Come, Mommy

Dear Kiri,

One year ago you moved from my womb, the only home you’d ever known, into the outside world. This new world was I’m sure strange to you; bright lights, loud, unmuffled sounds, and cool air. You had to learn quickly how to breathe this air, you had to quickly learn how to keep yourself warm, and you had to learn quickly how to nourish your tiny but rapidly growing body and brain. Such a big job to foist off on such a small and inexperienced lad!

But there were also wonderful things to be found outside my womb. You found that Daddy and I have warm, strong arms for carrying and cuddling you. You found our voices have more range and inflection than you knew before. And you found that I have this wonderful substance we call “milk”. On top of all that, there is this other lad named Liam who introduced himself to you in a rather saucy and exuberant manner not long after you were born. Your brother, you soon found, is a source of (mostly) gentle hugs and hysterically funny faces. As you grew interested in the outside world, you began to realize that while I have the milk, Liam is the guy in possession of these wonderful items we call “toys”. That showed you that each person we know shines a unique light on us and on our relationship with that person.

Over the last year you’ve grown and matured as a baby, Liam has grown and matured as a brother, and Daddy and I have most definitely grown and matured as parents. You’ve given us so much. We’ve seen lots of smiles, laughter, and crawling. We’ve heard those first few words that show us you know each and every one of us - “Mama”, “Dada”, “‘Tasey” (for Casey), and “Ow!” (which you use exclusively while pointing to your brother). So in celebration of all that growing you’ve done, and of all that happiness you give to us, I thought I would tell you the story of your arrival in our family. Your Birth Story.

Daddy and I waited for you for a long time. My pregnancy seemed as if it took forever and several days. I had an ultrasound halfway through my pregnancy, so we knew you are a boy. We were ready to go; we had clothes and diapers washed and ready. Your car seat was in the car, your co-sleeper was up in our bedroom, and your baby hammock swung in the sunshine from the living room windows. Gran-Gran had long since come in from Texas, Liam had picked out the flavor of birthday cake that he and Gran-Gran would bake for you, and Daddy had arranged for time off of work.

Your guess date, March 15th, passed. Then a week passed. You were intent on taking your time, it seemed. Liam kept begging you to come out. I was cranky and impatient. A few more days went by. My midwives recommended we schedule another ultrasound at the end of the week to make sure you had enough amniotic fluid. We waited some more. You continued taking your time. On the afternoon of the 22nd, after I burst into tears of crankiness and frustration, Daddy and I went for a walk. We walked and we talked. I declared that I was too tired and too frustrated to get in the car and drive to the ultrasound tomorrow. I declared that something had to happen in the next twelve hours or, or, or, well…I didn’t know what I would do exactly, but I was tired of being tired and frustrated.

That night I had trouble falling to sleep. When I finally fell asleep around midnight, I had dreams of inductions and c-sections. I woke up around 3:30 to get a drink, and noticed I had a funny achy feeling in my belly. Hoping against hope that you might at last be planning to make an appearance, I decided to hang out downstairs for a bit reading the news and answering some e-mail. As I made my way through the inbox, the achy feeling transformed into strong cramps about five minutes apart. I realized that I wasn’t going to have to appear for that ultrasound after all. I thought about waking up your Daddy and Gran-Gran, but then I decided I was going to take some calm time for myself before things got busy.

I thought about how I wanted your birth to be - gentle, calm, and soothing. I wondered what you looked like. I wondered how Liam would react to you. I took some more time and admired my pregnant belly, realizing that this might the last time I have a pregnant belly. I saw a ripple from your movement slide across my tummy, almost as if you were saying, “Hi, Mommy! I’ll see you in a little while!”

By then it was 5:00 AM, and your Daddy would be getting up to go to work pretty soon. I decided to let him sleep as long as he could. I did the daily cage and litter box cleaning for the ferrets, played with them for a while, and listened for sounds of your Daddy. He came down shortly, I told him I was in labor, and he called work and got Gran-Gran up. I called our midwife, L. It was 5:30 AM, and I was experiencing fairly strong contractions every three to four minutes that lasted 40-45 seconds. L said she would hop in the shower, run by the office to get my chart and be on her way by 6:30, but she did tell me that if things got more intense to call her before then. And then I called our doula, M, and alerted her.

By now I was feeling a bit queasy at the height of the contractions. I got some Gatorade to drink, had some toast and melon, and then went upstairs to lie down for a bit. At that point things really got going. The contractions intensified and were only about two to three minutes apart, and my stomach was upset. Gran-Gran popped her head into the room to see if I needed anything, and I asked her for a phone and a bucket. I called L back and gave her the scoop. “Excellent!” she said calmly. And she mentioned that she was going to skip the shower and start heading over right then. Kevin came in to stay with me, and after a little while M appeared, followed in short order by L and her student, E.

