My Catholic Home birth {of Candlelight and Alleluias}

May 2016

My youngest child was born this week...

He was born in the quiet and dark of night with a blessed candle to light his way. His father was at my side praying him into the world. Baby Z briefly landed in the hands of his midwives before being placed in my arms where he has been ever since.

Before I begin our birth story, I want to briefly explain why we chose this unconventional route. The idea of a home birth makes many people uncomfortable, even upset, (including a few who are close to me) and the topic deserves a mention. But I'm going to mention it only to clarify, not to fuel an argument here or anywhere...

I believe that you should be able to choose the best birth for you and your baby, whatever that looks like. For us, in our particular set of circumstances, home birth was the safest and healthiest option available to us. Do I wish that all families could experience the birth we had this week? Oh yes... just like I would wish any beautiful and good experience on a family. But my birth story is not about you or your neighbor. It is simply a glimpse into a moment of joyful intimacy in our lives.

I will write more about our decision to give birth at home soon. For now, I invite you to enter into our dream. Oh, it was real enough... but somehow, it seems a bit other-worldly. Do I dare write it down and risk a sharpening of the memory past the happy haze? Yes, it's safe. And I'm ready to share my joy.

---

DREAMING OF HOME

I have always been committed to having unmedicated labors and have been mostly able to achieve that in the last 20 years and 8 births (apart from one "necessary" nightmarish pitocin experience). My reasons for wanting to go "natural" are not complex. When I was 20-years old and pregnant with my first, I read about common labor medications and simply ruled them out. They all crossed the placenta and all reached the babies. They all brought a certain measure of risk to both mother and child in otherwise low-risk pregnancies. 

Maybe it was my youthful naivete. Or stubborness. Or fierce maternal instinct. But it made sense to me to accept the pain in order to better protect my child. And I simply never looked back. I credit youthful impetuousness, not any real courage of my own... and the subsequent knowledge that, yes, I can do this really hard thing. We went on to have 7 hospital births without pain medication and also one miscarriage at home at 13-weeks. 

In spite of my commitment to "natural" birth, I didn't start dreaming of a home birth in earnest until my 6th child was born. His was a 45-minute hurricane labor in which I barely made it into the delivery room.  In theory, 45-minutes sounds perfectly lovely. In reality, it was brutal. The stress level was extremely high, the pain difficult to manage, and the baby distressed. 

I didn't ever want to go through that again. Ever.

So the seed was planted... and the idea of peacefully, gently, quietly welcoming any additional babies into the world began to take root. We did our best to plan that kind of hospital birth for the birthday of baby number 7 and it was much better but still a far cry from the unfolding dream that I couldn't shake. I continued to research and imagine and learn about my body and God's design for birth...

And then we found out that we were expecting our 8th child.

PREGNANCY

My pregnancies are difficult and this one was no exception. The first few months were a complete blur of misery followed by remaining months of unconquerable fatigue and sickness. Every once in a while, I'd think about upcoming labor and tremble. I'm no fan of pain, especially labor pain. You might say it even terrifies me. And I was tired, sick, and lacking courage. The thought of the hospital scene kept rising up before me and one thing was absolutely clear to me...

I didn't want to step foot in a hospital to deliver this child if I didn't absolutely have to. 

The thought of the noisy, crowded, intervening medical scene filled me with anxiety. The very image reminded me of PAIN... and my mind would take refuge again in the dream of just staying home. The dream always went something like this...

Contractions would start or my water would break... and I would just... stay. In the quiet. In the dark. In my room. With my husband. And then our son would be born.

That was all.

And in the end, that really is what happened. 

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EARLY LABOR

I had been laboring for weeks just like my previous pregnancies. The textbooks call it "prodromal labor" but I just call it the World's Longest Labor. There are many "false" starts to active labor and many nights filled with contractions too strong to sleep through. 

