A Very Long Birth Story

One year ago today my labor started. It was a Monday evening. I was in the bathtub reading a book, my belly high out of the water, feeling you kick and squirm. Any moment now. The tabby cat sat on the edge of the tub. My belly was tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing. I read my book, a magical story about a snow child in the Alaskan winter. You kicked. Your daddy entered the bathroom, kissed me, touched my hair, dripped water on my belly. "I think it's starting," I said.

I knew the moment you were conceived. I felt it. A tiny lightening strike deep inside. There was nothing else it could be. We didn't mean to make a baby, but our love was big and powerful from the very beginning. It was cosmic and unstoppable. We talked about you. We said, "If we do bring a baby back from Thailand, would that be so bad?" The moon was new; we were learning to scuba dive, spending the days underwater or in a boat, napping in the afternoon, then in the evening walking to an open air restaurant called Fishy's, drinking Thai beer and smoking, eating curry or noodles, then falling into bed and falling in love all over again. It's no wonder we made you. We couldn't help it.

Why write your birth story?

I'm writing my birth story. It's almost finished, and I'm really excited about sharing it here. I read a lot of birth stories while I was pregnant and deciding where to deliver (home, hospital, or birth center), and then after I decided to birth at home, I read a lot of homebirth stories. I found the stories so poignant and sacred, such a beautiful glimpse into other families' most intimate moments.

But I was totally unprepared for my days-long labor and non-emergent transfer to the hospital. Since he was born I've felt disappointed that he wasn't born at home. I wanted the empowering, transformative birth experience that is described in so many birth stories; but by the time he was born I was just glad it was over. His birth felt anti-climactic. Is that weird to say? I thought, "It could've been worse." And tried to be glad that it wasn't. I wasn't scared, cut open, bullied, separated from my baby, or anything else that happens in hospitals. I grieved the loss of my homebirth, but since my hospital birth was "just fine," I couldn't give myself permission to mourn.

Part of me felt I wimped out by going to the hospital for the pitocin and epidural. Maybe he would've been born on Friday morning anyway, even if I hadn't gone to the hospital.  I've let all that go. In my baby's eleventh month, I joined a birth story writing group, so I've been doing a lot of thinking, remembering, and writing about our birth. His birthday was on a Saturday this year. On Tuesday night, I thought, "This time last year, my labor was starting." And for the rest of the week, as I worked at the hospital, shopped, cleaned house, and prepped food for the birthday party, I thought, "this time last year, I was in labor." It was such a long time. So many days. All in all, labor lasted about 84 hours. If I can do that, I can do anything.

I was fantasizing about getting pregnant again and having a perfect homebirth. I could labor in the tub, walk around in the garden, and give birth in our marriage bed. But then I felt it and believed it: my birth was perfect. It was long and painful, but it demonstrates my strength and determination. It is a testament of love for my child. And just like that, I found a new sense of peace, respect, and honor for myself.

And that, ladies, is why you should write your birth stories.

The essence of the rose is the thorn.