One of my greatest desires for this birth was for my mom to be here. We had planned for her to fly out from Colorado for my first baby’s arrival in 2022, but I went into labor a week early and Mom ended up spending at least twelve hours on the phone with me as I rolled through painful contractions at a slightly sketchy hotel in Buffalo. This time we got her a one-way ticket for two weeks before my due date. She arrived at midnight. I lost my mucus plug ten hours later.
I was bouncing with energy. My low back began to ache mildly, a portent of impending work. I took the dog and headed out the door to go for my planned run on some frozen trails, because why not? As I trotted along in the snow, I marveled at how good I felt. To me, this was a clearer sign than anything that labor would start soon.
While I was blissing out on the trails, my husband was providing the panic. We had booked an Airbnb in Buffalo much closer to my due date, which would be useless if I started now. He found a new one and readied himself to book it. I insisted he relax enough to wait until I at least started having contractions. Sure enough, I started having regular mild contractions about 7 minutes apart at around 11 pm. We left for Buffalo around 5 am.
Cozy in our rented house in Buffalo, Mom and Malcolm dozed while I walked around in the dim light, breathing essential oils and listening to a few guided meditations to help me stay present and stave off fears of the coming pain. The waves so far were not painful. They felt productive and rhythmic. My doula soon arrived to join the team, and around 8:30 the waves started to feel challenging to get through. Midwife Maura was on her way to the Coit House, and I would meet her there. At 9:30 I felt an urgency to leave. I wanted OUT of this house and in the care of someone who knew a hell of a lot more than I do about how to have a baby. I got into the car and screamed. The car seat was agony. Whose idea was it to design such a cramped space for the human body?! I did not want to bend. Mercifully, it only took two contractions to get to the safety of the Coit House.
My body started to take longer respites once I was upstairs. Or at least I felt like it did. My brain was blank between waves. I was yelling in a guttural way at each peak, crying for my mom and insisting that I could not do this job. I started pushing involuntarily within minutes, getting in and out of ridiculous postures like leaning in a one-legged squat against my doula, who found herself for that moment on all fours to support me. When the tub was full a few minutes later, I crawled to it because I did not feel that I could unbend my torso. Climbing in was a relief. I sweated and pushed while floating on my side or on my back with my arms on the tub’s edge. All confidence in myself was long since shattered. Something in my pelvis was surely going to crack. I reached down when I felt the babe’s head squeeze through. I was told later that one of his hands emerged first with his head. One or two more pushes and he slid out into my hands. Maura helped guide him and deftly unwrap the cord from his neck so I could lift him to my chest and breathe a breath of resolution. He, Cassian, was perfect and he was here.
It is one thing to hear repeatedly about how raw, powerful, and trying birth is. It is quite another to go through it. I have done it twice now with very different experiences. However, I can’t imagine birthing my sons in a hospital environment. My births were not easy, not peaceful, not fear-free, certainly not quiet. But they were right for me. I could not feel closer to my babies for these experiences.