The one advantage to this is that once active labor starts, babies are born within a couple hours. I deal with the uncertainty of timing by sticking close to home for many weeks. Waiting... waiting... waiting. Knowing this time that I didn't have to leave to go to the hospital or arrange for complicated child care was significant. My anxiety level didn't rise with contractions. My heart, mind, and body stayed rooted in place... rooted at home. 

On the afternoon of the 26th, I noticed a slight increase in the regularity of my contractions. I paid attention but not too much. After all, it was standard fare and might taper off. I did notice that I was crankier than usual and that I felt an urgency to get something done. Let's take the kids out for ice cream, I said. 

So we did. 

Contractions were coming irregularly (typical) at about one every 15 - 40 minutes, but I noticed that they were getting a little sharper when they did come. Duly noted, Body. You've faked me out more times than I can count but I'm paying attention for the moment. 

10:00 pm

We arrived home from ice cream.

11:30 pm

After waiting for our oldest to get home from work, we said late family prayers. I was feeling a little serious at that point but the rest of the family didn't seem to be on the same page. I felt very restless and irritable. 

This is probably it, I thought.

I suddenly felt much more earnest about getting the kids into bed. Unfortunately, my desire and my toddler clashed and she didn't fall asleep until night passed into morning. By that time, I knew we were going to have a baby. Soon.

12:30 am
ACTIVE LABOR

It was around that time that we called the midwives. 

The doula was the first to arrive and my husband directed her downstairs to wait. I don't remember telling him that I wanted to be alone but I suppose we must have talked about it enough. Whatever the case, he knew what to do and I continued my labor in the quiet and dark of my room.

Quiet and dark and cool. It was the labor scenario of my dreams. There isn't a whole lot of room to wander in our tiny bedroom but it was enough. I rested on the bed in front of the fan and then shuffled back and forth, the affirmations I had been looking at for at least a month running through my head... and the music of my pre-labor playlist coming back to my mind in little bits and pieces.

As labor intensified, most of those mental words fell away until I was left with only a few. I didn't choose them consciously... they just seemed to be the ones I needed most.

Open.
Come down, Baby.
Sweet Jesus, carry me.
Sing low.

Free printable birth affirmations - click here

I began to sing to myself when the waves of the contractions crested. I never would have done that in the hospital and probably not in front of the midwives either. But alone, I sang. The words were from the chorus of a Chris Rice song...

And my soul wells up...
And my soul wells up...
And my soul wells up in an alleluia...

As the wave would rise, I would imagine the pain rising up to Jesus - the one prayer I could give in the moment - and an effective way to surrender to the intensity and then give it away. The pain didn't disappear but it was manageable. It was purposeful. And I never panicked.

I sang an octave lower than usual so that my jaw would stay loose since a loose jaw means a relaxed pelvic floor. My plan had been to hum or "sing" low (sort of like a cow mooing, to be honest), but the actual singing was working beautifully.

So I danced and sang in the quiet and the dark.

In the hospital, I have never been able to rise from a side lying position. I lay down, close my eyes, and wait for babies to be born. It is the way that I cope with the pain in what I find to be a highly stressful environment. The moment I open my eyes and see a nurse or a monitor is the moment I start to panic. At home it was different. I found relief in the standing. I saw our wedding picture faintly in the dark. I watched the fan. I danced and sang and there was no one to judge or to shush me. No intrusions.

1:10 am (approximately)

The midwives arrived and stayed downstairs with my daughter and husband. I would need him soon but not yet. And he seemed to just know. A midwife entered my room to briefly check on the baby. I stayed standing while she listened to his heartbeat which was strong even through a tough contraction. She left as quietly as she came.

1:25 am

My water broke gently during a contraction and I knew that I would need the Chief with me. I felt the baby drop and and recognized that feeling... It wouldn't be long now. A midwife asked my husband to make sure the fluid was clear. It was. 

My husband didn't leave my side after that point and as I leaned into his arms and rocked, I couldn't help but think that we were dancing our son into the world. 

