My Birthing Story

My tension had reached acute levels. Already a week late, I was freaking out at regular intervals. Tired of the stares, the aching back, the interrupted nights (peeing twenty times over the course of one sleep gets very old!).

Please may I birth a baby today!

Not to mention, I had discovered some stretch marks on my lower abdomen sending me into further despair. Up to that point I had been holding on to the beauty of my stomach, encouraged by my midwife who kept repeating, ‘Not a single mark.’ Then all of a sudden, one day I looked in the mirror and…a cascade of purple lines. Permanently scarred. Wonderful.

So we walked to let off steam. In the mountains at the end of our street. But we were late. The sun was already at its California peak. So sun in tired, achy pregnant face, I found myself weeping and running up a hill (’cause sometimes all you can do is run). Simon running after me.

That’s when the train appeared.

We had been walking in those mountains for a couple of weeks and never a whistle. Stray dogs had sniffed us out. Sweaty runners had spewed random comments: ‘Hi, baby!’ (The belly and impending baby being infinitely more interesting than my face—fine, I get that.) But never the train. We had mused regularly about how cool it would be to see the train traveling through the desert mountains. But our expectations remained low.

Please may I birth a baby today!

Then out of the blue. The train.

Wiping my eyes, a feeling of calm washed over me. The train was a sign. A harbinger. A pointer. Our baby would come. In her own perfect timing. She was an independent spirit that couldn’t be rushed. And if I didn’t mind, she was enjoying her last few days of comfort and in utero smiles. So I might consider chilling. Chilling. Chill. Chilled.

We walked back to the car. Slowly. Simon grateful to hold my hand and see me a bit calmer. Poor, poor man. The preggo woman is not an easy specimen. Not to mention the preggo woman who suddenly decides to sprint up mountainous desert terrain.

Please may I birth a baby today!

The next day we headed off to Long Beach with the intention of walking this baby out. In her own perfect timing, of course. A woman passed us WALKING and exclaimed, ‘What you need to do is walk!’ Um…yes. Great idea! Thank you for the suggestion, stranger. Did I mention that pregnancy is a public event? Everyone feels they have the right to weigh in.

Then we tried brunch in LA to keep us busy. Squeezing in behind narrow tables. A large pre-breakfast cinnamon roll followed by lobster eggs benny. Me drooling over the glamorous families with their even more glamorous babies to our left and right. Sigh.

More walking. This time to the Hollywood Farmer’s Market. Surely the heat and bagfuls of wilting veggies would propel a bodily response…

Please may I birth a baby today!

But still no contractions.

So we walked to buy the infamous castor oil. That’s it little girl. I love you and your perfect timing. But sometimes the Mama’s desires trump all. And I have a secret-bring-you-into-this-world-recipe that I’m about to employ. (That’s what I whispered to my womb child.)

I downed that 4 ounces of castor oil in a vanilla ice cream shake before Simon could say, ‘Are we doing this right?’ My prepared response: ‘Back off, man, even if you are the father. Right now I’m in charge.’ Change of tone. ‘Can you please pass me a cracker. I need to lap up the vanilla sludge!’

Time passed. The concoction traveling through my preggo system.

And guess what? IT WORKED! Pretty soon I was reeling with hard-core diarrhea, and keeling over the toilet with eruptions of vomit, including my twenty dollar lobster benny. Curled up in the fetal position with fits of severe cramping, I shouted ‘Guess what Simon? It worked! I wanna die.’ And that was only the beginning.

‘Cause then…

Lying on my yoga mat a few hours later, offering my ear up for candling, I felt a sharp little punch right at the baby’s head (so I knew it wasn’t a kick). Yes, it’s true. My water broke after a large dose of vanilla sludge while my husband was candling my left ear. Weirder things have happened I’m sure.

Contractions were soon to follow. And not those ramp it up contractions starting at twenty minutes apart and then ten minutes apart…nope, it was zero minutes apart almost instantly.

