July Birth Stories Part 1: Alako
Twelve years ago, I became a mama for the first time
July has always held a special place in my heart. As a child it meant all the glory that is the height of summer: swimming, camping, friends, bike rides, lazy mornings and hot afternoons that stretched languidly into cooler evenings that never seemed to end, the feeling of something exciting about to happen just hovering in the air. And it didn’t hurt that the 4th of July always included a morning parade and all-day celebration in our quaint downtown square. There would always be a moment, amidst the celebratory patriotic chaos, when I would look around and truly realize another year had passed. For years it seemed odd to me that it was the only annual tradition I used to mark time in that way, especially since I always preferred Halloween, but I think it was simply the fact that it was the only day of the year that we celebrated in such a way, from the moment you opened your eyes until you closed them again late that night. Then in 2010, July took on an entirely new meaning for me when I gave birth to my first son, Alako.
Aria and Adam, 2010
I was 25 when I found out I was pregnant. Although a part of me wanted to cling to the life I had known before, I knew I was finally ready to take on this new science experiment, soon to be in human form. Before I had kids, I was always curious about birth and pregnancy, asking everyone I could about their experience with both in an effort to prepare myself and at the same time to determine if this was something I even wanted or thought I would be capable of doing. It felt like a rite of passage I did not want to miss out on. Once I became pregnant, I spent very little time imagining the baby or imagining myself as a mother to said baby. My focus was on myself in the now; on my own experience in hosting a tiny invader who was making a home in my uterus. I did not romanticize the process, partly because that is not my personality and partly to protect myself in case something went wrong. I never felt like anything was guaranteed.
I thought my pregnancy was hard, but it really wasn’t. It was beautiful and healthy. It just happened at a time in my life when I had not yet healed my relationship with food so I was less diligent than I should have been about nutrition. I didn’t drink nearly enough water every day. I skipped breakfast and ate plain quesadillas for lunch. I worked full-time but never exercised. Exercise was not even something I considered at that point in my life. I gained 30 pounds in the first 36 weeks of my pregnancy, then started my paid time off. In the four weeks before I gave birth that I was not working, I went ahead and gained another 30 pounds. But through it all I had excellent, supportive, non-invasive care from the midwives at the local birth center where I chose to give birth. I chose the birth center because I knew I never wanted to give birth in a hospital and, as it was our first time, my partner was not comfortable with the idea of a home birth.
I was due to give birth July 6, 2010. I had written three detailed birth plans: one if things went ideally, the others to apply in the event of emergency or hospital transfer. I was prepared to be completely unprepared, because I knew that is how birth is. The time to relinquish control. To let go of prescribed expectations and allow the most primal instincts to take over. I trusted myself to do this. And I fully trusted my care team to support me. I drove to a neighboring town for a chiropractic adjustment with the woman who cared for and adjusted me my entire pregnancy. I remember she adjusted my sacrum that day and it was early evening when I left to drive home. I spent the 30-minute drive in conversation with a friend and I remember pulling into my driveway and saying I needed to hang up because I suddenly felt “different.” Like a quiet, expanding, whisper of a dull pressure at the very core of my center. Around 7pm, I ate a burrito and it didn’t sit well. I ran to the bathroom, something I was used to at this point. Throes of nausea quickly turned into waves of contractions.
Just after Alako was born, trying to get my bearings and hold him for the first time. With Adam, midwife Roseanne, and doula Medea
When Adam called the midwife, she was skeptical about how far my labor had progressed. At that point I was on my knees in the bedroom, leaning on one corner of the bed, staring out at the bluest twilight sky, and “mooing” at the top of my lungs. The single best piece of advice I received prior to giving birth, was to make low vowel sounds to ease the pain of contractions. The vibration can be very soothing, allowing the birther to focus on opening the body, the vaginal cavity opening into the shape of an “O.” It feels extremely raw and primal- there is a reason “Om” is a sacred sound. But the midwife was unfazed, having heard many primal sounds at that point in her career and asked Adam to put me on the phone so she could assess me. I was too focused to chat on the phone so they decided it was time to come in.
I cannot remember anything about the drive there. By the time we arrived less than ten minutes later the sky was navy blue and the stars were out. It was humid and the pressure that had been in the air all that week was softly easing into misty rain. The midwife, Roseanne, came out to meet us and explained that more mamas were in labor than they’d expected that night so the center was over-filled. She said that happened sometimes when the weather was like that, as if all the pressure releasing in the air was triggering everyone’s labor to start. She explained I would have to wait in the reception area until another mama was done giving birth! My parents arrived at that point, and I remember looking up at them while I worked through a contraction. For a split second I wanted to reassure them I was fine, but birth warrior brain took over and reminded me I didn’t have to explain myself to anybody. They would be fine.
Luckily, we didn’t have to wait more than 20 minutes, at which point Roseanne quickly assessed me and realized I had arrived already nine centimeters dilated. We were hustled back to our room as the doulas prepared the tub I had requested in my birth plan. The room with the tub was painted pink and it felt like being inside of a candlelit seashell. My mom brought freshly cut rosemary and lavender from her garden that she placed around me in glass jars, creating a sacred, serene atmosphere. The first delicious moment I slid into the tub I felt a brief respite from the pain, but it didn’t last long and I felt I had to be moving constantly in order to process the intensity. The attendants all commented on how much I was moving around but I didn’t care. I just couldn’t stay in one place!
Alako on his birthday, July 7, 2010
At around midnight I felt the pain shift to a different level of intensity. I lowered myself to my knees with Adam’s arms around me. It was time to push. As anyone who has pushed out a baby will understand, it takes a little while to figure out how to push out a baby. Which is exactly the sentiment my midwife relayed to me. This information did not have the calming effect I’m assuming she was going for, as my brain decided to receive said information as a challenge. I distinctly remember the phrase, “NOT FOR ME!” making its way like a big red banner across my mind, as I bore down with all my might and pushed out a 9lb, 2oz baby in less time than it takes me to mix (10 mins) and bake (11 mins) a batch of chocolate chip cookies. At 12:08am on July 7, 2010, our baby son was born.
Staring at that beautiful little face was one of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life. It was truly stunning to behold a being so absolutely perfect. Cosmic wonder in softest skin. Like cradling a star. I knew I would love and protect this being forever. The boy who made us a family. And I love him more today, on the very cusp of becoming an official teenager, than I ever could have imagined loving someone. He is expansive and dynamic and magical. It is no wonder a part of my heart always knew what July would mean to me. It is the month I became a mama. The month I became his mama. A marker of time I will hold close to my heart for eternity.