And he prayed. He prayed Hail Mary's and he prayed for protection. He prayed when I couldn't and when I did call out to Jesus, he joined in with me and it was, in many ways, like singing in one voice to God. The meaning of our marriage vows in those moments of suffering love was illuminated... I'm not sure I can put words to that kind of intimacy and joy.

(I don't recall the picture above being taken. It must have been close to birth since that is when others entered the room. It is blurry and dark and barely visible and that is the way I prefer it. This was not a moment for the world but a moment of intense privacy and loving focus. But my daughter loves this picture and encouraged me to share. And I think it shows well how that one blessed candle was sufficient for the moment.) 

TRANSITION

In the meantime, the midwives waited downstairs. As the baby came closer to birth, my sounds began to change. I knew that, being good midwives, they would hear and know when to come. I laughed to myself a little at the time... thinking about my groanings as a birthy way of communicating with the women downstairs. Like bird calls or something. And they were listening and moving; first downstairs, then up to the kitchen, then to the base of the stairs leading to my room.

I felt those panicky feelings that come with transition. I wanted to squeal but instead I focused on dropping my voice low and thinking only of the baby. There was no way around this moment. It is always a rather terrible moment when control slips away and is wholly replaced by a need to surrender to pain... but it was almost over. 

The difference between my earlier births and later births is that the pain took over every part of me, even my mind. Like a white hot blanket. In my more recent births, I have learned how to pay attention a bit more and to work with my body instead of raging against it.Still gotta go through it... but that shift in mindset makes all the difference.

As we moved through transition, I got on my hands and knees on the bed. The Chief stayed by my side, supporting, and I felt the baby descend. I have only ever pushed while on my back or on my side at the hospital but made a conscious decision to change that at home. Laying down was how I coped in the hospital but I didn't just want to cope... I wanted to thrive. The books all said that standing, squatting, or hands and knees were better and faster and less painful. And I wanted to spend as little time in transition as possible.

The books were right, I think. Everything opened quickly but gently. 
"He's coming."
And suddenly, the midwives were there...
quietly, steadily, as my baby crowned.

1:52
BIRTH

His head was delivered with one push and his body followed right after. And just like I had dreamed, he was born in the relative silence and darkness of the night, with only those there who belonged. They handed him to me immediately, and our family was changed again forever.

It had been approximately 2-3 hours since I first "knew" that it was birth day. It was the quick labor and birth that I knew I would have. It was the gentle and joyful birth that I knew I could have. Thank God it was over. Thank God he was here. Thank God for the peace, for the quiet, for the joy, for the birthday.

RECOVERY

After they gave the baby to me, I held him while we waited for the cord to stop pulsing and he received all the blood that rightfully belonged to him. I held him and nursed him while we waited for the placenta. No one pulled or tugged to make it go faster. There was no excess bleeding. No tearing. And we rested.

The midwives retired downstairs to give us time to be alone and bond before they came in to check on the baby again. I was helped to the bathroom to clean up a little while the bed was quickly changed. I returned to a fresh resting place and the baby was finally weighed and admired. He was quiet and calm through it all.

After waiting to check different milestones of recovery, the midwives finally went home and the Chief and my daughter continued with a little chatting, baby admiring, and a couple minor points of clean up.

5:30 am

The Chief finally went downstairs to eat his "dinner" and my girl went to bed. I prepared myself for what I knew would be a long night of after pains... consoled by the presence of the sweetest baby on planet earth... as the sun rose in the sky and the birds took over the songs of our night of joy.

THE MORNING

Everyone slept in that morning and the children straggled from their beds one at a time over a period of hours. I will never forget each awed face as it passed our door and realized that there was a tiny human being resting next to mommy. 

All the children except for three had slept soundly through the miracles of the night. My oldest daughter wouldn't have missed it for the world. And my two oldest boys lay awake, hearing the sounds of our little community and of birth. If they minded, they didn't say. But one of them did pay attention and marked the time of his little brother's arrival by his clock. I can't help but think that such a memory (even though only through sounds) will have significance in their lives. They will know...

