Labor and Joy. A Second Story of Birth
Earlier this evening, I locked eyes with my daughter. Song burst through the air in the room, into my ears, straight to my heart. And I wept.
I wept for beauty. For joy. For release. I wept for love.
We have gone from being a couple with a child, to a family.
Tonight, it is Melody and I. The men of the house are sleeping in tents beside a lake, cooking bacon, starting a fire, and gazing at the stars.
And I shall do my own introspective gazing, as I share the story of our daughter's arrival into this world.
You often hear, every birth and child is so different. We hoped and prayed for that difference. While I expected a unique story with its own variations, I did not expect this story to contain such a contrast to my first, as the night is to the day.
The months leading up to this day were full of people, expression, color, & sound. I used this time as one uses procrastination before an exam...as an extra motivation to do all the things I ever intended to do yet hadn't gotten around to. Thus created for us, an incredibly lively and enriching month. And though I attempted to avoid the mind games that focusing on a singular "due date" provokes, there was a definable point where the stress of anticipation set in.
This kind of anticipation could be likened to that of running a marathon or climbing a mountain. It's setting off on a voyage of one of the biggest life changing moments that gives definition to what it means to be human, to be a woman & wife. Yet not knowing when this momentous event will occur. It's living in a thought that "at any second" or "any day" it could begin. It's wondering if this is the "last time" I'll do ___, or is this evening our last as a family of 3, or is this the last memory I'll have of this chapter of my life...and on and on the mind games go. It's wondering if my body will be rested enough, the food sustaining enough, the house orderly enough, to welcome in a new life.
I wondered what the "last day" would look like. I tend to expect a lot out of the days, and really didn't want a monotonous and uneventful day be the last. But of course, one cannot fabricate the days into meaning and I eventually reached a point of exhaustion and surrender. To let the days be what they would be, and God worked on my heart with soft nudges to let Him be the author of Melody's story...and not I.
There were beautiful evenings and that filled that last week. There were the husband cooked steak dinners & breakfasts, family fire on cool breezy evening, a spontaneous sister visit full of activity, working in the studio, picnics, eccentric music festival, birthday party, dinner with friends...so many I "thought" would make a perfect backdrop for labor to begin. Yet, the nights would pass without event.
Might seem silly to some, but I love and crave closure to chapters of life, wrapping things up with connection and meaning. So I couldn't help but muse over these things then, and again now in preface to the labor story itself.
But, the day that was chosen as our last finally arrived on April 5th.
It began as any day might begin, with my son. The routine of breakfast and decision making on what the day would hold. Though the errands and groceries needed to happen....I decided instead, to follow his lead entirely. He chose oversized shoes, ugly yellow mustard socks, and packed his backpack with all the essentials: bubbles, special snacks, water, a stick from the yard, and whatnot.
And we set off, following his squeaking tricycle lead through the neighborhood streets. Usually he takes us to the park, but today he turned towards the main road, and we eventually found ourselves on a curb, eating our special snacks, getting excited about busses and colored cars that passed, and he being a boy simply taking a stop to pee in the bamboo bushes or light post. I kept getting an overwhelmed love for the little boy, in his simplicity for what delights him. How he just takes his life in individual moments as they come, with such a blind and oblivious interaction with the bigger picture by simply and fully trusting in me. How much I've learned these almost 3 years of nurturing this life and receiving from it all the same.
Then, an afternoon of some unexpected and meaningful interactions with multiple neighbors. Giving me an incredible sense of belonging in the world.
And the evening brought with it, a most beautiful story of closure of this pregnant journey.
For, I found myself surrounded by a community of artists seeking to engage God with color, movement, sound, and creation. The evening unfolded in a warehouse studio community space called Imagine Art. I found myself bouncing through various gathered groups, cherishing the freedom as an individual. And in the end, was welcomed to participate in an act of moving prayer.
I won't diminish the moment by trying to capture it in words, for it was composed entirely of movement and emotion. I believe the extent of revelations and thoughts are better kept at rest in my heart. But, I will share, that as I sat in the middle of this dance-like silent prayer, I experienced one of the greatest waves of peace and surrender and readiness of my whole pregnancy. I knew that the end was near, and my time to give birth was coming, and with it a glimpse into a future of color and motion for my soul once again.
April 6th, 2017
Middle of the night. Flutterings began inside. And with it, a certain kind of cramping. Falling in and out of sleep with each of these, my conscious mind eventually recognized them as, the first flirtations of true contractions.
