Birth Story 3
The Amazing Homebirth of Eleanor Paige
By Jesse Michener
And baby makes…five.
My third child, a beautiful daughter, was born into the world last Tuesday morning. In the wee dark hours of a rainy October night, little Eleanor Paige safely made her way into this world in the attic of our schoolhouse home.
Her story begins last March. In the midst of a harried deadline forMothering magazine, I frantically searched for items I needed. My office was in our basement and things frequently got lost amid the unpacked boxes and general disorganization. In one such box, I found a home pregnancy test unused from when we were trying to conceive Zoe. I sat down and thought about when my period was due—always a tricky figure with my irregular cycles and doubly so because I had only had one flow since Zoe’s birth, nearly a year earlier. I decided that if I were a person with regular periods, I would be two weeks late. With no symptoms and no real belief I was pregnant, I took the test for fun. I decided it was good distraction from my chaotic day and when it was negative I could at least know I wasn’t pregnant.
The pregnancy line showed before the control line.
I am not a person for surprises. I can hardly keep my mouth shut when it comes to the holidays and birthdays. I don’t plan them well, I don’t keep them well. I like to know what is coming. A surprise pregnancy was not in the plan,thankyouverymuch. Zoe was just over a year old! My hands started to shake, my stomach immediately churned with nerves and the very idea of telling Mike about the pregnancy made me feel faint. My husband is a reasonable man, but he isn’t the type to deal with surprises well, either.
I called Jenny, my best friend, in England. “You don’t have to have the baby, you know.” Yes, I knew that. It wasn’t an option for me. She listened to me cry and relate my fears about Mike’s reaction and offered her love and support. I told her I was sure I’d get used to the idea and be happy, but that I didn’t know when that would be.
For some reason, I was terrified of telling Mike. I don’t really know why, but somehow I felt as if it were my fault. I realize it takes two people to make a pregnancy happen, but in my heightened emotional state, I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. I imagined him mad at me. My husband rarely even raises his voice, the fear I had was more that he would hold me solely accountable for this pregnancy—it was unrealistic and unfair. I’m sure I was projecting my fears and feelings onto him.
I decided to try and make the actual telling a little humorous. I taped the positive test to the door with yellow tape. I wrote the word, “Caution” on the tape. I saw him walk up to the door. He opened it without noticing the test but then did a double-take. “What does this mean?” He said very sternly. “What does this mean? Are you pregnant?”
All I could do was sob, “Yes.”
He rushed over to me and said, “Oh, that is wonderful! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” I told him I thought he’d be mad at me and he looked at me with that “you’re-such-a-wacky-dame” look. “What a beautiful day to find out we’re having another baby!” He hugged me and said, “But we have to stop at three, okay?”
After I was sure my marriage was intact, I realized how unprepared we were to welcome another life into this world. Our cars were crappy and our house was too small. I believe that you can put your needs out to the universe and most of the time the universe responds. Sometimes it’s not what you expect, but it is often what you need. On a photo shoot later that spring, I found the house we were to move into—a remodeled turn-of-the-century schoolhouse. It was located 22 miles from the city, which was both good and bad. Mike would be commuting to Seattle each day and I would have to navigate transportation across the bridge to the Waldorf school in Tacoma. The schoolhouse was beautiful and serene, it seemed like an equal exchange.
The pregnancy was fairly uneventful. I didn’t get terrible morning sickness and had more energy than I had with my others. My weight gain was slow and steady and things were generally easy until September. September was a hard, hard month. All of the sudden my body turned on me. My pelvis began to ache with every movement, a condition known as Pubic Symphsis Disorder. The ligament that holds the two halves of the pubic bone together starts to soften in preparation for the baby’s decent. The only problem is that the bones tend to scat and jive during the process resulting in movement = pain.
Had it not been for my trance-like obsession with getting and keeping the house clean, things might have been okay. I was a like a woman possessed, though, and my to-do list for the house was never ending. My children seemed to be in a war against me: making messes, taking off diapers and peeing (or worse) on the floor, cutting and pasting things where things that should not be cut and pasted—it was enough to drive a hugely-pregnant woman mad. And it did, at times. My body was so tired, in so much constant pain, that I felt beaten and worn as I approached 36 weeks.
