in transition, unable to see and process clearly. If my eyes were open I did not see anything. It was like wading through a dense fog. Brian whispered encouraging words as he essentially carried me up to Robyn.
Once there, I got my second wind and did not even greet Robyn as I blazed by her to her back room. My moans were deafening and bordered on yelling. Robyn asked to check me and when she did, it was exactly like it had been with Micah’s birth: I was either complete and/or my bulging bag of waters was obscuring an accurate reading of my cervical dilation.
Robyn diffused essential oils and started up my music playlist. It was nice and dark and calm. I asked about Melissa, and Robyn said she would tell her to come. Melissa was the assistant midwife who attended Micah’s birth. She is an angel and I had loved having her emotional support.
I felt myself needing to stand and brace myself at the window. I gripped the window sill fiercely as I moaned and growled and screamed. Brian continued to apply counterpressure with each contraction. All at once, at the peak of a particularly evil contraction, my bag of waters burst. It was dramatic and fabulous. Water shot out of me and drenched Brian’s shoes. I heard myself gasp, “That was so cool!”
At this point I remember asking Robyn if I was complete, and she said, “Oh honey, yes.” It felt like everything was happening so fast. I went back into my animal, primitive brain. My eyes shut tightly, knuckles white, voice on fire. Without any conscious thinking, my body started to push. I remember Brian commenting that I was pushing and Robyn encouraged me to go ahead if I was ready. I pushed so hard, roaring with each one. Sweat was furiously pouring off of me. The intensity of the contractions and pushes were more than I had remembered, it was a struggle to catch my breath. I was working so, so hard. Robyn encouraged me that I was doing well and to reach down and feel Sky’s head inside me, that it was there. I resisted at first because my focus was broken, but when I did go to feel her, I was discouraged. Sky felt so far up inside me- she did not feel close at all!
Robyn suggested I change positions to my side on the bed. I remember hearing myself say, “That’s gonna suck!” I knew my body would not like that position, but Robyn had told me that going into that pain was what the body needed the most. I acquiesced, but hated that position and needed to move. I shifted onto my back, with my legs up like a frog. Brian held onto one, and Robyn held the other. I continued to roar, but through tears. I was crying because I was faced with pushing before and I had felt a failure. I had not done it on my own, my son was born via vacuum extraction. I was beginning to doubt my body, because it felt as though I had been pushing for a lifetime already. Robyn placed her fingers on me and directed me to push my baby downward, right there. That was meaningless to me, but I tried. I tried and tried until I could faintly feel the energy shift in the room to excitement as Sky was getting closer.
And holy fuck, the ring of fire. I knew it, even though I did not remember feeling it with Micah, this had to be the ring of fire because holy fuck I was stretched to the brink. Still crying, I pushed some more until all at once she shot out in her entirety. Robyn caught her and placed her on my belly. Skylar opened her eyes and looked directly at Brian. I had pushed her out, independently, and she was here.
It was a miracle, yet mundane. Remarkable, yet commonplace. The most natural event in the history of time just happened, and yet my entire world irrevocably changed. The paradox of birth. It is beauty, and it is pain. It is treacherous, yet familiar. A mundane miracle achieved daily by women, across space and time.
Flooded with these thoughts, and the glorious oxytocin jackpot, I held my daughter in my arms. Not long after I birthed my placenta and once the cord stopped pulsing, Brian cut it. Robyn gave us a tour of the placenta, which was awe inspiring. I opted to keep it this time, instead of encapsulating it for consumption. Our placenta still sits frozen in our freezer. Occasionally Micah will bring it to one of us if we have a “boo boo.” It continues to protect us.
The first latch felt new and familiar. It was not too much of a struggle, but we were all truly too tired to tell otherwise. The room was shockingly cold, when only moments before it felt like a furnace during labor.
We lounged in bed until my parents came by to meet Skylar. They had tears in their eyes as they marveled at her. My mom was surprised she had been born already, since we had only left the house 2 hours prior! It seemed as if once my mom and sister arrived to watch Micah, that was when my body shifted into transition. My son was safe and so we could move on to the next stage.
My parents left, I took my first shower, and Robyn repaired my second degree tear. She was so gentle with me and warned me if or when I might feel pain. I braced myself, remembering the repair I underwent at the hospital without anesthesia. This time, my body relaxed. I felt no pain. Surely it was a combination of quality care, as well as the trust I had in my provider that put my body at ease.
We took Sky’s measurements: 6 pounds, 12 ounces and 20 inches tall, exactly like her big brother at birth. Also born on a Tuesday, in the evening. A scene surprisingly similar to one of two years ago, but sharply contrasted by the calm setting. I could still hear Fleetwood Mac playing in the background, the lights were still low, just the four of us now.
My voice had been heard and my requests were granted. My body spoke for itself, without assistance, manipulation, or the pressure of unwanted people or protocols. It is a beautiful experience to feel supported in one’s autonomy, but it should not be a rarity. Every woman deserves this.
And just like that we were in our car, the three of us, going home. I ate more and faster than I ever had, introduced Sky to my sister, then the three of us went upstairs. We nestled Sky between us, safely in bed, and went to sleep.
