Her Day
Submitted by Beth St. Amand on Wed, July 22nd 2009.
Category: Joyful mothering moment
My daughter owned her birth from the beginning.
First, our little community builder announced herself by breaking my water during our block party, in full view of all my neighbors. Irritable at my frenzied last-minute preparations, she scrambled my contractions from 3 to 20 minutes and back again until I listened to my doula and finally rested.
Then my girl was off and running, and things progressed quickly. When we arrived at the hospital, my midwife took one look at my face and guided me straight to a room. There was no cervix to be found. I climbed on the bed and decisively got into position; this time, I knew exactly what my body needed. I was fully aware of everything around me with a heightened consciousness - no labor land for me.
I remember the wood floors, the low lights, and the soothing pressure of my husband’s hands on my back, face, head, and in my hand. Only human breath, voices, and heartbeats filled this space, the bright OB light shining down on a circle of women waiting for life to enter. No artificial sounds, beeps or equipment disrupted the waiting. The gentle murmurs of the women and my husband surrounded me, and my voice led as I gently growled though each contraction - low, steady - and transitioned quickly and intensely.
I announced it was time to push.
Now there was nothing between my baby and me, nothing except two pairs of waiting hands, and the two watchful pairs of eyes of my husband and doula. Long push - stop - light push - stop Each breath was steady, controlled. I heard the midwife’s calm voice: There’s her head (push; breathe) chin (push; breathe) arm (push; breathe) chest (push; breathe) bottom (push; breathe) and there she was.
She came out with eyes wide open; quiet, listening. My baby took all of us in, checked us out, and we all exclaimed over this peaceful creature. The room filled with joy as we honored her together. My son’s birth was chaotic, panicked toward the end, but here, in this place, this birth belonged to us. This one small life connected us to each other, to generations of women before and
those to come.
We gushed over her delicate ears, the perfectly oval and manicured nails, and tiny fingers as she nursed watchfully. After the attendants moved on, mom, dad and baby witnessed dawn break together. Our thoughts tried to adjust to her swift arrival, this little force of nature that made her way so peacefully and deliberately. We spent the day absorbing her, and her birth day ended in 100-degree heat, lightning, thunder and a fiery sky cut with gold…. like the beginning of the world.
copyright 2009, Beth St. Amand