And then, all of the sudden, I didn’t. One day I woke up and felt a little better. The next day I felt even better. By the end of my 37th week, I was feeling like a new woman. The house was clean, the labor preparations were done and I was more and more ready to have our wee surprise girl.
Mike’s contract at Seattle’s Intiman theatre ended in my 38th week. He found work the following week. That left one week work-free because his new job started on November 1st. This was all during my 39th-40th week of pregnancy. After trying all of the low-intervention home induction techniques (walking, sex, spicy food), I decided I was ready for some big guns. Like my labor with Zoe, I wanted to kick-start this labor with castor oil. I’m not one for interventions and knew that if my body wasn’t ready, it wouldn’t start labor. This was the only week Mike was home and I was going to do everything I could to have her then.
On Monday the 25th, we went to my midwife appointment. My midwife, a beautiful woman named Constance, asked me what I had in mind for jump-starting labor. When I said castor oil, we both knew how serious I was. She got on her game face and the tenor of the appointment changed. She remarked that I looked ready, that I seemed really clear and centered. I felt that way, too.
“Do you want me to strip your membranes?” she asked. “Yup. Do it all. Let’s get this show on the road.” She reached in to feel my cervix. I was at a 1 and very soft. She massaged the cervix a bit and worked her fingers slowly between the bag of waters and my uterine wall. By the time she was finished, I was dilated to a 2. It was not a pain-free experience, but it was well worth it if it would get labor started. My orders were to go home, blend 3 oz of castor oil with 1 pint of ice cream and one cup milk. After I had chugged that, I was to take a hot shower, then a long walk and then have sex. At the end of four hours, I was to call Constance with an update.
The ice cream of choice this go-around was plain chocolate. At 1:00 p.m., I mixed the shake in the blender as Mike got busy doing various last-minute house hold things. The house was pretty messy, so after my shower, I got busy cleaning. Zoe napped and Violet drifted from me to Mike, helping when she could. The castor oil cleaned my bowels fairly quickly and painlessly. The contractions I had been having for days seemed to regulate a bit and pick up—ever so slightly—in intensity. At the end of four hours I was disheartened because the contractions I was having seemed very mild. With Zoe, my water broke after the mandated sex portion of the instructions. No such luck this time. I figured I’d have to repeat the castor oil—which I didn’t know that I was capable of because it was so disgusting the thought of retaking it made me want to vomit.
At 5:00 p.m. I called Constance. I related that, yes, I was contracting about every 4 - 6 minutes. They were really mild and I was to keep busy, talk, etc. though them. Although they were regular and more intense, I was not convinced was is labor. She advised me not to retake the castor oil—if I was in early labor, the contractions were doing the job of further effacing me and the big guns would come out later. If not, I could retake the castor oil the next day after a good night’s rest. I told her I’d call her before I went to bed.
Almost immediately, things started to get interesting. Not convincing, but interesting. At 8:30 p.m. we called Constance because, wouldn’t you know it, my contractions were 2-3 minutes apart. They were close but they were not impressive, not “knock-your-socks-off contractions.” I did feel good making vocalizations through them. Constance found it very interesting I was vocalizing and said they would come right away—which meant they’d be there in 1-2 hours because of our location. We called Jenny and asked her to come out. I needed a distraction and knew that the girls would love having her there if we wanted to go for a walk.
When Jenny arrived, we all danced to Dar Williams, “The Christians and the Pagans” and Jenny massaged my hands and feet. Zoe snuggled with me on the couch, nursing now and then. Violet watched with concern when I had a contraction, held my hand and said, “It’s okay, Mama.” When she knew I was okay, she smiled big and said, “Baby coming! Baby coming out of mama’s yoni!”
Mike and I walked. We walked down to Glen Cove and looked at the water. The night was black, slightly foggy and it was sprinkling. I held our huge umbrella. Mike went hatless. I was worried about his head. My contractions were regular and strong but not overwhelming at all. I felt good. I did not feel as if I was in labor, though, and figured it would all go away once I stopped moving.