Of course, I knew the right thing would be to go back to sleep, but the excitement of this sort of moment is far too great for such things. So I got up to read, and I found myself having great difficulty retaining much of anything, except the last two lines of my reading in Job:
"Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom, and to depart from evil is understanding."
I pondered this for a while, and climbed back into bed with a grin to tell Corey that the time had come. We took a moment to resolve the sorts of tasky items that seem extremely vital when one is attempting sleep and eventually drifted into a state of rest, though, not without 15 minute interruptions of course.
Meanwhile, my mom had literally been en route since the evening prior to attempt beat weather and to make what was turning out to be an overbooked standby flight that morning. If the timing couldn't be more eyebrow raising, just like Danforth's labor, she "just so happened" to be coming into town the day I began labor. The question was though, would she come up with a way to make it to Austin when the odds were against her?
After the stillness of the nighttime hours passed, morning gently arrived. And with it, a day like any other. Danforth stumbled out of bed clad in his favorite train underwear, blanket in arms, and groggy eyes. Climbing into bed, we shared that his sister was at last, "coming out" today. He had been, after all, anticipating this day as much as we were in his own sort of expectant ways. And the 3 of us proceeded to have one of the coziest morning possible, birds and sunshine drifting through the window, Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel, and the occasional moment when mommy would hop up on hands and knees to rock and sway and breathe. The contractions by now, had become louder than flutters and were making their presence very clearly known.
The morning unfolded calmly. Daddy made a breakfast feast, packed Danforth up for his "school day", and our dear Kristen picked him up. There was the last goodbye to him as my only child, knowing when I would see him next, my arms would be forever making space for another.
Then there were two. Corey and I left to the work and wait of labor. Not having any idea how many hours (or days) might pass, we learned from the first time through, and decided to enjoy the stillness and rest instead of trying to coax labor on by activity or attention. While Corey cleaned the house, I managed a few actual winks of rest between some breath-taking contractions.
We got news that despite all the odds of overbooked flights and bad weather, my mom, by a completely surprising yet true act of God...managed to get to the flight gate to find there was a seat left on the plane...and.....she got it. One seat on an overbooked flight as a standby passenger. Miraculous.
And the morning rolled on in blissful calm. Corey mused online at sprinter conversion vans, music filled our home, and I painted a sunflower's seeds. And the contractions grew, and grew, and grew. Rocking, swaying, breathing.
I was told to check in with the Birthing Center at 7 min apart, but I knew that my mind was far to clear and "normal" between contractions to head that way quite yet, despite the true world-stopping nature of each. The Midwife told me to look for a change in "intensity" and that would be my sign.
So on I painted, the music played, and Corey chilled.
There came a definable point, when the sunflower seed hues seemed a whole lot less important. And there it was.
I paused my painting, looked up at Corey, told him that I just got my glimpse into "labor land."
That place, where time slows and is shaped only by ones breaths. Where reality is pulled away as if at the end of a long tunnel. What remains is only a vague and unimportant awareness of that other world, for the internal one begins to demand more and more focus. That place, is a definable moment of rounding the corner on a mountain climb, to gaining a clear view of the most treacherous and demanding part in the ascent towards the summit.
For those that know our story with Danforth--which will be noted at the end--this is a place too many dozens of draining hours were spent. And this is where a sudden familiarity crept in partnered with a strong dose of fear. For I once was practically a prisoner here for more hours than should be allowed. I had to position my mind to face this with arms open and surrendered to the process. Surrender to the story, put down my paintbrush, and entrust myself to God's hand.
My body began shaking some. Adrenaline dialed up a notch. The lunch I was attempting seemed tasteless and foolishly unimportant.
We switched gears. Car packed and Birthing Center notified. But first, let's try to make it to the stop sign at the end of the block and back. Just to make sure.
And sure we became. Contractions piled on top of each other. Groaning, leaning, swaying, breathing. The stop sign was pathetically unimportant. I wanted to be out of sight of passerbys. It was all feeling too casual, we needed to go.
Stop sign achieved, we got in the car. That treacherous car ride. The bumps coursed through my body making everything stronger. The stops and goes of traffic were points of true stress. This was not a situation for casual Corey-like driving, I informed him this was not a time for politely merging with traffic...but he must must must drive to the farthest point possible near the entry ramp. I grabbed on to what I could, bracing myself, as contractions only gave moments of pause between each. Grabbing, steadying, groaning, crying out, breathing. Slight moment to laugh at my shoulders tensing up--my "nemesis" from last labor. Those shoulders always getting in the way of relaxing my body.