L, E, and M busied themselves setting out instruments, putting receiving blankets on a heating pad to get them nice and warm, taking my blood pressure and temperature, chit-chatting, and drinking the coffee Liam and Gran-Gran had made for them. (As I’m sure you’ve noticed, your brother knows his way around the kitchen. The lad is a natural-born cook.) I got up to use the bathroom, and when I returned the bed had been changed so that there was one full set of sheets topped by a plastic sheet. Then, on top of the plastic sheet was another set of linens with some Chux on top for small leaks. It was brilliantly designed, I thought, as if I got fluid of any kind on the bed, all my attendants would have to do was pull off the top set of sheets to reveal fresh linens beneath.

I was having a hard time standing at the peak of the contractions, so I lay down on my side in bed. I lay there half-dozing, half-listening to the ongoing conversation. Every so often we would hear Liam shrieking with glee from downstairs. We heard the “whoosh” of his toy trains zooming along their tracks. I could smell your birthday cake baking in the oven. It was a confetti cake, topped with vanilla cream frosting and rainbow sprinkles. (Liam had been especially adamant that your first birthday cake have rainbow sprinkles. That is the only way, evidently, to properly welcome a baby into the world.)

The contractions came more frequently, with more strength. As each one approached its peak I focused on relaxing, breathing out, and repeating, “Peace. Gentle.Peace. Gentle.” Every so often someone would try to draw me into the conversation, but my mind was completely focused on you and on what I needed to do to maintain relaxation and calmness. Once in a while Gran-Gran would pop in with fresh coffee for the attendants and to see what was going on.

At one point L asked me to lift a hand when I was having a contraction as she was having a hard time telling when they were happening. Every so often she or E would reach over with the Doppler to listen for your heartbeat; every single time we heard it, strong, regular, and beautiful. M reached over to press on my lower back with the peak of each contraction. Time passed, and with every contraction I could feel you dropping down, down, through my hips and ever closer to the outside world. I focused on breathing with all the support my diaphragm could give, just as I had done to stabilize my breathing during all those years of flute playing. L asked where I was when the contractions happened, and I told her I was thinking of all those years of flute lessons, orchestra practice, and singing, drawing on all available diaphragm strength just as I had been taught way back then. Apparently those exercises are valuable for more than playing wind instruments.

The contractions came closer and closer. They were one after another with barely a break between them. I sensed that you finally had decided that coming out was a good idea, and once committed to that path, you were going like gangbusters. You completely abandoned the idea of taking your time. Now it seemed as if you racing out as fast as you could go. This is an essential part of your personality even now - when you see a place to want to go to, or a toy you want to hold, or a food you want to eat, then nothing will stand between you and your goal. You will do what it takes to muscle your way through to your desired goal.

L asked me how I was doing. I replied, “I think the baby is right there, almost out.” She replied, “If that’s what you feel, then that’s the way it is,” and she and E started to don rubber gloves and set some warm blankets out on the bed to swaddle you and preserve your precious body heat.

After a couple more contractions, I felt that you wanted some help from me. As the contraction peaked, I knew it was time to push. It was nothing like what you see on TV or in the movies where a laboring woman is on her back in bed, seemingly unaware of what is happening between her baby and her body, where a doctor or paramedic takes charge and yells, “Push!” at some predetermined time. No one ever checked your progress with a pelvic exam or anything else. It was taken for granted that I just knew where you were and what you needed, that mother-baby bond already at work.

I started to push, hesitated a bit for fear of pain, but then committed to helping you out. I pushed through the pain, and in about three contractions I felt your head crowning. Your head popped out in a gush of fluid, and L asked if I wanted to catch you. I reached down, got your shoulders, and as the rest of your slippery, warm body slid out, I pulled you to my chest. L helped us both by supporting your body until I could get you all the way up into my arms and across my chest. Someone covered both of us with warm blankets. L reached over and gently massaged you. You were a bit dusky. L told me, “Liesl, talk to your baby. Let him hear that voice he’s been listening to for the last nine months.” I talked to you, massaged you, and Louise handed me some tubing to give you a blow-by of oxygen.

Very quickly you pinked up. We slid a hat on you, exchanged the wet blankets for fresh, warm and dry ones, and then you nursed for the first time ever. It was 9:00 AM, Friday, March 23rd, 2007.