Constance, Carolee and Melanie (the two assistants) arrived around 10:00 p.m. Everyone was in good spirits. I found that if I stood up, my contractions continued in intensity. I leaned against our large sofa and relaxed my lower body. I paced and paced, fearing sitting and the end of contractions. The midwives took my vitals and I asked Constance to check me. Earlier I told Jenny I would be disappointed if I was only at a 4, but I figured I was at a 4. “You’re at a 4, oh wait…make that a 5…and mostly effaced!” Okay, okay, I thought. Progress.
For an hour I chatted and paced behind the couch. I was getting bored of it all. My contractions were great but so unimpressive to me that I was just sure I was going to stall out. Constance told us that I had a lot of fluid; so much fluid, in fact, that the baby wasn’t really putting any pressure on my cervix. I decided that being a watched pot was not doing me any good. “I’m going to go upstairs go to bed.” Constance thought it was a great idea. Everyone marched upstairs with me and tucked me in. “Am I really in labor? Are you sure it’s not going to stop?” I asked Constance, like a kid asking if tomorrow was really Christmas. Constance looked at me and said I was really in labor. I believed her.
Everyone left the room.
11:00 p.m. and I relaxed into the bed, beginning my familiar meditation with my baby. Being the mother of two, often the only time I had for the baby within was at night. I would envision my labor, quick and easy, through meditation. I retreated into my mind and connected with my child. I told her it was okay to come down further in my pelvis. I envisioned her head lowering, and I told her it was time to be born. I saw my baby move into my pelvis and didn’t notice the rising contraction within my belly. I told her it was okay for my water to break and as I envisioned my water breaking…
My water broke.
No really, it did. It was amazing. My body jolted when it broke, surprised by the force behind it. I yelled, “Hey! Hello! HELLO!” But no one heard me. I yelled again. This time the whole gang heard. “I’m coming, honey!” Constance said with urgency. They arrived to me recounting what had just happened. Constance said I was amazing, that I had such a special connection with body and with my baby. I felt excited and overwhelmed with love. Love for my birth team and love for my special heart-child.
What I do know about the next two and a half hours is that I entered labor-land very quickly. I hardly remember details—it comes to me in waves of images, snippets of conversation and sense memory. I took a bath, I labored in the big brown chair, I tried laying down but it was terrible, I tried leaning against Mike and that didn’t do much for me. I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop walking, moving, pacing. My body and mind wouldn’t rest. The contractions were intense but manageable. It seemed like things were dragging on. I sensed the room was tired and I yawned between nearly every contraction. When I entered transition, the time of biggest trepidation on my part, I was standing by my bed with one foot on the bed and one on the ground.
Transition is the time to face the greatest fear, look it in the eye and move through it. In my life I struggle with facing and simply being with pain or hurt. In the moments of a transition contraction, I see/sense/feel/be the pain and it takes all I have as a woman to face it and not let it consume me. Constance’s voice, her steady, strong voice often reminded me that I would be able to get to the other side in once piece, I would remain whole. Like a great shaman, she walked the path with me, supporting me with her love and strength.
I can’t do this. I’m going to die. “Maaaaaaaa mmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa.” Even hearing myself echo the sound, “ma-ma,” startled me. Was I calling for my own mother? Was I calling on all mothers? I don’t know. Anyone who knows me knows that my mother does not fulfill the role of mother in my life in a traditional sense and would also know that I would not call on her in my greatest time of need. I don’t know where those words came from, but I found myself saying them over and over. I think those words were my cry to be mothered. My need to be mothered. I don’t let anyone do this because most of the time I’ll resent them. I’m strong. I’m powerful. I don’t need anyone, especially another woman, helping me.But the truth is, I do. I fear so much: rejection, judgment, abandonment that I find it safer to simply rely on myself. Constance in her role as my midwife is really the only woman I’ve let fill this role without me resenting her later. The relationship is one that burns so bright for such a short time, perhaps I feel safer in it than in my day-to-day. Regardless, she is a kindrid, special woman whom I hold in the highest regard.