At this point, the timer I had been attempting to use, was also unimportant. There were too many waves coming too fast to keep track anymore, time didn't matter. The timer was stopped. A minute short of 12 hours. 12 hours. My brain took a moment to recognize how ironic this was. That "by the books" early labor lasts around 6-12 hours...and here I was, by the book by the minute. Talk about a different labor story for a different child. What a wonderful thing.
3:45pm
The midwife met us halfway. For we were held up briefly by my swaying, leaning, groaning, breathing, swaying, groaning, breathing in the entry corridor.
She affirmed that the shift of intensity in my voice on the phone, and all I was displaying then, were just what she was looking for.
We entered into our palace like room. The room that we entered as two, we would leave as three.
My vitals were checked, and the moment we were waiting for. My dilation progress. We were at 4-5 cm. Knowing how slow progression was with my first, I was encouraged by this. I was laying there when a contraction swelled up....and continued...and continued. Three insane minutes of deeeep groaning, aching, desperate breathing, overwhelming, breathing, groaning, almost panicking, breathing. That wave finally hit the shore, and I was released from its hold. Baby's heartbeats were perfect. I wanted in the tub.
In all the ways my contractions while laying down were too much to bear, finally entering into the tub was a change for the best in all the ways I hoped it could be.
Labor land was in full swing. My mind was not beyond the groans and the breaths. Reaching out for Corey's hands in desperation. The groans would crack out of me into the quiet room, swishing swaying water, deeper and deeper breaths, lower and lower groans, deep breathing, swishing water, and release. Time didn't exist. Was it minutes or hours that passed, I could not say. I was living for the next swell of downward power and pressure and pain, orienting my mind to prepare for it by breaths and body posture alone.
Music continued to drift through the background of the scenes. My chosen playlist full of songs about surrendering control, songs I chose to cause my mind to remember to trust the author of my story rather than give into the fears of the past and binding pains of the present. To seek rather, another form of fear. As I had read in Job that morning, the wisdom held in a posture of holy fear, one given into God's power and control, is a right kind of fear to give into.
My body began to overheat. Cool washcloths, dripping, wiping, soothing. Corey's voice would crack through the tunnel that separated my world from reality...with great encouragement and excitement. I clung to his encouragement as I clung to his hands. This man who, with many roads and stories and years, has shown to be the most incredible compliment to myself for any kind of trial or tribulation we might go through. His presence, a tangible security to grasp.
The groans ever broadening, breaths searching for new depths in my lungs. Deeper and deeper places still, trying to offer the quivering body below some relief of the ever surging pains.
Mid breath or groan, I tried to call out requesting the midwife. The contractions felt too mean by now. Like bullies that should be dealt with, not simply endured and put up with.
She checked my progress. Fully effaced and 9 cm.
What?!
Corey practically laughed in surprise and delight. His voice light and free, bursting light beams of encouragement and how well I was doing. These contractions had been no joke, they were getting us somewhere. I grinned with a serious kind of bewilderment and asked if I could push with the contractions.
And there it began.
The time where it's no longer about letting the process happen to oneself...but about stepping up into the ring and finding ones bearings for the fight. And boy was I ready to fight.
This pregnancy, as expressed in earlier blogs, has taken its toll on my emotional state. I was stepping up to face the end, and I was so ready. So ready to have my body and my hormones begin the journey homeward towards normalcy.
As I began to bear down with and upon these waves of power, I entered into a new land of labor. The wild side, where a woman in all her tender curves and nurturing beauty, is put aside as beast and animal take the stage.
It was a liberating sort of wildness. Sounds filled the room as might echo through the darkness of deep woods from some mammoth creature. These foreign sounds echoing out of my lungs reserved for only one sort of moment in a lifetime. It was insane, terrifying, and uncivilized...and it was beautiful.
It was woman entering into creation's curse of pain in childbearing.
Panting, groaning, breathing, sucking air, growling.
My face began to prickle, hands tingling to the tips feeling weightless and odd in the water. I was receiving too much oxygen between contractions. I needed to get on top of my breathing and slow it down.
