Happy Birth Day to Me
My son’s first birthday was last week. I can hardly believe these words as I type them, wondering how the hell we made it this far this fast and will the rest of our years pass as quickly? This time last year, I underwent the most life-altering transformation to date: giving birth. It’s something that I had prepared myself for — physically, emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually — yet not at all what I had expected. There was pain. Extreme pain. I won’t dance around that. But I felt myself savoring even the most difficult moments of labor and delivery, grounding myself in the present miracle that God was performing through me. There was no other option but to surrender my mind, body, and soul to the laws of nature. To surrender to the sacred work of Creation in which I was called to participate.
My due date was Tuesday, March 26, and I had decided to go ahead and dip out of work at the end of the previous week. Surely this baby would arrive very soon, as everyone had assured me he would. But he didn’t. Not on the full moon. Not on his due date. And not after eating “Thai spicy” pineapple fried rice (though I did eat an entire pineapple the day before he was born). After spending another week desperately trying to get ahead on grad school projects and genuinely enjoying the end of my pregnancy (aside from lower back pain), I went to bed the night of April 1st with the sense that I’d have a baby in my arms the next day. I awoke at 11:30pm with a new kind of back pain that I described at the time as super annoying and had relocated to the couch by 5am. My husband passed me on his way to work and emphatically said, “You need to call the doula because you’re probably in labor.” He was right, but what did I know? My doula confirmed this via text just moments later because I didn’t want to bother her with an early morning phone call.
Even though I’d been home for the last ten days, I hadn’t packed the hospital bags yet, so I figured now would likely be a good time. I wanted to shower first and realized while doing so that the pains in my back had a pattern and were contractions, every 5–7 minutes apart at this point. So I called my husband to let him know that I still had a few hours to go and not to rush home, but of course he did and with a strawberry smoothie at my request. What a guy. A couple hours later, our roommate and my best friend emerged from her room and got the full report. She brought out her TENS unit, which helped some, and we turned on Gilmore Girls to pass the time, me in my fluffy white robe and sippin’ on ginger ale. I honestly had very few complaints and felt that my contractions were totally manageable with the distractions. My doula came over around 10:30am just to check on me and planned to leave shortly thereafter, as we all thought I had many hours to go. But she began to wonder about baby’s position and whether he’d be breech, in which case my birth plan would look very different.
So we headed off to the hospital to see the midwife on-call for a quick assessment with every intention of going back home to labor for a while. Luckily, my doula tagged along. Not only did I have to stop and squat through contractions three times on the way to the exam room, including while answering the nurse’s many questions, but the midwife took one look and said, “You’re at 7cm and he’s in your pelvis. We’re gonna get you a room, okay?” That was the only time I recall crying during labor and delivery, my heart heavy with the weight of what I was about to suffer. Knowing that there was no more time and the moment I’d been preparing for all these months had arrived. It was sobering and exhilarating all the same. My husband, God love him, had thrown the bags in the car just in case and promptly went to the parking lot to retrieve them. We were as ready as we could have been, given the circumstances.
I imagined walking into the labor and delivery room in a much more scattered state, but I actually felt an overwhelming sense of calm. My support people were there, we had plenty of snacks (top priority), and I already knew I was going to hang out in the tub. We arrived at the hospital around 12:30 and had entered our room by 1. I settled into the tub with my snacks nearby, the “Chill as Folk” Spotify playlist going in the background and some Christmas lights hung over the mirror. This was my zone. I was able to hold pleasant conversation for the next hour or two, interrupted only by the occasional fetal heart monitoring and 6 VIALS OF BLOOD that absolutely had to be taken during a massive contraction, and I was totally free to move around since I had chosen to forgo the IV and saline lock. Still, I didn’t move from the tub until the end.
Before I knew it, my doula did: it was time to push. I was in the final lap. For a moment I thought I’d vomit or maybe even die, but neither happened. With assistance, I got out of the tub and made my way to the room. I had envisioned giving birth on hands and knees in the hospital bed, but I now knew that wasn’t going to work. My body directed me to the birthing stool on the floor, and looking back I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Those last thirty minutes tested my strength and resolve to experience birth unmedicated. I felt the need to relinquish control and allow my body to guide the process. My incredible team of midwives, interns, doula, and of course my husband gave me the space to let things happen in their own time. I forgot that my water still hadn’t broken until I heard it. The room felt time-less in the way that dreams do — everything’s a little hazy, but you remember detail.
And just when I thought I couldn’t push one more second, this perfect little being was placed upon my chest. Eyes wide, full head of dark hair with a single white spot, he immediately lifted his head and looked right at me. I’d never felt so much purpose. I’d never felt that kind of love. There really is no way to understand it until you become a mother. And I’m not sure that there’s an adequate way to describe it. My entire life changed in an instant — mind, body, and soul — and the self that I had always known melted away. There was no life “before.” There was only now. Only us. Every day is marked by love in action, marked by sacrifice and growing pains. But every day I’m thankful that I’ll never be the same.