Birth is important.
Birth is natural and God-designed.
Birth is beautiful.
Birth is God's gift to the family.
Birth is a time to celebrate even while we carry the cross.
Birth... looks a lot like real Christian love. 

I called this post my "Catholic" homebirth not because other births aren't, but to draw attention to the great potential for intentional Christ-centered birth. That is going to mean different things for each family and in different seasons. With some of my births, I have surrendered to a spirit of fear instead of surrendered to love. Always "Catholic" but not always welcoming Christ wholly. And indeed, I am humbled that it has taken me so many births to become so intentional... and that is has been so strongly motivated by my aversion to pain. But I know He has been leading me and that the blessing is not fundamentally about the human victory but about the grace of the journey. This journey has always been and will always be wholly about His generous grace. 

In past births, we have also felt that same grace...

A baby lost.
Back labor... and a fractured tailbone.
Birth in a power outage.
Preemie NICU baby.
Water labor.
Pitocin.
Labor with lights and sirens.
Shoulder dystocia.
9 births. 8 living children. 
So many miracles, struggles, details...

Just grace. So much grace. 

I give thanks to God for the opportunity to experience birth in such a beautiful, natural, and empowering way. Like every single labor and birth, it has transformed me. I have been permanently changed. We prepared for this but the imagination cannot anticipate how God will bless when the time comes. And I am filled with gratitude for the gift of my femininity and the creative, merciful sovereignty of Almighty God. 

ONE WEEK LATER...

I am marveling at the relative peace of the household and the easy recovery of my body. The baby is calm and happy and healthy and I am healing faster than I ever have. The midwives have been back to see us multiple times. The toddler is adjusting. I am wishing that I had more arms and legs with which to do things but... I am awfully glad not to be toting a baby belly.

Would I do another home birth? Yes. Absolutely. 

Our Birth Story: He Carried Me Gently (7th Baby)

I watched the sun rise from my living room love seat while I dozed between contractions, knowing that I would be meeting my daughter before the day was out. There were several moments I thought I should get up and wake my husband. Then I would think of the poking, prodding hospital scene and just close my eyes, wishing I could just press the fast forward button. Just tell me when to go, Jesus. I'm going to sleep.

I spent the last weeks of my pregnancy dreaming of a home birth. The idea of rushing to the hospital at the last moment and possibly ending up with a highway (or elevator or hallway) delivery filled me with tremendous anxiety. I rememberedlast timeand all I really wanted was to labor (if labor I must) in the calm and comfort and silence of home.

We have never had a home birth and likely never will. My husband is a first responder. A fire chief. He knows how precious a single minute can be when someone's life hangs in the balance and we have needed neonatal intervention on more than one occasion. He could easily deliver a baby under normal conditions but also has a great regard for what emergency medical staff can do when they are needed. And I concur.

Four Days Before Delivery…
So I waited a little anxiously through those weeks, balking a bit at the weight of the responsibility of being the only one who knows when to say "It's time" and knowing that it is more of an art than a science, which is why pregnant women seem to give birth in awkward places with some frequency.

We had spoken with the midwife earlier in pregnancy about the possibility of breaking my water to induce as we neared the due date. My body does not seem willing to deliver a baby without my water breaking, but once it does, the baby arrives very rapidly.If we know you're close, she said,I think it is something to consider. Get you settled in and then let the baby come as fast as she likes. I wasn't comfortable with the close margin last time.Yeah. I was pretty uncomfortable with that too. We went from 6cm dilated to baby in about 5 minutes which was physically and emotionally difficult. We all expressed our hopes for a slightly slower and calmer experience for the good of baby and mother.

As a result of odd body signals and an itchy trigger finger, I had three incidents of "false" labor in two weeks this time, during which I was 99% sure that it was time to go. I was wrong... and grateful for the strong hospital aversion that kept me dragging my heels long enough to discover that I was wrong before leaving home. Hospitals make me anxious. Highway deliveries make me anxious. All right, Jesus, it's time to lay it at your feet...