Feet and hands braced. Wild sounds. Breaths. Cool cloths. Force, pressure, pain.
I felt her descent. And with it, old scar tissue. The tear from 3 years past. A place that carried physical and emotional trauma, the moment to face this fear was upon me.
The scar tissue was there, the fear was there, but they were both put aside. In the back seat you could say. I would go forward fighting, growling, breathing, to bring this child out no matter the cost to my body once more. It didn't matter.
Holy fear.
The Midwife became vital. With hands as calm and steady as her kind voice. Both serving as wise guides through the wild terrain. Her voice combined with Corey's, both saying in more tone than words that incredible progress was happening and everything was something towards the end. Especially when the water broke.
The back and forth of crowning. Desperate groans and growls. Fierceness. Limbs and lungs. Hands and feet gripping submerged bars. Corey now in the tub hands ready for a grand welcoming.
One loud yell.
Her head was released.
Sighing notes escaped me, a trembling voice, panting, breathing, regathering myself.
A push.
And gliding into the world, and up through the surface of the water, she came,
our sweet, sweet Melody.
All I could say, all I should say, with trembling words, was a chorus of thank you's, waves and waves and waves of gratitude and joy and thanks, to Jesus.
For there is a unique kind of joy when a child is born. It is one soaked of adrenaline, exhaustion, body fluids, sweat, tears, awe, tenderness, bewilderment, unity. It's a joy that comes from a fierce kind of love.
It's a joy that deserves to give all its first thanks to Jesus. Because as much as labor can trap the body in some essence of a hell-like imprisonment, the release of childbirth is the sunrise of a new day filled with hope and redemption. Experiencing life after a period of death in the body.
That is the joy of childbirth.
And that, is perhaps one of the loudest echos in the human experience of Christ's own death and life. Broken body, bringing forth beautiful, oh such beautiful life.
There was a wonderful calm in the room following the joys and thanks. There was the eventual and final separation of Melody's body and mine as the placenta was released and cord eventually cut. And we continued to relish a quieted awe that it was over.
It was 5:00pm.
What had felt like possible hours, had been mere minutes.
Not only had we been spared from a 46 hour labor and given a 15 hour labor story, but we soon found out that we had also been spared from 4th degree tearing, to only an insignificant sort of "paper cut" laceration inside.
Our story with Danforth and our story with Melody, contained a gift of a contrast as much as the night is to the day.
Danforth's birth like the night. While filled with much mystery, blackness, hovering doom, and longing anticipation... also contains a certain kind of beauty. As the world stalls quietly in its dark speckled blackness, there eventually comes the excited anticipation of dawn, and finally an explosion of light and color as new day is birthed. For Corey and I, it was a long voyage up a treacherous mountain, and the summit contained an impossible beauty as we had never fathomed. Our arms linked tighter during that climb than any other journey of our lives, and we are forever changed by it. That was Danforth's story. (Read it in its fullness here: Labor and Joy. A Story of Birth.)
Melody's birth like the day. Filled with a peaceful air, where shadows disappear as the noon sun beams down, and the tribulations have clarity in which one can navigate through them with efficiency. The birth culminating in a sort of calm sunset, where one leans back and sighs relief of the work of the day, and bathes in the moment of beauty, knowing how achingly brief it truly is.
The moment came, where our family of four finally came together. Two little lives with two unique stories. As the days have passed, I have slowly grasped this change, and have been moved by this love. Relationships take time. As both my children lay in my arms, I feel an understanding kind of love for my daughter, having a sense for the direction in which our relationship will grow. The gift of a smooth labor continues to give as my body is less distracted by pain, and has more capacity to soak in the small bundle of soft coos and squeals that need burped.
And there of course is a new chapter to unfold, for siblings. Danforth has accepted Melody quicker than I could have ever imagined, welcoming her in with his giant hugs and spontaneous kisses. Asking about her when she's not in the room. Checking on her while she sleeps. Opening her gifts and throwing blankets on her face. You know, all the best sibling kinds of things.
We are no longer a couple with a child, we are a family. I didn't expect this transition to feel as big as it has. I feel aged by it, yet excited at the adventures ahead. Down the road, we imagine our children coming into some new chapters of wayfaring journeys, where Corey and I get to introduce our children to the wide, diverse, explorable world. But for now, it's just about soaking in this time of coos and sucklings of a new babe, along with the full steam ahead wildness of boyhood. And I suppose that's enough of a journey for one chapter, eh?
