I woke up at 5 am on Tuesday morning to contractions stronger than I had been feeling so far. In both of my pregnancies I have had strong Braxton-Hicks in the final two weeks, sometimes even becoming regular for a day before fading, but these felt different, felt like today was the day. It was still dark and my family was still sleeping so I lit the candles in my birth space and started a guided meditation. Lucia woke and rocked with me on the birth ball quietly for a while and then played games while I finished, she asked why I was up so early and I told her I thought the baby was coming.
Contractions were 10-15 minutes apart so I just decided to take things slow and cancel our plans for the day. After a couple of hours, I text our midwife and Lucia’s doula to let them know I thought it was the day but I didn’t need help yet. Lucia and I baked banana muffins since I had promised her the day before, and ate half of them since I didn’t know how long my appetite would last. For the most part, I needed to slow down or stop what I was doing for contractions but felt fine in between. A few times I got tired and lay down. By noon I was feeling discouraged because I hadn’t progressed, between contractions I would second guess myself on whether this was really labor, then I’d have a contraction and remember why I felt this day was different. My first labor started suddenly and was an intense 5 ½ – 6 hours so we expected that this one could be quick and prepared accordingly. At our noon check-in, Erica reminded me to let go of any expectations and trust my body’s wisdom. I stopped timing contractions because it felt too much like a test.
After lunch Drew took Lucia to the playground to get some energy out since she was feeling antsy about the waiting without knowing when we would progress or the baby would come. Erica recommended that I walk in nature and relax while they were gone, so I took a slow walk down our wooded road, pausing and watching the trees with contractions. I found a short wide path where I could leave the road and stand completely surrounded by woods. I called Violet Luna by name for the first time and told her we were ready to love her and be her family. Then I was tired so I walked home and lay down on the couch to listen to the meditation track again. I dozed but apparently something stuck in my head – the repeated phrase “just this breath, and then the next.”
I woke as Drew and Lucia were coming home and my contractions started to pick up. I read a few books with Lucia but really had to stop and focus on these even stronger contractions. She must have been feeling some special energy because she was much more patient than usual about pausing the story. Drew started to make dinner while we read, and my contractions jumped to 4-5 minutes apart and several times stronger. I told him he needed to take a break to get the birth pool ready and text Erica and Heather that it was time to come.
By the time people started arriving half an hour later I was heading into the birth trance, contractions felt strong and close but no way was I paying attention to the clock. I was alternating kneeling with my elbows on the couch for contractions and sitting on the birth ball staring at my birth art and orchids in between. I was mostly thinking about how much the contractions hurt all around my abdomen, pelvis, and back, and sometimes feeling guilty to not be one of those mothers who are so amazed by the miracle that they don’t seem to notice the pain. But it hurt, a lot, and my very active baby would sometimes move during a contraction, which hurt even more. I got mad at anyone trying to use the fetal monitor because it stimulated her to move more which meant it hurt more and the break between contractions wasn’t as much of a break. But I guess something from the meditation stuck because I just kept repeating in my head “just this contraction, and then the next.” Each one was intense but not super long in itself so I felt like I could just focus on making it to the end of this one. I got in the pool as soon as I could, it was hard to find the right position but I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I mostly settled on hands and knees so someone could press on my back. Lucia had been so excited about the pool and was desperate to get in, but did well listening to Erica and Heather about when I was ready since I felt like anyone coming near me or bumping me or the pool was uncomfortable. Lucia kept dipping her hands in and telling me she was making sure “it’s not too hot and not too cold” and touching my hair in between.
It seemed like not too long when Erica asked if I could try going to the bathroom, and around the same time, I started feeling the first weak urges to push. I told them to let Lucia get in the pool while I was in the bathroom, uncertain if I’d have to kick her out when I got back. I felt like my legs hardly worked to get to the bathroom and gave out completely during a contraction and I had to hang off Drew when I got back. I ended up feeling ok about Lucia being in the pool with me, she gave me space during contractions and in the in-betweens would touch my hand or come in for a quick snuggle. The whole time I had been very vocal with groaning and moaning during contractions, so I think she got the rhythm.
I started feeling the strong urge to push and it was extraordinarily intense. I felt worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. Fortunately, I remember only about four pushes in all (maybe my team will tell me I pushed for an hour, I don’t know, but it felt surprisingly and relievingly short to me). What felt to me like surely the biggest, hardest, strongest push in the history of the world brought her head our just after my waters popped like a balloon. I kept thinking why is this contraction not ending like the others, it just goes on and on and I cant stop pushing. I felt like I was trying to crawl out from around her, and surely I was clawing and biting at the tub. And then to my great relief, her head was out. I roared so loudly over the head that Lucia got scared and had to go outside for a deep breath with Heather, but she came running right back and leaped back in the pool to see the rest of the body being born. They tell me Lucia touched Violet’s head while we were waiting for the body and announced how soft she was. Then another couple pushes and Violet was out in her Daddy’s hands and being handed to me as I tried to turn around. * Almost exactly three hours from the time active labor kicked in.