Whatever needs to happen, Lord, just let me know in time. I'll follow your lead. I'll pay attention, you call the shots. If we need to stay home, please make it clear. If we need to go, get me out the door in time.

As our due date grew nearer, I felt an incredible and increasing confidence that the Lord would indeed lead me well. My anxiety stemmed solely from not knowing what that would look like and the loss of personal control (as if I could handle anything better than the good Lord). By the time I started experiencing early signs of labor the day before delivery, I was simply anxious to see what was in store and what my role in the whole thing would need to be.

As I lay in that Thursday morning sunlight, I knew it was almost time. But Wednesday came first... and that's when the sticky art of labor discernment began in earnest. A full day to know and wait and make a conscious effort to meet my daughter with deliberate joy.

On Wednesday, I awakened to contractions. That was nothing new but I was also feeling extremely ill. My body started to clean out (all you labor-experienced moms know what I mean). Pressure increased. These are definitely labor signs. The question is whether they stick this time.My labors do not follow the textbook directions. I do not have regular contractions of any regular duration or any bloody show until my water breaks. By that time... well... by that time, it's TIME. So I just spent the day contracting irregularly and waiting. My appetite was poor. My irritation level was high. I just wanted to lay down in bed and stay there until the baby was born.

Jesus, please just let me stay home in the calm and quiet.The next minute I would remember the wishes of my husband and the medical emergencies of past deliveries...Jesus, please just let me know when it's time to go.

Almost all of my deliveries have happened in the morning and I suspect it is because of the natural hormone surge that happens at that time of day. I thought that I'd go to bed, get some sleep, and likely have a baby by the afternoon. It turns out that this is precisely what happened.

Thursday... Birth Day.
As I lay in the stillness of the early morning, I felt fear settling in and my typical fight or flight response amp up. Escape. Sleep. Ignore. I seem to prefer a semi-conscious state when dealing with stress. I knew it was time to get ready to go but my body screamed STAY.

I began to slowly make plans. Wake up the Chief. Wake up Cookie, my 13-year old daughter who would be there for the birth. I had packed everything the night before. All that was left was to call our midwife and leave.

And then I fell asleep for another couple of hours.

When I woke up, I quickly recalled the situation and also that I had decided to laugh when I went into labor because I wanted to meet my daughter with joy. In fact, I posted it on Facebook to help with accountability. So I laughed. A stage laugh. And I plastic smiled. And then I really giggled at how foolish my fears were, placed it all in God's hands, and grinned with genuine delight. I was going to ignore my inclinations and weak temperament and let God light up the day. Come, Holy Spirit! My real smile came and went but I figured a plastic smile still trumps a frown.

Before leaving the house, I posted a prayer request on Facebook and checked my blog feed to look for updates of Sarah and her twin boys. An update showed that she was in labor so I offered a prayer for her and gave myself a pep talk:She's delivering TWO... I think you can handle one! Pressin' on.

The Ride.
The ride to the hospital was very different from last time. No transitioning in the car, thank God. I was definitely in labor but my water hadn't broken yet so I had the comfort of time. And the discomfort of time. I had time to relax and breathe and time to fret. I also had time to think about the fact that I actually had time for an epidural if I wanted one. Oh, temptation!!

I decided to ignore the thought and press on. If I engaged with that emotional issue, I would lose the decision I felt was best to a decision made in a spirit of fear. I'm ignoring you, epidural. You don't exist for me today. Soon. Soon it will be over.

Cookie was quiet as a mouse in the car. She is not a very verbally expressive person so I am accustomed to her silences during significant moments. But I know she was nervous and also that she was wonderful as she geared up for the great unknown. As we drove along, I thought that I could have prepared her better but knew she would be fine... and shortly, I was too consumed with labor to have time to worry.