So there you have it, and then there were four.
I wept for beauty. For joy. For release. I wept for love.
We have gone from being a couple with a child, to a family.
Tonight, it is Melody and I. The men of the house are sleeping in tents beside a lake, cooking bacon, starting a fire, and gazing at the stars.
And I shall do my own introspective gazing, as I share the story of our daughter's arrival into this world.
You often hear, every birth and child is so different. We hoped and prayed for that difference. While I expected a unique story with its own variations, I did not expect this story to contain such a contrast to my first, as the night is to the day.
The months leading up to this day were full of people, expression, color, & sound. I used this time as one uses procrastination before an exam...as an extra motivation to do all the things I ever intended to do yet hadn't gotten around to. Thus created for us, an incredibly lively and enriching month. And though I attempted to avoid the mind games that focusing on a singular "due date" provokes, there was a definable point where the stress of anticipation set in.
This kind of anticipation could be likened to that of running a marathon or climbing a mountain. It's setting off on a voyage of one of the biggest life changing moments that gives definition to what it means to be human, to be a woman & wife. Yet not knowing when this momentous event will occur. It's living in a thought that "at any second" or "any day" it could begin. It's wondering if this is the "last time" I'll do ___, or is this evening our last as a family of 3, or is this the last memory I'll have of this chapter of my life...and on and on the mind games go. It's wondering if my body will be rested enough, the food sustaining enough, the house orderly enough, to welcome in a new life.
I wondered what the "last day" would look like. I tend to expect a lot out of the days, and really didn't want a monotonous and uneventful day be the last. But of course, one cannot fabricate the days into meaning and I eventually reached a point of exhaustion and surrender. To let the days be what they would be, and God worked on my heart with soft nudges to let Him be the author of Melody's story...and not I.
There were beautiful evenings and that filled that last week. There were the husband cooked steak dinners & breakfasts, family fire on cool breezy evening, a spontaneous sister visit full of activity, working in the studio, picnics, eccentric music festival, birthday party, dinner with friends...so many I "thought" would make a perfect backdrop for labor to begin. Yet, the nights would pass without event.
Might seem silly to some, but I love and crave closure to chapters of life, wrapping things up with connection and meaning. So I couldn't help but muse over these things then, and again now in preface to the labor story itself.
But, the day that was chosen as our last finally arrived on April 5th.
It began as any day might begin, with my son. The routine of breakfast and decision making on what the day would hold. Though the errands and groceries needed to happen....I decided instead, to follow his lead entirely. He chose oversized shoes, ugly yellow mustard socks, and packed his backpack with all the essentials: bubbles, special snacks, water, a stick from the yard, and whatnot.
And we set off, following his squeaking tricycle lead through the neighborhood streets. Usually he takes us to the park, but today he turned towards the main road, and we eventually found ourselves on a curb, eating our special snacks, getting excited about busses and colored cars that passed, and he being a boy simply taking a stop to pee in the bamboo bushes or light post. I kept getting an overwhelmed love for the little boy, in his simplicity for what delights him. How he just takes his life in individual moments as they come, with such a blind and oblivious interaction with the bigger picture by simply and fully trusting in me. How much I've learned these almost 3 years of nurturing this life and receiving from it all the same.
And the evening brought with it, a most beautiful story of closure of this pregnant journey.
For, I found myself surrounded by a community of artists seeking to engage God with color, movement, sound, and creation. The evening unfolded in a warehouse studio community space called Imagine Art. I found myself bouncing through various gathered groups, cherishing the freedom as an individual. And in the end, was welcomed to participate in an act of moving prayer.
I won't diminish the moment by trying to capture it in words, for it was composed entirely of movement and emotion. I believe the extent of revelations and thoughts are better kept at rest in my heart. But, I will share, that as I sat in the middle of this dance-like silent prayer, I experienced one of the greatest waves of peace and surrender and readiness of my whole pregnancy. I knew that the end was near, and my time to give birth was coming, and with it a glimpse into a future of color and motion for my soul once again.
April 6th, 2017
Middle of the night. Flutterings began inside. And with it, a certain kind of cramping. Falling in and out of sleep with each of these, my conscious mind eventually recognized them as, the first flirtations of true contractions.
Of course, I knew the right thing would be to go back to sleep, but the excitement of this sort of moment is far too great for such things. So I got up to read, and I found myself having great difficulty retaining much of anything, except the last two lines of my reading in Job:
"Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom, and to depart from evil is understanding."
