Endurance Riding

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The morning after we found out we were pregnant with you, we were sitting at the kitchen table when a lightning storm lit up the sky. I had my hands wrapped around a mug of warm herbal tea, with Asher to my left, sitting on Dad’s lap, a front row seat to the show the sky was giving us. I sat there wondering where we’d be in 15 years, with two teenagers, the last of our children, in the house. I wondered if we’d remember this moment, before our last child was even born. I hoped, wherever we were, we were still in love, and we still had an open view to a sprawling horse paddock in the front of our home.

Today, you are a year old. And I am not thinking about 15 years from now. I am remembering your birth, longing to relive it. I am holding on to the memory and as I sit here while you sleep, I am both overjoyed at your growth and saddened by the time which has passed. I am celebrating your entry into toddlerhood and mourning the loss of the infant stage you are leaving behind.

You were born on Easter Sunday, more than two weeks before your due date. I had woken up the morning of your birth after a restful sleep, with no signs of labor, texting my family that I didn’t think today would be the day. But the moment I climbed out of bed, I felt a trickle down my leg and knew my water had broken. I excitedly let everyone know and moments later, your Aunt Natalie came joyfully running in the house. Her and my brother had been visiting and staying in our RV for the weekend and Natalie was secretly hoping you’d make your appearance while they were there.

The first several hours of my labor were easy. We carried on our morning as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. We ate breakfast, Asher watched some cartoons, your dad checked his email on the computer. Natalie and I made deviled eggs, baked brownies, and when Grandma Lacie arrived, we went for a walk and prepared an Easter Egg hunt for your brother Asher. I even snuck away into my room for a bit, sat at my desk, and wrote in my journal: It’s just shy of 10:00 am now and all I’m experiencing are mild contractions – a beautiful start to an early labor. We enjoyed an Easter breakfast and the boys opened their baskets and I’m getting some quiet time of reflection before meeting my next and final child…

The weather was beautiful and by 2 pm, Lacie, Natalie, Asher, and I were out walking with the dogs. My midwives, Katarra and Jana, continued to check in, but nothing exciting was really happening in terms of labor. There was, however, a lot of laughter. There was conversation, there was music, there was dancing. The house was filled with joy, and it felt like an amazing welcoming party.

It was just about 3 pm, though, when it had been 7 hours since my water broke, and I was growing impatient. I texted Jana and asked if I should hook up to a breast pump. She suggested crawling around on all fours which can help strengthen contractions. I tried that, and hooked up to a breast pump, saving the little bit of colostrum I was able to extract.

A couple hours later the energy in the house shifted. Something sacred was happening and those who were there gathered to embrace it. We had moved from the kitchen to the living room to the bathroom to the bedroom. I was leaning over our bed, a pillow curled underneath me, when Jana calmly told me I didn’t have to continue announcing when I was having a contraction. The contractions were heard. I remember taking a breath and feeling a wave of sadness overcome me. It was poignant and strong and for the first time in labor, I was moved to tears. This sadness came from deep inside me, from the knowledge that I would never give birth again. I hung onto the moment as long as I could, not wanting to forget this rite of passage I would never again claim. And then I clutched my necklace, the fingerprint of my father etched in silver. I was overcome by another fact — my father would not be here to meet you. I claimed this sadness. I felt it. I let it overtake me. But I wasn’t lost in it. I was quickly awakened by another rush, the tightening in my abdomen, and I felt robbed of my grief. But I was forced to move forward out of my mourning and into the work my body was doing.

It wasn’t long before I was in the birth tub, vocalizing through each contraction. At one point, Asher came in to see me before Grandma Lacie got him ready for bed. He kissed me — one kiss, two, three, four, until another contraction overcame me. Your dad’s hands held mine and when I looked up at him, I saw into him. We shared something no one else in the room did. It was in that moment he said he felt like he had a front row seat in the Red Tent and he felt honored to be able to witness what was to come.

I exited the birth tub to use the restroom and when I walked out of the bathroom, I collapsed on all fours. I felt the rapid decent of the child inside me – you, my daughter – and I let out a primal grunt. Jana squatted down behind me and squeezed my hips together, relieving some of the intense pressure I felt. It the next moment, she and Dad had me up and like a choregraphed dance, they spun me towards the birth tub. I was emerged by the warmth of the water when the uncontrollable urge to push occurred. I cupped my hands at the base of my birth canal and felt your head emerge with the first push. But then a calmness… you stayed there. I looked down and saw the top of your tiny head. I saw your small ear, the profile of your face. Your head was outside my body, the rest of you still inside and I wondered why you weren’t making your entrance all at once. Katarra quietly told me I had lost my contraction and you would probably come with the next one. I felt Jana bring my right leg out to open my pelvis as Katarra’s two fingers gently pressed on your anterior shoulder just inside my vagina. Almost immediately, you came swimming out and I scooped you up onto my chest as I lay back against the back of the tub. I heard you cry – a beautiful, enthusiastic cry, as if you were saying, “Whew! That was a wild ride. Hello world, I am here.” Around me, the room disappeared.

With laughter sing, oh life begin.

I was blissful.

Oh joy begin.

I held you on my heart. Time stopped.

More precious there’ll be nothing, no. Oh joy begin.

Your daddy kissed me. He was crying. He touched his hand to your little body. He kissed me again. I was blissful. Oh joy begin.

It was several minutes before he finally asked me if we should check what you were. Didn’t I want to know? He asked. I didn’t care. I could have stayed there forever, in the warmth of the water, feeling light, your placenta still inside me. But I lifted you up — just enough so he could see.

“Holy shit, Babe! It’s a GIRL!”

The room was full — everyone was there, including your brothers and my brother, and they all rejoiced.

I was still for a moment, you, on me. I soaked in the shock, the pure joy, the love. I sobbed. I had never been so happy — or so devastated — at the same time. “My dad had always wanted a granddaughter.” Lacie came to my side and kissed my cheek and held my face. And I held you.

That night, I lay awake all night. We stayed skin to skin as you slept. My hands caressed all of you. I explored you, this being I birthed. I counted your toes, and I counted your fingers. I felt your skin and I listened to your breathing. I touched your hair and I ran my finger down your back, feeling your spine. I watched as you latched at my breast and drank your fill. I promised to love you and hold you and protect you as I watch you grow, just as I had promised your brothers.

Welcome to our family, sweet little one.

Oh joy begin.

Photos by Kristi Carlson

Lyrics: Samurai Cop (Oh Joy Begin), Dave Matthews Band

Tags: childbirth, home birth, midwifery, parenting, pregnancy

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