The Hospital.
Our little one decided to come into the world on one of the hottest days of the Summer. And my husband decided that we didn't need the services of the complimentary hospital valet. Perhaps he thought it would encourage the labor process to walk in the blistering heat. At any rate, we took a long, slow walk across the black top. I waddled slowly and nervously and my two sidekicks carried our bags.

Aren't we supposed to go in through the ER entrance?
I don't know.
I think we are. That's what we've done every other time.
Let's just go straight up to maternity.
But I don't think we're supposed to.
We'll be fine.

I'm the rule follower. He is the rule breaker. We've both travelled a little closer to the middle over the years but our inclinations still reveal themselves regularly.

We went directly up to maternity while my heart raced and my muscles contracted. I hate this place, I thought. Plastic smile. Plastic smile. We were buzzed into the maternity ward and our midwife was sitting right at the desk, beaming from ear to ear. 

“We've been waiting for you! Let's have a baby!” My blood pressure settled down and I smiled a real smile. Thank you, God, for this woman.

We were ushered in to our room and a nurse asked if I would like to be examined. NO. I'll wait for the midwife. Thank you though. Plastic smile. The birthing tub was set up on one side of the room, already filled and warm. The two nurses attending were cheerful and quiet.

Blood pressure taken. Baby monitored. As soon as we get a few contractions, you are free to do what you like. You can get in the tub, use the exercise ball, walk around, whatever. I was so grateful for the offers but all I could think was: I would like to go to sleep. I would like to just lay here. I said, "Thank you so much" and lay back to wait, feeling slightly guilty for not using the lovely tub they had prepared.

In the meantime, my husband was changing into his superhero costume. It's invisible but he definitely has one that he uses on such occasions. He stationed himself at my side and his presence in that room grew and grew. I could sense his movements and confidence at every moment even during the hard contractions. I knew that he would allow nothing harmful into that room and nothing good out... and that I could rest and focus on the baby and birthing process without another care.

On the other side of the room was my sweet Cookie, who was about to get the surprise of her life I think by witnessing the birth of her little sister. I had prepared her a little but was reluctant to get into any major detail. Not that I oppose detail, but I know that no birth is the same and that this one would go the way it would go no matter what she was expecting. She knows basic biology and the scientific outline of the process... what I could not really prepare her for was the reality or my actions. Because I didn't know myself what that would be. I did not doubt that she would be mature enough to handle it well. I did wonder if it would scare her off motherhood... or whether it would just motivate her to become a midwife. At that moment, however, she sat quietly. I was aware of her presence and prayed that she would witness a smooth and happy delivery.

When the midwife walked in, I looked at Cookie and thought Here we go. She's in for it now. And then I forced myself to ignore the worry.

We had talked about the midwife breaking my water before. Normally, she is reluctant to do it because it brings on a fast and heavy labor but this is a non-issue with me because I have fast and intense labors regardless of what anyone does. Her exam found me to be at 5cm dilated with increasing intensity of contractions so we knew that everything was ready. There was no point in waiting and tiring out. Let's have a baby.

My water broke at about 10:30am and we had a brief period of calm (about 2 contractions) while my body processed the idea of change. I was encouraged to get up and move around to "facilitate" labor but interiorly and in action, I heartily rejected this proposal. I did not want to facilitate labor. I wanted slow and steady. The babies come quickly without my help. I'm just going to lie here and wait for her.

Our midwife led the nurses out of the room and the three of us were left in silence. I stayed on my side  with my eyes closed and Mr. Wonderful periodically pushed me to drink ice water which I did my best to do. Then they prayed...

Merciful Jesus.
My husband was on one side and Cookie on the other, a few feet away. They took turns leading a quiet and gentle Rosary. Gentle as a breeze and powerful as the ocean, those prayers led me deeper into labor and closer to the arms of Jesus...

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, I give you my heart and my soul... Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us... breathe, breathe, Jesus, Jesus... O Blood and Water, which gushed forth from the Heart of Jesus, as a fount of mercy for us, I trust in You...