I pondered this for a while, and climbed back into bed with a grin to tell Corey that the time had come. We took a moment to resolve the sorts of tasky items that seem extremely vital when one is attempting sleep and eventually drifted into a state of rest, though, not without 15 minute interruptions of course.
Meanwhile, my mom had literally been en route since the evening prior to attempt beat weather and to make what was turning out to be an overbooked standby flight that morning. If the timing couldn't be more eyebrow raising, just like Danforth's labor, she "just so happened" to be coming into town the day I began labor. The question was though, would she come up with a way to make it to Austin when the odds were against her?
After the stillness of the nighttime hours passed, morning gently arrived. And with it, a day like any other. Danforth stumbled out of bed clad in his favorite train underwear, blanket in arms, and groggy eyes. Climbing into bed, we shared that his sister was at last, "coming out" today. He had been, after all, anticipating this day as much as we were in his own sort of expectant ways. And the 3 of us proceeded to have one of the coziest morning possible, birds and sunshine drifting through the window, Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel, and the occasional moment when mommy would hop up on hands and knees to rock and sway and breathe. The contractions by now, had become louder than flutters and were making their presence very clearly known.
The morning unfolded calmly. Daddy made a breakfast feast, packed Danforth up for his "school day", and our dear Kristen picked him up. There was the last goodbye to him as my only child, knowing when I would see him next, my arms would be forever making space for another.
Then there were two. Corey and I left to the work and wait of labor. Not having any idea how many hours (or days) might pass, we learned from the first time through, and decided to enjoy the stillness and rest instead of trying to coax labor on by activity or attention. While Corey cleaned the house, I managed a few actual winks of rest between some breath-taking contractions.
We got news that despite all the odds of overbooked flights and bad weather, my mom, by a completely surprising yet true act of God...managed to get to the flight gate to find there was a seat left on the plane...and.....she got it. One seat on an overbooked flight as a standby passenger. Miraculous.
And the morning rolled on in blissful calm. Corey mused online at sprinter conversion vans, music filled our home, and I painted a sunflower's seeds. And the contractions grew, and grew, and grew. Rocking, swaying, breathing.
I was told to check in with the Birthing Center at 7 min apart, but I knew that my mind was far to clear and "normal" between contractions to head that way quite yet, despite the true world-stopping nature of each. The Midwife told me to look for a change in "intensity" and that would be my sign.
So on I painted, the music played, and Corey chilled.
There came a definable point, when the sunflower seed hues seemed a whole lot less important. And there it was.
I paused my painting, looked up at Corey, told him that I just got my glimpse into "labor land."
That place, where time slows and is shaped only by ones breaths. Where reality is pulled away as if at the end of a long tunnel. What remains is only a vague and unimportant awareness of that other world, for the internal one begins to demand more and more focus. That place, is a definable moment of rounding the corner on a mountain climb, to gaining a clear view of the most treacherous and demanding part in the ascent towards the summit.
For those that know our story with Danforth--which will be noted at the end--this is a place too many dozens of draining hours were spent. And this is where a sudden familiarity crept in partnered with a strong dose of fear. For I once was practically a prisoner here for more hours than should be allowed. I had to position my mind to face this with arms open and surrendered to the process. Surrender to the story, put down my paintbrush, and entrust myself to God's hand.
My body began shaking some. Adrenaline dialed up a notch. The lunch I was attempting seemed tasteless and foolishly unimportant.
We switched gears. Car packed and Birthing Center notified. But first, let's try to make it to the stop sign at the end of the block and back. Just to make sure.
And sure we became. Contractions piled on top of each other. Groaning, leaning, swaying, breathing. The stop sign was pathetically unimportant. I wanted to be out of sight of passerbys. It was all feeling too casual, we needed to go.
Stop sign achieved, we got in the car. That treacherous car ride. The bumps coursed through my body making everything stronger. The stops and goes of traffic were points of true stress. This was not a situation for casual Corey-like driving, I informed him this was not a time for politely merging with traffic...but he must must must drive to the farthest point possible near the entry ramp. I grabbed on to what I could, bracing myself, as contractions only gave moments of pause between each. Grabbing, steadying, groaning, crying out, breathing. Slight moment to laugh at my shoulders tensing up--my "nemesis" from last labor. Those shoulders always getting in the way of relaxing my body.