I’m going to die. Constance assured me I was not going to die. “Jesse, look at me.” I could not open my eyes. “Jesse, you have to face it to move through it. You can do this. Stay on top of it.” I do. And it’s time.
I move to the bed on all fours. Instinctively, I knew this is the best way for my baby to be born. I feel the urge to push as she slips past my tailbone. She felt so big, the urge to push is coupled with pain I didn’t remember having with Zoe. Constance tells me the baby is probably bigger, that it’s okay and I can do it. Ipushhhhhhhhhhh again and reach inside of myself to feel her head. She’s half way down. “She’s coming,” I say. She’s almost here. They ask me if I wanted to watch and I say I can’t move from this spot. “Someone wake up Violet.” No, no. We’ll wake her after. “Get the camera.”
Pushhhhhhhh! I feel her head against my perineum. I’m ripping. Help me. “You’re stretching beautifully.” Pushhhhhhh! Her head is born. I hear the assistants say, “Head!” to mark the time. “Come on baby, which way are you going to turn?” Constance asks. Pushhhhhhhh! The baby had so much room, she didn’t rotate her shoulders, coming straight out. I feel her body slide from mine in one motion. There is a rush of fluid. I feel immediate relief. It took just six minutes.
She cried straight away. My other girls didn’t—they were slow to start. I hear Constance say, “Jesse, hold your baby…” but I can’t move from my hands and knees position. They help me roll over, but her cord is short. They have to cut it before I can move. Jenny cut the cord this time. Finally, I am able to lie on my back and they give her to me. Oh, baby, baby. You’re here. We did it.
The time was 1:28 a.m., October 26, 2004. She weighed 7 lbs., 15 oz. and was 20.5 inches long. We named her Eleanor Paige. She had blonde hair like her sister, Violet. Because I had so much fluid, she hardly showed any signs of labor (cone head, bruises). When we wake Violet (we decided not to wake Zoe because she is harder to put back to sleep), she is elated. She especially loves the placenta lesson the midwife’s assistants give her. She comes and tells me about the “tree” in the bowl (the veins of the placenta look like a tree).
By 3:30 a.m. the midwives leave us and we all fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. A thankful sleep. Sweet, sweet…
By Jesse Michener
And baby makes…five.
My third child, a beautiful daughter, was born into the world last Tuesday morning. In the wee dark hours of a rainy October night, little Eleanor Paige safely made her way into this world in the attic of our schoolhouse home.
Her story begins last March. In the midst of a harried deadline forMothering magazine, I frantically searched for items I needed. My office was in our basement and things frequently got lost amid the unpacked boxes and general disorganization. In one such box, I found a home pregnancy test unused from when we were trying to conceive Zoe. I sat down and thought about when my period was due—always a tricky figure with my irregular cycles and doubly so because I had only had one flow since Zoe’s birth, nearly a year earlier. I decided that if I were a person with regular periods, I would be two weeks late. With no symptoms and no real belief I was pregnant, I took the test for fun. I decided it was good distraction from my chaotic day and when it was negative I could at least know I wasn’t pregnant.
The pregnancy line showed before the control line.
I am not a person for surprises. I can hardly keep my mouth shut when it comes to the holidays and birthdays. I don’t plan them well, I don’t keep them well. I like to know what is coming. A surprise pregnancy was not in the plan,thankyouverymuch. Zoe was just over a year old! My hands started to shake, my stomach immediately churned with nerves and the very idea of telling Mike about the pregnancy made me feel faint. My husband is a reasonable man, but he isn’t the type to deal with surprises well, either.
I called Jenny, my best friend, in England. “You don’t have to have the baby, you know.” Yes, I knew that. It wasn’t an option for me. She listened to me cry and relate my fears about Mike’s reaction and offered her love and support. I told her I was sure I’d get used to the idea and be happy, but that I didn’t know when that would be.
For some reason, I was terrified of telling Mike. I don’t really know why, but somehow I felt as if it were my fault. I realize it takes two people to make a pregnancy happen, but in my heightened emotional state, I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. I imagined him mad at me. My husband rarely even raises his voice, the fear I had was more that he would hold me solely accountable for this pregnancy—it was unrealistic and unfair. I’m sure I was projecting my fears and feelings onto him.
