I figured now is as good a time as any to record my thoughts on Arlo's home birth. I wanted to get around to it earlier but alas, the free time in a mother of two/full time student's life is few and very far between. I am hurriedly eating a gluten free blueberry muffin smothered in peanut butter trying not to spill on the keyboard while the boys sleep...this silence wont last long.
My pregnancy went by without a hitch, we switched from our run of the mill main stream care through Kaiser into the skilled care of our midwife, Claudette, a family friend who delivered my sister in law at home 19 years ago. I am not really sure what suddenly made me change my mind and opt out of a hospital delivery. My first son was born in a hospital, and I would generally characterize it as an easy nice birth, but it was rife with intervention and upon further thought I did feel a major disconnect. It took me hours to feel him being born was real, to feel attached, and that was something I did not want to repeat. As a 27 year old I did not have a lot of role models in my peer group supporting home birth, or even natural birth. It seems that the majority of the women of my generation are deeply entrenched in the fear and distrust of their bodies to function without assistance that most of us were raised in. I was met with a lot of "you're crazy"s and "you're so brave, I could never do that"s...and a lot of much more unpleasant reactions than that which I won't even give life to by repeating them. The more I read and felt and dreamed the more steadfast I became, and my ideal birth experience was my 24 hour a day job. I ate and breathed Ina May Gaskin's books. I devoured Orgasmic Birth, re reading the inspiring stories, crying, picturing my little ones face and the way his bones would feel moving against mine. I embodied birth, I smelled dank, I grew my downy body hair, I took yoga and got weekly chiropractic adjustments and watched birth documentaries and hired a home birth doula for her services as an educator for my husband and myself so we would feel more prepared and centered during our journey. I nested like crazy, putting candles everywhere and becoming obsessed with busts of the virgin mary ( I am not a religious person, and I was raised jewish!) something about her watchful gaze put me at ease. I put togetehr an epic birthing playlist ranging from Ani diFranco to Tears For Fears. I framed inspirational buddhist quotes and bought a billion new grey towels and obsessively cleared the house of any clutter or anything I felt was negative. As my due date approached and passed we walked nightly endlessly under the unseasonably cold August stars. I did lunges on our carpeted stair case, I rocked on my birth ball, I breathed, I waited. I was BIG. I was uncomfortable. After a few days of being downtrodden and wrapped up in the baby never coming, I finally went to bed one night and sent a 'prayer' up to anyone who would listen. I promised I would let go. I awoke that morning around 7:30 with unmistakably regular contractions, but sent Duncan to work not wanting to believe it was more than another false alarm, not wanting to be disappointed. I called Claudette, she said to keep her updated, but she too had gotten used to my false alarms. I lay in bed until Koda woke up, reading my last favorite birth stories from Spiritual Midwifery. I put on the teal tshirt dress I had chosen to labor in. We went about our usual day. I made us a light breakfast of yogurt and cereal. We snuggled, we watched a few kids shows, I swept. Still the nagging contractions in the back of my awareness but nothing to really make me stop and think. I called Claudette again to let her know they had not stopped but that I was still cruising through my day. I assumed the baby was not coming for many many hours (my first delivery was 42 hours). Nevertheless I felt no real need to speed things along, I simply put on a stand up comedy show to keep the mood light and opened the door to let some fresh air in. The guy was cracking me up, I can't remember his name but he was a Canadian Indian man who did a lot of accents and poked fun at Indian culture. Good deep belly laughs felt great. I texted Duncan around 10:30 to let him know my contractions were still going but I was fine. He asked if he should come home and I told him he could wait, I didn't want to hurry him home to wait around for hours. At Eleven thirty he called to say he was coming home. I was slightly more uncomfortable but still totally present and able to hop up for snacks and sippy cups. I started pacing a little, and was glad to have Duncan home when he arrived around noon. He brought an exhausted Koda up for his nap and came downstairs, suggesting we get me a snack and go outside. He called Claudette and she asked that we track my contractions. They were three minutes apart and 90 seconds long. She said she was on her way. We were deep in the Crosby Stills Nash and Young section of my playlist. We joked, I sat and nibbled cucumber slices. I started to walk when I felt a contraction coming, I swore like a sailor. It was what felt good. I wouldn't describe my contractions as really painful, but they were getting more intense, and I could feel lots of pressure building. When I began to squat instead of walk during them, Duncan started to inflate the birth tub, we still thought we had plenty of time, with still no one there checking me I had no idea how dilated I was or wasn't. I very much wanted to have the baby outside in the water. The midday sun was starting to get overwhelming, so I came into the cool house while Duncan worked outside. This time alone turned out to be just what my body and mind needed to really kick into full gear. I grew very quiet, the music started to irritate me so I shut it off ( shut up, Dave Matthews!) I squatted deeply kneeling in front of our couch, hands in a prayer position, head bowed into the musty graham cracker smelling cushions. Being pressed against the sturdy piece of furniture made me feel held and secure. I could tell the contractions were really on top of each other now, and called to Duncan that I felt nauseous. He was in the process of trying to shoulder the fully inflated birth tub through the small opening the sliding glass door provided, after discovering the hose we connected to the shower head did not reach outside. While he rearranged it in the office across from the bathroom I lay down on the couch to try to slow things a bit. I knew now Arlo was on his way in earnest. Laying down gave me no real relief from the intense pressing waves, so I stood, and my waters splashed out all over the hardwood floor. Clear, with some globs of bloody tissue. The whole scene briefly reminded me of the small jellyfish that would wash ashore on the Long Island beaches of my childhood. I reached down to feel some wrinkly swelling, assuming it was just pissed off inner labia. Duncan called Claudette again, unbeknownst to me she told him he'd better get the birth kit all opened and ready because the baby was very close. I was suddenly extremely aware of each of Arlo's bones, could feel them articulated as he made some final cardinal movements. It was similar to the way I'd imagine having an entire raw chicken stuffed into my birth canal would feel. Still not really pain, just an urgency. I needed to poop. I really didn't want to do this on the living room floor. I made my way to the bathroom and evacuated my bowels, still in some kind of strange denial as to what was about to take place. When I tried to stand from the toilet the burning of his head crowning was undeniable. The echo of the tile floors amplified the guttural grunting sow noises I wasn't even aware I was making. Duncan was there, I think I was a little bit shocky, because reality started to bend a bit here. Koda blessedly stayed asleep despite his bedroom being close to directly above where I was now delivering his baby brother. D had to yell over my cacophony, asking me if I could walk to make it into the tub he had so struggled to get about 8 inches of water in. I remember shaking my head, telling him there was no way I could walk and asking him "is this real?" a few times. I didn't have much time to talk, because Arlo's head was out. His thick wet body followed very shortly. I wasn't even pushing, my body was literally ejecting him with no participation on my part. With a great splash and a cathartic sob that almost felt like vomiting, but in a good way, there he was, caught by all four of our hands deftly but slightly awkwardly as his cord was so short there was not a lot of maneuvering him to be done. He was sturdy, he was not at all fragile feeling, he was tangibly mine. Duncan wrapped him in a towel, clutched him, this precious parcel, and squat-walked as best I could behind them into the office, the cord still attached. We settled as comfortably as we could on the daybed, little Arlo sitting next to me very casually like it was no thang, sizing one another up, and waited for someone else to get there. The Virgin of Guadalupe looked down from the perch I'd provided on the wall. It was the most full and empty I have ever felt all at once. I would birth like this a thousand times.