At this point, the timer I had been attempting to use, was also unimportant. There were too many waves coming too fast to keep track anymore, time didn't matter. The timer was stopped. A minute short of 12 hours. 12 hours. My brain took a moment to recognize how ironic this was. That "by the books" early labor lasts around 6-12 hours...and here I was, by the book by the minute. Talk about a different labor story for a different child. What a wonderful thing.
That treacherous car ride came to an end. The birthing center like a beacon on the horizon, finally arrived. The right place for the endeavor at hand.
3:45pm
The midwife met us halfway. For we were held up briefly by my swaying, leaning, groaning, breathing, swaying, groaning, breathing in the entry corridor.
She affirmed that the shift of intensity in my voice on the phone, and all I was displaying then, were just what she was looking for.
We entered into our palace like room. The room that we entered as two, we would leave as three.
My vitals were checked, and the moment we were waiting for. My dilation progress. We were at 4-5 cm. Knowing how slow progression was with my first, I was encouraged by this. I was laying there when a contraction swelled up....and continued...and continued. Three insane minutes of deeeep groaning, aching, desperate breathing, overwhelming, breathing, groaning, almost panicking, breathing. That wave finally hit the shore, and I was released from its hold. Baby's heartbeats were perfect. I wanted in the tub.
In all the ways my contractions while laying down were too much to bear, finally entering into the tub was a change for the best in all the ways I hoped it could be.
Labor land was in full swing. My mind was not beyond the groans and the breaths. Reaching out for Corey's hands in desperation. The groans would crack out of me into the quiet room, swishing swaying water, deeper and deeper breaths, lower and lower groans, deep breathing, swishing water, and release. Time didn't exist. Was it minutes or hours that passed, I could not say. I was living for the next swell of downward power and pressure and pain, orienting my mind to prepare for it by breaths and body posture alone.
Music continued to drift through the background of the scenes. My chosen playlist full of songs about surrendering control, songs I chose to cause my mind to remember to trust the author of my story rather than give into the fears of the past and binding pains of the present. To seek rather, another form of fear. As I had read in Job that morning, the wisdom held in a posture of holy fear, one given into God's power and control, is a right kind of fear to give into.
My body began to overheat. Cool washcloths, dripping, wiping, soothing. Corey's voice would crack through the tunnel that separated my world from reality...with great encouragement and excitement. I clung to his encouragement as I clung to his hands. This man who, with many roads and stories and years, has shown to be the most incredible compliment to myself for any kind of trial or tribulation we might go through. His presence, a tangible security to grasp.
The groans ever broadening, breaths searching for new depths in my lungs. Deeper and deeper places still, trying to offer the quivering body below some relief of the ever surging pains.
Mid breath or groan, I tried to call out requesting the midwife. The contractions felt too mean by now. Like bullies that should be dealt with, not simply endured and put up with.
She checked my progress. Fully effaced and 9 cm.
What?!
Corey practically laughed in surprise and delight. His voice light and free, bursting light beams of encouragement and how well I was doing. These contractions had been no joke, they were getting us somewhere. I grinned with a serious kind of bewilderment and asked if I could push with the contractions.
And there it began.
The time where it's no longer about letting the process happen to oneself...but about stepping up into the ring and finding ones bearings for the fight. And boy was I ready to fight.
This pregnancy, as expressed in earlier blogs, has taken its toll on my emotional state. I was stepping up to face the end, and I was so ready. So ready to have my body and my hormones begin the journey homeward towards normalcy.
As I began to bear down with and upon these waves of power, I entered into a new land of labor. The wild side, where a woman in all her tender curves and nurturing beauty, is put aside as beast and animal take the stage.
It was a liberating sort of wildness. Sounds filled the room as might echo through the darkness of deep woods from some mammoth creature. These foreign sounds echoing out of my lungs reserved for only one sort of moment in a lifetime. It was insane, terrifying, and uncivilized...and it was beautiful.
It was woman entering into creation's curse of pain in childbearing.
Panting, groaning, breathing, sucking air, growling.
My face began to prickle, hands tingling to the tips feeling weightless and odd in the water. I was receiving too much oxygen between contractions. I needed to get on top of my breathing and slow it down.
Feet and hands braced. Wild sounds. Breaths. Cool cloths. Force, pressure, pain.