It was an experience of a steady increase of waves of grace and pain. My conscious focus was keeping every muscle as relaxed as possible through each contraction. I have read a lot about the effect of tension on pain during childbirth and wanted to give my body the advantage of having me work with it instead of against it. Keeping that focus and calm came easier with the rhythm and lifeline of prayer.

At the beginning, I was able to offer up the struggle for the intentions of my friends, family, and all who had asked for prayers. As things progressed, I began to beg Jesus to hear the prayers offered by others on my behalf.

Closing my eyes helped me focus. If I opened them, the busyness of the visible room, the curtains, machines, and wallpaper, distracted me from focus and I would start to feel a surge of panic. Start to think of how I could get out of this situation. The primary mental obstacle was the constant urge to let my fear get control and look ahead to the larger pain that I knew was coming.

The Rosary concluded and my own prayers increased in frequency and decreased in complexity. Keep me here, Jesus. Keep me right here. Mercy, Lord. Have mercy... keep me here. I fell into praying that prayer over and over again because I knew that anticipating fearfully was a problem. If I could only stay focused on him and calm in the present moment. Keep me right here.

Focus on the Baby.
One great advantage to having birthed so many children naturally is that I can feel the process of labor with some degree of clarity. For my first children, I just felt like a huge ball of pain. It just happened to me and I didn't know what was going to happen next or when it was going to happen. That kind of experience lends itself to panic and I do understand how so many labors degenerate into frantic interventions. As an older mother, I now understand the process. I know when transition is imminent. I understand what it means to be in transition. When it feels like you're going to die, you're almost done. I can feel the descent of the baby and am able to tell my support team to be ready because birth is happening.

You're doing great, honey. She's almost here. My husband's love and confidence has a way of flooding over me and I believe him when he speaks.

I reached a point in this delivery when I could feel the baby descending and her head beginning to make significant work of the cervix. I told my superhero to go get the midwife because it was just about time. He took his time and walked around the bed so that he was standing and looking at my face. I admit I got a little grumpy. What are you doing? I told you to go get her.He told me that he was observing me to see if it was really time. I understood what he meant because he is really, really good at being a birth partner. He is an expert actually. But when mama says it's time... please go. He did go. He was perfect... not too soon, not too late.

Humor.
One of the oddest, most surreal moments during my labors is during transition. It is the point at which I am focusing and feel like I'm going to die with each contraction and the rest of crowd in the room is... well... they're waiting and chatting. Chit chat. As in, so you won't believe what my dog did yesterday kind of chit chat. And I'm in my own little world but still conscious of these waiting, cheerful people gathered around quietly talking about other things.

During this particular labor, the discussion turned to the suffering of expectant fathers. My guy made a comment about how difficult it is to watch someone you love in pain and not be able to physically help them. The midwife returned with a very passionate tribute to the terrific suffering of fathers in that position and how under-appreciated that suffering is. I had a lucid moment in between contractions and could not help myself: Yes, I am definitely under-appreciating his role right now.

The room paused and then laughed and someone commented that I must be doing all right because I still had my sense of humor. And I thought that the statement was funny in an ironic (not a ha ha) kind of way and added to the surreal quality of the whole thing. Surreal but sweet. A calm and happy peace descended upon everyone, like the 2 minutes at a surprise party before the guest of honor arrives. A little whispering, a little laughing, a reverent hush. An expectant joy.

Delivery.
I had only three full transitional contractions that were each separated by two very mild ones. I have never had such a beautiful breather before. With the second one, I knew that she would be out with the next contraction. I could feel her moving and pressing and I gave notice: HEAD!

One push and they told me to stop. Little breaths, Mel.That is when they clear out the breathing passages of baby and whatever else they do. It is also that moment when you think the world has gone crazy... telling you to stop. As if you can. As if you can without exploding and dying.

Second push and she was all out and I am shaking and wishing that I could feel my fingers. I could hear her little cries and could think nothing other than Thank God for minutes on end.