I decided to try and make the actual telling a little humorous. I taped the positive test to the door with yellow tape. I wrote the word, “Caution” on the tape. I saw him walk up to the door. He opened it without noticing the test but then did a double-take. “What does this mean?” He said very sternly. “What does this mean? Are you pregnant?”
All I could do was sob, “Yes.”
He rushed over to me and said, “Oh, that is wonderful! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” I told him I thought he’d be mad at me and he looked at me with that “you’re-such-a-wacky-dame” look. “What a beautiful day to find out we’re having another baby!” He hugged me and said, “But we have to stop at three, okay?”
After I was sure my marriage was intact, I realized how unprepared we were to welcome another life into this world. Our cars were crappy and our house was too small. I believe that you can put your needs out to the universe and most of the time the universe responds. Sometimes it’s not what you expect, but it is often what you need. On a photo shoot later that spring, I found the house we were to move into—a remodeled turn-of-the-century schoolhouse. It was located 22 miles from the city, which was both good and bad. Mike would be commuting to Seattle each day and I would have to navigate transportation across the bridge to the Waldorf school in Tacoma. The schoolhouse was beautiful and serene, it seemed like an equal exchange.
The pregnancy was fairly uneventful. I didn’t get terrible morning sickness and had more energy than I had with my others. My weight gain was slow and steady and things were generally easy until September. September was a hard, hard month. All of the sudden my body turned on me. My pelvis began to ache with every movement, a condition known as Pubic Symphsis Disorder. The ligament that holds the two halves of the pubic bone together starts to soften in preparation for the baby’s decent. The only problem is that the bones tend to scat and jive during the process resulting in movement = pain.
Had it not been for my trance-like obsession with getting and keeping the house clean, things might have been okay. I was a like a woman possessed, though, and my to-do list for the house was never ending. My children seemed to be in a war against me: making messes, taking off diapers and peeing (or worse) on the floor, cutting and pasting things where things that should not be cut and pasted—it was enough to drive a hugely-pregnant woman mad. And it did, at times. My body was so tired, in so much constant pain, that I felt beaten and worn as I approached 36 weeks.
And then, all of the sudden, I didn’t. One day I woke up and felt a little better. The next day I felt even better. By the end of my 37th week, I was feeling like a new woman. The house was clean, the labor preparations were done and I was more and more ready to have our wee surprise girl.
Mike’s contract at Seattle’s Intiman theatre ended in my 38th week. He found work the following week. That left one week work-free because his new job started on November 1st. This was all during my 39th-40th week of pregnancy. After trying all of the low-intervention home induction techniques (walking, sex, spicy food), I decided I was ready for some big guns. Like my labor with Zoe, I wanted to kick-start this labor with castor oil. I’m not one for interventions and knew that if my body wasn’t ready, it wouldn’t start labor. This was the only week Mike was home and I was going to do everything I could to have her then.
On Monday the 25th, we went to my midwife appointment. My midwife, a beautiful woman named Constance, asked me what I had in mind for jump-starting labor. When I said castor oil, we both knew how serious I was. She got on her game face and the tenor of the appointment changed. She remarked that I looked ready, that I seemed really clear and centered. I felt that way, too.
“Do you want me to strip your membranes?” she asked. “Yup. Do it all. Let’s get this show on the road.” She reached in to feel my cervix. I was at a 1 and very soft. She massaged the cervix a bit and worked her fingers slowly between the bag of waters and my uterine wall. By the time she was finished, I was dilated to a 2. It was not a pain-free experience, but it was well worth it if it would get labor started. My orders were to go home, blend 3 oz of castor oil with 1 pint of ice cream and one cup milk. After I had chugged that, I was to take a hot shower, then a long walk and then have sex. At the end of four hours, I was to call Constance with an update.