They made up the futon next to the pool so we could get out and relatively dry and deliver the placenta, upon sight of which Lucia announced “well that’s quite bloody!” Everyone left us to rest and nurse on the couch, she latched just fine and never had any trouble. Still, I felt uncomfortable, and unsure what to do with this new little person who had suddenly pushed her way into the world. An hour and twenty minutes later the cord was cut and she weighed in at 8lb4oz.
Violet’s birth went, on the surface, basically exactly as I had expected and planned it would go. My team was ready and swift, I had been in touch with them during the day. Violet was very active throughout, so we knew she was doing well but I felt like she was trying to tear her way out of my body and when she moved between contractions it hurt so much that I didn’t feel like there was any break. I labored and birthed in the pool, my older daughter was there and very calm throughout. No complications, only a very tiny tear that did not need stitching. Yet I felt at the time like something wasn’t right. I felt guilt during my labor because I could only think about the intensity of the pain and the only way I could carry on was incessantly repeating to myself that all I had to do was survive this one contraction, and then the next one. I felt a measure of joy and relief at her birth, but then the afterpains continued for several days with nearly the same intensity as labor, especially while nursing, to the point that I couldn’t hold Violet and felt myself developing an aversion to nursing (I took ibuprofen to manage this so I could carry on nursing). In talking with other people who were there I realized the vast chasm between our experiences of the same event. They all tell me I was calm and brought the baby down with utter control. I felt like I was dying, I never had the moment I had in my first birth of accepting that I could do it and really letting go. This time I was quite sure I could not survive at this level of intensity if it carried on for a long time (fortunately she only took 4 pushes and I did in fact, survive).
So I think I never really felt comfortable with my birth story. Something about it felt wrong and I felt guilty. Like it is unfair to Violet that all I could focus on was the pain. Like I don’t have any right to feel conflicted or traumatized by my birth since everything went as planned and we both came out healthy. I couldn’t name the feeling at the time But I have recently recognized the primary feeling of my recovery time as loneliness. Afraid of overwhelming me and wanting to give me space to rest everyone left Violet and me after attending our post-birth needs. I wish one person had just stayed and sat with me. I think I was in shock from the pain and intensity, I think it felt off to me that everyone was in the other room joyful and celebrating this thing I had done when I felt like I had had a traumatic experience. I felt like I couldn’t move and yet I was holding and in charge of this tiny little person that I knew and yet was completely new, who I loved but who was part of this tremendous pain.
In the intervening months I continued to feel pain, my pelvis was slow to rejoin and my feet and ankles have suffered through this pregnancy and postpartum (I’m now wearing orthopedic slippers around since we are mostly at home and that does help a lot). Some days I feel totally fine, and some days I feel completely overwhelmed by anything and everything, by the loneliness and at the same time the constant presence and needs of my children. I feel guilty that Violet’s life thus far, on the inside and earthside, has mostly been characterized for me by pain and overwhelm. On the days that I feel fine, I feel kind of silly (or maybe weak?) for suffering the hard days.
I have talked to my counselor and my midwife about all of this. They both recommended creating more space to talk about how I feel and make sure to take vitamins and get exercise. My counselor is trying to help me recognize the needs that went unmet surrounding my birth and discern if there is a way to meet them now. My midwife says that it’s quite common for women to feel the transition stage of labor with intensity, fear, and pain and that from the spiritual perspective transition in labor is death. The death of the woman and the birth of a mother, the death of the old mother, and the birth of a mother who has opened once more for Life to pass through her. That in preparing for each of her subsequent births she felt a sense of unease and like she hadn’t quite learned to recognize her new self after the last birth and now she had to prepare to die and be reborn and figure it all out yet again. That feeling resonates with me, after my first I would have said that I felt like I lost myself, this labor I definitely felt much more grief surrounding the passing of my one on one relationship with my firstborn and the life we had started to rebuild. My midwife tells me to lean into the pain and feel it and find out what it is trying to teach me for this new phase of my life.
Ten months in now and I’m still not exactly sure what that lesson is, but I have taken a job with a small nonprofit that supports women and families through pregnancy, birth, and parenting. I meet a lot of women who experience conflicting feelings about their births and who struggle with postpartum depression and anxiety. I meet a lot of women who are afraid to tell their birth or postpartum story for fear of frightening the expecting first-time mothers in our circle. And I am working on being able to tell myself what I tell all of them. My story is my story, it doesn’t have to compare to anyone else’s. My feelings are a valid part of me even when they are unexpected or uncomfortable. And maybe if we tell these stories, pain and all, the new expectant mothers will not feel so afraid or alone when they have these feelings days or months or years down the road.