I apologized for yelling so much and the midwife told me that she loves to hear good hearty yelling because she believes it helps with the pushing. Cookie made sure to tell me that I didn't just yell... but that I also screamed and squeaked. Thank you, darling. I don't remember squeaking but I guess she was probably paying better attention than I!


Baby.
Because I have a wonderful husband and midwife, no one took the baby away. She nursed within 5 minutes and stayed and stayed. We didn't know her weight for another two hours because they just let me love her. Nobody poked her or put in eye medicine so that she couldn't see me. She nursed and looked at me with big eyes and then slept the sleep of pure contented happiness.

They didn't cut the cord right away so that the baby could benefit from the final minutes of cord blood. The midwife offered to let Cookie cut the cord but she declined. I would have declined as well. Give that job to Daddy! But Cookie did get the opportunity to learn quite a bit and the midwife took a very interested and active role in helping to teach her. Cookie was mostly quiet but she was very attentive and completely enthralled by the new little life.

She ended up staying for hours and pondered more than she talked about all that had happened. The details of her head and heart take a while to unravel and reveal and so that first day was spent quietly and happily. I don't think there is another soul in my household besides myself who is quite so in love or attached to this little one. Daddy loves her deeply, of course, but there is a maternal quality to my daughter's attentive care that is impressive. I have to think that watching the miracle of her being birthed has enhanced that bond. I have no regrets about bringing her with us. In fact, I think her presence made the experience even more beautiful. I do admit that being so exposed to additional people is humbling, but it is a feeling that was easily overcome when surrounded by so much grace and blessing.

The Gentle Birth.
I wouldn't normally use the words "gentle" and "birth" in the same sentence... or ever... but there was a quality about this one that demands it. The pain was something I don't care to remember. It was not gentle. But the way that our Lord led me through the circumstances and actions of delivery were so lovingly merciful. He did not take the pain away. But HE was there. And HE transformed fear and suffering into something magnificent.

At one point during the final moments of delivery, I recalled our last labor and the incredible focus that came with calling on the name of Jesus out loud. His name is not magical... not a token word that makes things better like the clicking of Dorothy's ruby slippers. His name is His Presence. Crying out to our Lord does not necessarily diminish pain, but brings focus, like a camera lens being adjusted in the very soul. I remembered and called on Him and was surprised and grateful to hear the midwife affirm my prayer.

I have wondered in the past whether the smiling martyrs were smiling because they were miraculously relieved of the pain inflicted by their tormentors. I used to think that it must be so, but now I wonder if Jesus became just so much bigger and more present than their pain that they were able to smile in spite of it. Of course, I am not like those martyrs and have never even been inclined to smile through childbirth... but there is no doubt that He attends to us when He is called and carries us through.

Recovery.
We were left alone for most of our recovery. The fact that ward was unusually busy, the midwife had given a "hands off" directive, and that we are experienced parents, convinced the nurses that we didn't need much fussing over. We have had difficulty in the past with uptight staff who don't understand our more relaxed preferences or our desire to keep the baby with us. This was not one of those times. By the time we were ready to leave 24 hours after the baby's birth, not a soul was there to poke, prod, bother, or fuss at us. I got into the wheelchair and we rolled home... to the loving arms of the rest of our "babies."

I always forget how challenging the first days with a newborn are, trying to balance the needs of the baby, the household, and my own recovering body. But I haven't forgotten how quickly the time goes. How quickly they grow. How beautiful each moment is and how the human memory wipes so many of these moments away eventually. And I'm breathing it all in deeply and intentionally.

One of my favorite quotes is from Fr. Benedict Groeschel and I have been rolling it around in my mind frequently lately, hoping to live the message more fully:

When all is said and done we will be saved by the beautiful.
Life is good. Life is beautiful. And that beauty trumps all the hard, scary, painful, busy, anxious days of life. Perhaps that is why we suffer when we give birth. God needs us to pay attention. Something really big is happening here and it shouldn't be taken lightly. A reminder that I need to place my entire motherhood at the foot of the Cross, starting from the very beginning.
God be praised!