We lay there in bed, you, me, and Daddy. I noticed the sun had come up and was shining brightly through the windows. Rush-hour traffic zoomed by oblivious to the everyday miracle that had just occurred in the white house on the corner. I felt like yelling from the windows, “People! Pay attention! A baby was just born here! In this house!”

I felt more contractions and then your placenta, your tree of life, the organ that supplied all your physical needs until now, slid out, all parts present and accounted for. E stitched up the tear you made in your haste to breathe outside air. L convinced me to hand you over to Daddy and go in to take a warm shower. On the way to the bathroom she cautioned me, “Liesl, you’ve just had a lovely home birth. I must tell you that it is frowned upon to faint after home birth. Fainting is really bad form.” I didn’t faint, or even feel the slightest bit woozy. Never did a shower feel so good.

I came out, and you were swaddled in a blue receiving blanket with your first diaper on. Daddy was holding you, and Liam was standing next to you looking rather confused, but obviously quite happy about the train you brought him. He looked at me with delight, and he and I climbed into the bed that had been freshly made by the birth attendants while I was in the shower. He snuggled up on the pillows next to me, Daddy handed you to me, and for the very first time I got to snuggle with both my boys. I had been waiting for this moment for the better part of a year, and it was every bit as wonderful as I hoped it would be.

For a moment I thought about Liam’s birth three years before. And just as I had looked at Liam in amazement after his birth and counted fingers and toes, I looked again, but this time at two boys. One who all of a sudden seemed huge, and one very, very tiny baby. Both of you have the same light skin, the same blue eyes, and the same long eyelashes. You share many physical traits, yet you are clearly different boys, and each of you will make your mark on the world in a different way.

My stomach interrupted my reverie by grumbling in no uncertain manner. At about the same time L recommended that I eat something “hugely yummy and calorific.” She offered to make all of us (well, not you, sorry!) some homemade French toast or waffles. I remembered how hard it had been to get food out of the hospital nurses after Liam’s birth, and I laughed in amusement and amazement at the idea of a midwife offering to cook breakfast for us. But for some strange reason the edible delight that most appealed to me at that moment was a milkshake. From McDonald’s, not Burger King, nor even an actual ice cream shop like Maggie Moo’s or Coldstone Creamery. So Molly hopped in her car and headed off down the street in search of the largest chocolate milkshake McDonald’s could make.

What with all the talk of food buzzing around, Liam decided that he wanted a snack, and he and Gran-Gran went off to the kitchen together to bring up the birthday cake they had made earlier in the morning. That left the three of us plus L and E to do your newborn exam. They spread out a blanket right on our bed and checked you over right there. Never were you taken away, and never did you leave my sight. You weighed eight pounds even and your length was a grand total of 21 inches. Your heart and breathing sounded perfect, all your reflexes were in good order, and your eyes and ears were as good as they come. E gave you your Vitamin K shot, and you didn’t cry. I expressed some concern as you had been born about an hour before and we had yet to hear your voice. L assured me that you were fine and contented so you had no reason to cry. I had been conditioned after years of ER viewing that babies must cry with that first breath, but in fact, Hollywood dramatizes a lot of stuff. (Who knew?)

Daddy gave your pediatrician a call to let her know you had arrived. She thought it would be a good idea for us to bring you in to her office for your first check-up that afternoon. L’s recommendation was different, saying that you couldn’t go anywhere without me (obviously) and that I shouldn’t leave the house for 48 hours unless there was a true emergency. So we all agreed that Monday morning sounded fine for your first check-up.

Just then Liam and Gran-Gran reappeared with a birthday cake and champagne, and M returned with my milkshake. After a rousing round of “Happy Birthday to You!” we toasted and had some birthday cake, ice cream, champagne, and chocolate milkshake. We posed for some group photos. L finished her charting, left us with a final congratulations and some suggestions, gathered up her bag, and left right along with E and M.

We looked around at our suddenly quiet house. The only evidence of the morning’s excitement was the unusual tidiness of the bedroom and bathroom, and most importantly, of course, we had in our arms a gorgeous baby. It was truly as if the stork had come, done some housekeeping, and left behind a baby as evidence of his visit. The morning had proceeded with calm, gentle, confident intent and there was never a moment of confusion or worry.

It was a perfect birth. And it was your birth, Kieran. My wish for you now, my love, is that all the big moments of your life from this birth on proceed with such surety and calm. And that your gentle and passionate birth started off a lifetime of gentleness and passion in whatever direction you choose to explore.

In one year you’ve grown from this:

To this:

Happy First Birthday, Sweet Baby!

Love,

Mommy