The ice cream of choice this go-around was plain chocolate. At 1:00 p.m., I mixed the shake in the blender as Mike got busy doing various last-minute house hold things. The house was pretty messy, so after my shower, I got busy cleaning. Zoe napped and Violet drifted from me to Mike, helping when she could. The castor oil cleaned my bowels fairly quickly and painlessly. The contractions I had been having for days seemed to regulate a bit and pick up—ever so slightly—in intensity. At the end of four hours I was disheartened because the contractions I was having seemed very mild. With Zoe, my water broke after the mandated sex portion of the instructions. No such luck this time. I figured I’d have to repeat the castor oil—which I didn’t know that I was capable of because it was so disgusting the thought of retaking it made me want to vomit.
At 5:00 p.m. I called Constance. I related that, yes, I was contracting about every 4 - 6 minutes. They were really mild and I was to keep busy, talk, etc. though them. Although they were regular and more intense, I was not convinced was is labor. She advised me not to retake the castor oil—if I was in early labor, the contractions were doing the job of further effacing me and the big guns would come out later. If not, I could retake the castor oil the next day after a good night’s rest. I told her I’d call her before I went to bed.
Almost immediately, things started to get interesting. Not convincing, but interesting. At 8:30 p.m. we called Constance because, wouldn’t you know it, my contractions were 2-3 minutes apart. They were close but they were not impressive, not “knock-your-socks-off contractions.” I did feel good making vocalizations through them. Constance found it very interesting I was vocalizing and said they would come right away—which meant they’d be there in 1-2 hours because of our location. We called Jenny and asked her to come out. I needed a distraction and knew that the girls would love having her there if we wanted to go for a walk.
When Jenny arrived, we all danced to Dar Williams, “The Christians and the Pagans” and Jenny massaged my hands and feet. Zoe snuggled with me on the couch, nursing now and then. Violet watched with concern when I had a contraction, held my hand and said, “It’s okay, Mama.” When she knew I was okay, she smiled big and said, “Baby coming! Baby coming out of mama’s yoni!”
Mike and I walked. We walked down to Glen Cove and looked at the water. The night was black, slightly foggy and it was sprinkling. I held our huge umbrella. Mike went hatless. I was worried about his head. My contractions were regular and strong but not overwhelming at all. I felt good. I did not feel as if I was in labor, though, and figured it would all go away once I stopped moving.
Constance, Carolee and Melanie (the two assistants) arrived around 10:00 p.m. Everyone was in good spirits. I found that if I stood up, my contractions continued in intensity. I leaned against our large sofa and relaxed my lower body. I paced and paced, fearing sitting and the end of contractions. The midwives took my vitals and I asked Constance to check me. Earlier I told Jenny I would be disappointed if I was only at a 4, but I figured I was at a 4. “You’re at a 4, oh wait…make that a 5…and mostly effaced!” Okay, okay, I thought. Progress.
For an hour I chatted and paced behind the couch. I was getting bored of it all. My contractions were great but so unimpressive to me that I was just sure I was going to stall out. Constance told us that I had a lot of fluid; so much fluid, in fact, that the baby wasn’t really putting any pressure on my cervix. I decided that being a watched pot was not doing me any good. “I’m going to go upstairs go to bed.” Constance thought it was a great idea. Everyone marched upstairs with me and tucked me in. “Am I really in labor? Are you sure it’s not going to stop?” I asked Constance, like a kid asking if tomorrow was really Christmas. Constance looked at me and said I was really in labor. I believed her.
Everyone left the room.
11:00 p.m. and I relaxed into the bed, beginning my familiar meditation with my baby. Being the mother of two, often the only time I had for the baby within was at night. I would envision my labor, quick and easy, through meditation. I retreated into my mind and connected with my child. I told her it was okay to come down further in my pelvis. I envisioned her head lowering, and I told her it was time to be born. I saw my baby move into my pelvis and didn’t notice the rising contraction within my belly. I told her it was okay for my water to break and as I envisioned my water breaking…
My water broke.
No really, it did. It was amazing. My body jolted when it broke, surprised by the force behind it. I yelled, “Hey! Hello! HELLO!” But no one heard me. I yelled again. This time the whole gang heard. “I’m coming, honey!” Constance said with urgency. They arrived to me recounting what had just happened. Constance said I was amazing, that I had such a special connection with body and with my baby. I felt excited and overwhelmed with love. Love for my birth team and love for my special heart-child.
