July Birth Stories, Part 2: Ailey
Eight years ago I became a mama for the second time…
There are many ways to begin this story. Simply put, the year I turned thirty, my life changed in three fundamental ways: I graduated college, we bought a house, and I gave birth to my second baby. The first two changes were tremendous and represented dedication and hard work we were extremely proud of. I had returned to school with a pre-school aged child in tow at the age of twenty-eight and earned a degree in a field I love. We bought our first house after painstakingly saving every dollar of our down payment. Both of those enormous accomplishments permanently changed our lives and instill us with pride to this day, not to mention our gratitude to the family who helped us achieve those goals. But of all the celebratory feelings we felt that year, every other day pales in comparison to the glorious dawn when we met our daughter, Ailey.
After adamantly denying my desire to have any more children to anyone and everyone for three years, I suddenly changed my mind. I had my IUD removed and by my following cycle we had conceived. It was September and the fall semester had just started. I just remember it feeling easy. I was in the best shape of my life, having finally learned to exercise and maintain a healthy lifestyle two years prior. Before that, exercise was not a part of my life and my body felt like something I existed in but had no control over. Once I introduced regular workouts, everything about my metabolism changed. And my body felt good. Unlike my first pregnancy, I did not have morning sickness very often, and I was hungry but not eating in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. My appointments at the Birth Center where I had given birth to my son in 2010 were easy and non-invasive. Looking back, it was one of the happiest times of my life.
In the spring of 2014, we began house-hunting. Considering we were buying in one of the most expensive markets in the country and using our entire savings to do so, we knew we had to be patient and flexible. Luckily, Adam is a skilled carpenter with plenty of home renovation skills under his belt so we had a wider range of options that fit our budget. We hoped to move before our new baby arrived in July, but the hunt took longer than we anticipated and in the end we didn’t officially close escrow and move until December. So, we spent that summer in our tiny, blue rental with the antique glass doorknobs and the porch swathed in morning glories. The very same house my dearest Heather and I had moved into seven years before, when we were roommates starting fresh. The house where I had labored to give birth to my first baby, Alako, just three years after that…
We had Alako’s fourth birthday party on a Saturday that year, one week before my July 19 due date. Heather had thrown me a stunning baby shower the month prior that deserves a blog post in and of itself, to which our little celebration held not a candle, but our little house was overflowing with family and friends. It was a festive, wonderful day and I remember my huge belly kept feeling like it was tensing up over and over again. I only learned later those were Braxton-Hick’s contractions, contractions of the uterus in preparation for birth that feel like tightening of the abdomen, but do not progress labor. I felt them all day long. We spent the next day resting, or at least that is what I assume as I took no pictures that day. My body must have known what was coming because at 4am I was suddenly jolted out of sleep, already in the middle of an intense contraction.
I barely had time to process what was going on in the pitch-dark room. I had gone from deep sleep to full-on labor in seconds. I grabbed my phone, shook Adam’s shoulder to wake him up, and said something to the effect of, “It’s time!” or, “The baby is coming!” or even, “I’m in labor!” Any and all of which are phrases one might utter to convey the intensity of the moment while also compelling the other person in the room into action. Adam’s response? A barely mumbled,
“Do I have to get up?”
No. Please don’t trouble yourself, Good Sir. I’m sure I’ll be just fine. Excuse the interruption.
So, with my phone clutched to my chest I hobbled out into the darkness of the living room and lowered myself to my knees, my elbows leaning on the couch. I rocked on my knees, breathing long and steady breaths and moaning the low vowel sounds that had helped me so much during my previous labor. I tried to text my girlfriends to let them know I was in labor but my contractions were too strong. As if I was in a dream, I could not type the words properly. It was at that point Adam woke himself up. He rushed out of the bedroom to see I there was anything he could do for me and quickly realized how far along I already was. There was no timing the contractions. They had started strong and steady and they were only increasing in frequency and intensity.
Two and a half hours passed like lightning. Every contraction rocked me to my core. At one point, Adam’s father came to pick up Alako. Looking back, I wish we had planned for him to be there for the birth of his sister, but it all happened so fast, all plans were out the window anyway. I remember Adam frantically searching for the after-hours phone number our midwife had given us, now hopelessly lost in the chaos of our post-party house. When he finally got ahold of her, she was coming from out of town and there was traffic. For the second time in my life as a birthing person, I was reassured by my midwife that there was no way my labor had progressed as far as it felt like it had to me. Meanwhile, I felt like I had reached a breaking point. I climbed in and out of the shower as Adam held me and I cried out that I could not do this anymore. Now I realize it was my body preparing to push, as I experienced exactly the same thing and said the same words when my labor transitioned during my first birth.
We climbed into the car and began to race (safely) to the Birth Center fifteen minutes away. I have a clear memory of watching the lightening lavender sky and Venus shining brightly overhead as we pulled up to a red light. I squirmed and adjusted as best I could. I could tell she was ready to come. Somehow, we made it to the Birth Center and erupted out of the car as the midwife came out to greet us. She guided us back to the building behind the office, into the very same room in which I had given birth to my son, Alako, exactly four years and seven days before. She patted the bed and asked me to hop up so she could check to see how far along I was. I did so reluctantly, as I could tell it was time to push, and it didn’t take her more than a split second to see so for herself.
“Can I push the baby out now?!”
Nodding vigorously, she said something along the lines of, “Oops! Yep! Yes!”
I climbed onto the bed, onto my knees and into a squatting position. In one push she blossomed into the world, caught safely and lovingly by her Daddy. Our exquisite daughter, born at 6:50am, less than three hours from the moment my labor began. As perfect as the delicate pink rosebuds I collect every spring. My heart burst open, holding this rosy being crafted of moonlight love and ocean songs. I could not believe she was real. I could not believe she was mine. I wanted to drink in the delicious serendipity that brought us together in this lifetime, forever. But our alone time was over almost before it began, as visitors began to trickle in. We visited for about an hour and then we were informed that, should we so choose, we were allowed to go home. We were officially released from the Birth Center by 8am.
I wish we had stayed. I wish we had taken those first precious few hours and bonded with our new baby in her tiniest blue suit with the seahorse on it. Alone. Without any outside presence interrupting our personal bubble. My inability to hold that space for myself in what should have been a deeply sacred moment remains one of the driving forces behind firm belief in creating and holding boundaries today. But as it was, we rushed home with the knowledge that people would be arriving momentarily. I was absolutely horrified by the state of my floors after a weekend of partying followed by two plus hours of labor. Birth is not exactly a tidy process, even if the more extreme aspects took place at the Birth Center. My house had to be mopped. So, still high on the endorphins of having given birth a mere hour before, I mopped. And then our company descended upon us and once again our tiny house was full. The only person missing was our little Alako, who didn’t end up returning from his grandparent’s house until much later in the day.
Sweet Ailey must have known she was meant to be part of our family, even when she was only a glimmer dancing somewhere among the stars. She adores her brothers and showers us all with love. She is fiercely independent and unique. Every day I am discovering new aspects of my daughter’s personality waiting like sun-kissed blackberries to be found and delighted over. She is an enigma of a fairy woman. It feels unbelievable to say, but I clearly felt a ball of white light enter my body the moment I conceived each of my children. And Ailey has always been exactly that- a ball of white light. Pure energy. Golden heart brimming with intense, white-fire passion. Even her name means, “light.” As ethereal and radiant as the dawn when we first saw her face. And there was so much magic yet to come…