You rock, castor oil.

Um…now what?

Well, here’s the tricky part about labor. It doesn’t announce its friendly presence at the front door with a how to guide. It doesn’t give you an overview before moving forward all orderly-like. Baby books try. Mightily. But every woman experiences labor differently. So you can have a general sense. You can know unusual stuff is happening, and it’s not feeling cosy, but that’s all you know. All this to say, when I started experiencing those contractions at zero minutes a part, we were…confused.

‘How long was that?’

‘You’re asking me? You have the watch.’

‘Right.’

‘WHHHAAAAA!’

I got in the bathtub and Simon tried to set up all our HypnoBirthing tools—the music, the scent—to no avail. Every time he would attempt to move, I would grab his hand, ‘To the beach, take me to the beach.’ We had practiced these scenarios. Simon guiding me to a far away happy place to shift my attention away from the contract—I mean tightening. And it certainly was…tight.

In HypnoBirthing we had learned to replace the word ‘pain’ with ‘tightening’ and ‘contractions’ with ’surges.’ And…it kind of worked. What can I say, the mind is a powerful specimen. Just like a preggo woman in the throws of…

I am birthing a baby today!

The tightening wasn’t pleasant, but I was able to navigate the experience with a measure of calm and a hundred measures of breath. But then again, my husband was also the beach imagery king, repeating the same phrases over and over. Taking me to that same beach vista! Ttrust me, when you’re in labor, you don’t care so much about originality or poetry, just hold my damn hand and don’t you dare leave me here to drown in these two inches of water. (That’s what I whispered. Actually I don’t think I whispered that one.)

Simon called the midwife. She was unruffled and suggested I try to sleep. To call back when the contractions were closer.

Um…okay…sleep. SLEEP? Interesting suggestion when your core is being rocked to oblivion. Oh, I mean when you’re experiencing surges. Obedient newbies, we tried to oblige.

‘Okay then.’

‘Okay.’

‘Why don’t you set up the music…NO WAIT! Hold my hand. To the beach. TO THE BEACH.’

Finally, it dawned on me.

‘Simon, I don’t really care where we have this baby. But I’m pretty sure we’re having this baby…um…now. So in the tub…at the birthing centre, you choose.’

Ready, set, action.

Phone calls. Healthy snacks. The camera. My bag. The laptop.

‘Why are you bringing the laptop? Never mind.’ No time for questions.

I managed to crawl my way to the front door then crawl my way to the car then crawl my way into the birthing centre…oh la, la. Leonette asked me to get up on the table so she could check me. OH LA, LA! Are you kidding? Get up on the table? Are we at the vet?

But people pleaser that I am, I obliged. She started to do that doctor feel around thing, looking kind of concerned. Then an, ‘Oh my! Simon would you like to see your baby’s hair?’ Yes, friends, that baby was already through the canal and preparing to meet us in this world. We were not going to have time for healthy snacks ’cause our daughter was coming in her own perfect timing. And that was now.

I am birthing a baby today!

I tried not to be all ‘I told you so!’ as Leonette went into a flurry of activity. So I just focused my attention on stripping down to my bare booty—the beauty of giving birth in a birthing clinic at 2 AM with not a gawking soul in sight. It was like being in my living room, except with a bunch of sterile equipment and a plastic tub instead of a couch.

‘Push blow,’ said the midwife. ‘Push, blow,’ said the HypnoBirthing Coach standing near by. ‘Push blow.’ And voila. Our little munchkin was born about thirty minutes later.

A good old-fashioned birth surrounded by two competent women and my competent man. No stiches. No drugs. Just olive oil and a little blowing to slow things down. Home by five with Elsie Marie in arms…and me singing all the way: We birthed a baby today!

And there you have my birthing story—and one I am happy to share! It’s not everyday you get to bring precious new life into the world. If you have a birthing story of your own you would like to share, send it our way. We are a community here at enableyourhealth, and you never know who you might encourage or inspire.