What I do know about the next two and a half hours is that I entered labor-land very quickly. I hardly remember details—it comes to me in waves of images, snippets of conversation and sense memory. I took a bath, I labored in the big brown chair, I tried laying down but it was terrible, I tried leaning against Mike and that didn’t do much for me. I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop walking, moving, pacing. My body and mind wouldn’t rest. The contractions were intense but manageable. It seemed like things were dragging on. I sensed the room was tired and I yawned between nearly every contraction. When I entered transition, the time of biggest trepidation on my part, I was standing by my bed with one foot on the bed and one on the ground.
Transition is the time to face the greatest fear, look it in the eye and move through it. In my life I struggle with facing and simply being with pain or hurt. In the moments of a transition contraction, I see/sense/feel/be the pain and it takes all I have as a woman to face it and not let it consume me. Constance’s voice, her steady, strong voice often reminded me that I would be able to get to the other side in once piece, I would remain whole. Like a great shaman, she walked the path with me, supporting me with her love and strength.
I can’t do this. I’m going to die. “Maaaaaaaa mmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa.” Even hearing myself echo the sound, “ma-ma,” startled me. Was I calling for my own mother? Was I calling on all mothers? I don’t know. Anyone who knows me knows that my mother does not fulfill the role of mother in my life in a traditional sense and would also know that I would not call on her in my greatest time of need. I don’t know where those words came from, but I found myself saying them over and over. I think those words were my cry to be mothered. My need to be mothered. I don’t let anyone do this because most of the time I’ll resent them. I’m strong. I’m powerful. I don’t need anyone, especially another woman, helping me.But the truth is, I do. I fear so much: rejection, judgment, abandonment that I find it safer to simply rely on myself. Constance in her role as my midwife is really the only woman I’ve let fill this role without me resenting her later. The relationship is one that burns so bright for such a short time, perhaps I feel safer in it than in my day-to-day. Regardless, she is a kindrid, special woman whom I hold in the highest regard.
I’m going to die. Constance assured me I was not going to die. “Jesse, look at me.” I could not open my eyes. “Jesse, you have to face it to move through it. You can do this. Stay on top of it.” I do. And it’s time.
I move to the bed on all fours. Instinctively, I knew this is the best way for my baby to be born. I feel the urge to push as she slips past my tailbone. She felt so big, the urge to push is coupled with pain I didn’t remember having with Zoe. Constance tells me the baby is probably bigger, that it’s okay and I can do it. Ipushhhhhhhhhhh again and reach inside of myself to feel her head. She’s half way down. “She’s coming,” I say. She’s almost here. They ask me if I wanted to watch and I say I can’t move from this spot. “Someone wake up Violet.” No, no. We’ll wake her after. “Get the camera.”
Pushhhhhhhh! I feel her head against my perineum. I’m ripping. Help me. “You’re stretching beautifully.” Pushhhhhhh! Her head is born. I hear the assistants say, “Head!” to mark the time. “Come on baby, which way are you going to turn?” Constance asks. Pushhhhhhhh! The baby had so much room, she didn’t rotate her shoulders, coming straight out. I feel her body slide from mine in one motion. There is a rush of fluid. I feel immediate relief. It took just six minutes.
She cried straight away. My other girls didn’t—they were slow to start. I hear Constance say, “Jesse, hold your baby…” but I can’t move from my hands and knees position. They help me roll over, but her cord is short. They have to cut it before I can move. Jenny cut the cord this time. Finally, I am able to lie on my back and they give her to me. Oh, baby, baby. You’re here. We did it.
The time was 1:28 a.m., October 26, 2004. She weighed 7 lbs., 15 oz. and was 20.5 inches long. We named her Eleanor Paige. She had blonde hair like her sister, Violet. Because I had so much fluid, she hardly showed any signs of labor (cone head, bruises). When we wake Violet (we decided not to wake Zoe because she is harder to put back to sleep), she is elated. She especially loves the placenta lesson the midwife’s assistants give her. She comes and tells me about the “tree” in the bowl (the veins of the placenta look like a tree).
By 3:30 a.m. the midwives leave us and we all fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. A thankful sleep. Sweet, sweet…