I felt her descent. And with it, old scar tissue. The tear from 3 years past. A place that carried physical and emotional trauma, the moment to face this fear was upon me.
The scar tissue was there, the fear was there, but they were both put aside. In the back seat you could say. I would go forward fighting, growling, breathing, to bring this child out no matter the cost to my body once more. It didn't matter.
Holy fear.
The Midwife became vital. With hands as calm and steady as her kind voice. Both serving as wise guides through the wild terrain. Her voice combined with Corey's, both saying in more tone than words that incredible progress was happening and everything was something towards the end. Especially when the water broke.
The back and forth of crowning. Desperate groans and growls. Fierceness. Limbs and lungs. Hands and feet gripping submerged bars. Corey now in the tub hands ready for a grand welcoming.
One loud yell.
Her head was released.
Sighing notes escaped me, a trembling voice, panting, breathing, regathering myself.
A push.
And gliding into the world, and up through the surface of the water, she came,
our sweet, sweet Melody.
All I could say, all I should say, with trembling words, was a chorus of thank you's, waves and waves and waves of gratitude and joy and thanks, to Jesus.
For there is a unique kind of joy when a child is born. It is one soaked of adrenaline, exhaustion, body fluids, sweat, tears, awe, tenderness, bewilderment, unity. It's a joy that comes from a fierce kind of love.
It's a joy that deserves to give all its first thanks to Jesus. Because as much as labor can trap the body in some essence of a hell-like imprisonment, the release of childbirth is the sunrise of a new day filled with hope and redemption. Experiencing life after a period of death in the body.
That is the joy of childbirth.
And that, is perhaps one of the loudest echos in the human experience of Christ's own death and life. Broken body, bringing forth beautiful, oh such beautiful life.
There was a wonderful calm in the room following the joys and thanks. There was the eventual and final separation of Melody's body and mine as the placenta was released and cord eventually cut. And we continued to relish a quieted awe that it was over.
It was 5:00pm.
What had felt like possible hours, had been mere minutes.
Not only had we been spared from a 46 hour labor and given a 15 hour labor story, but we soon found out that we had also been spared from 4th degree tearing, to only an insignificant sort of "paper cut" laceration inside.
Our story with Danforth and our story with Melody, contained a gift of a contrast as much as the night is to the day.
Danforth's birth like the night. While filled with much mystery, blackness, hovering doom, and longing anticipation... also contains a certain kind of beauty. As the world stalls quietly in its dark speckled blackness, there eventually comes the excited anticipation of dawn, and finally an explosion of light and color as new day is birthed. For Corey and I, it was a long voyage up a treacherous mountain, and the summit contained an impossible beauty as we had never fathomed. Our arms linked tighter during that climb than any other journey of our lives, and we are forever changed by it. That was Danforth's story. (Read it in its fullness here: Labor and Joy. A Story of Birth.)
Melody's birth like the day. Filled with a peaceful air, where shadows disappear as the noon sun beams down, and the tribulations have clarity in which one can navigate through them with efficiency. The birth culminating in a sort of calm sunset, where one leans back and sighs relief of the work of the day, and bathes in the moment of beauty, knowing how achingly brief it truly is.
The moment came, where our family of four finally came together. Two little lives with two unique stories. As the days have passed, I have slowly grasped this change, and have been moved by this love. Relationships take time. As both my children lay in my arms, I feel an understanding kind of love for my daughter, having a sense for the direction in which our relationship will grow. The gift of a smooth labor continues to give as my body is less distracted by pain, and has more capacity to soak in the small bundle of soft coos and squeals that need burped.
And there of course is a new chapter to unfold, for siblings. Danforth has accepted Melody quicker than I could have ever imagined, welcoming her in with his giant hugs and spontaneous kisses. Asking about her when she's not in the room. Checking on her while she sleeps. Opening her gifts and throwing blankets on her face. You know, all the best sibling kinds of things.
We are no longer a couple with a child, we are a family. I didn't expect this transition to feel as big as it has. I feel aged by it, yet excited at the adventures ahead. Down the road, we imagine our children coming into some new chapters of wayfaring journeys, where Corey and I get to introduce our children to the wide, diverse, explorable world. But for now, it's just about soaking in this time of coos and sucklings of a new babe, along with the full steam ahead wildness of boyhood. And I suppose that's enough of a journey for one chapter, eh?
So there you have it, and then there were four.
-M
Comments
Much love for you, all four!
Mom