My Gift of Grace

[angela_n_hunt]

And here, the birth story of my newest, darling girl.

It's still not the birth story that you're looking for.

NB: I'm sure there will be bits that are TMI for some of you.  Hence the cut.  But for the rest of you, here is how my girl chose to come into the world, as quiet as her sister's was dramatic.

Oh.  And Clive is still right.  Blood.  Shit.  Pain and viscera.  But they are the borders and boundaries of a great beauty at times.  Between one breath and the next, it is how the Art found me.  It found me through my body and the bodies of my babies.

I still don't know how to start.  Back to basics again.

Once upon a time...

This time, I knew what was happening.  This time, I wasn't afraid.

You may not understand how critical this is for me.  Looking back, I see how much fear I ran during the Mouse’s pregnancy and during the birth.  To be able to have made *this* journey, in a state of peace, if painful, was the first of many, many gifts.

The afternoon of April 2nd, I lost part of my mucous plug.  Gross, believe me, but a herald of what was to come.  My baby was on her way, who knew when, but she was on her way.  Called the awesome Dr. Schneider and was told to call back when contractions started in earnest.  At this point, my hopes were that they actually *would* start up, even though, yes, check your calendars, I was three weeks early according to all the charting.

Oopsie.

As the Ant said, "Bad math!"

But Bean seemed to have her intentions clear.  Or so it seemed.

The next day, at 2:30 in the afternoon, I started to have regular contractions.  While in the filing room at work.  I had to laugh.  My water broke with the Mouse in the plumbing aisle at Home Depot.  Of course I would have contractions while trying to file legal documents.  What else was new?

I went to see Dr. Schneider (“Jessica!”), since I already had an appt.  Driving while having contractions is not easy.  See another Olympic sport for pregnant, possibly laboring women to go along with touch typing.  I made it without incident and they rushed me in, since the contractions were strong enough to rob me of breath at that point.

 

But my cervix wasn’t open.  Nada.  Super soft, but nada.  Jessica said, “Well, either you’ll be calling me in a few hours or it’ll be a while.”

 

Bean chose, it’ll be a while.  Or so it seemed.

 

That night, the contractions were strong enough that we ended up at the hospital.  Except again, no open cervix, the monitor couldn’t pick up my contractions and just in general, as far as we could tell, Bean just wanted to go for a drive at 2 AM.

 

And then the contractions…petered out.  Just like they did with the Mouse’s pre-labor. 

 

I wanted to scream.  This part, did not amuse me.  I remembered too clearly last time.  The days of starting and stopping and getting nowhere.  I didn’t want to do this again.  I wasn’t going to do this again.

 

But already, I wasn’t.  I wasn’t going for a home birth.  I had seen how tense that made me.  I felt and feel safer in a hospital.  Even the false alarm trip had relaxed me to some degree.  These folks knew what they were doing.  Jessica was going to be there for me.  Unlike my primary midwife who went to Liberia halfway through the pregnancy with Mouse.  The nurses are uber competent at Cedars Sinai.  I knew I was in good hands.

 

I just didn’t know how long before Bean was going to get a move on.

 

Through all the days of starting and stopping contractions, not once did I feel afraid. 

 

This time, it was like the night of the heart-shaped fire at Sundoor.  The first night that I learned to walk fire, not from fear, but from joy.  From sheer laughter.  It was like that night where we danced on the coals and I laughed and laughed. 

 

It was hard.  Don’t get me wrong.  Fourteen days of pre-labor this time, versus the seven days of pre-labor with the Mouse.  Twice as damn long.  But this time, I had Ambien for the night, so I could get some sleep.  I had my awesome chiropractor, Dr. Berlin, who kept adjusting my back and making the pain recede.  I had my awesome acupuncturist, Jason, who took my needle phobia and helped me deal with it anyway.  Where, when he stuck me with the needles, I was able to nap on the table, current running through my legs, trying to convince my cervix to get a damn move on.

 

In short, it was night and day.  I was supported.  I was cared for.  I didn’t feel abandoned or fearful.  I just had to be patient.  And through it all, there was this core of peace.

 

Bean never moved out of position.  She stayed head down and anterior.  Presenting perfectly.  It was just Mr. Uterus and Mr. Cervix who were dragging their feet.

 

So I contained.  Rode it out.  Waited for contractions to get serious. 

 

A week of this, and Jessica sent me to get an amnio, just to make sure that Bean was ready to go.  See if that was the hold up.  Sure enough, when the results came back the next day, the indicators were that her lungs weren’t quite there yet.  I had to be patient.  We were just going to ride this out for another week.  Jessica told me to hang on and I did.  But I wasn’t thrilled.

 

But I was also glad to have the information.  It wasn’t that things were coming apart, that the wheels were coming off.  There were reasons it was taking the time it was.  Bean wasn’t ready.  So.

 

We put The West Wing on like last time and watched episode after episode, to distract me from the pain.  Watched silly movies.  The husband and the Ant rubbed my back and kept me sane and on the days I thought I would cry, the Mouse would pat my cheek and say, “It’ll be okay, Momma.”

 

Loved.  That’s how I felt.  Still feel.  So utterly loved.  So I hung on and ignored contractions as best as possible.

 

I thought of my father, often.  But this time, with no sadness.  I knew he was with me.  He’d made it obvious enough with the Mouse.  I walked.  I wrote.  I did taxes for clients, since I was clearly running out of time and joked that I would barely make it to tax day.

 

I thought about how I would tell Bean about the day she was born.  How she just eased into the world.

 

My water didn’t break.  How funny, eh?  Mouse, dramatic breaking at Home Depot.  Bean, all contained and no, you may not have an open cervix.  Already, not even born, and she shows how different she is from her big sister.

 

I’m pretty cranky by the end though, by April 15^th and officially tax day.  At this point, Jessica and I say, enough, let’s start thinking about getting me in to the hospital.  I’m done.

 

The morning of April 16^th, it’s like Bean heard us.

 

What’s interesting is that I didn’t journal this time.  I felt no need to write.  But I painted.  I fussed with photographs.  I nested around the house.  I did a lot of meditation and a fair amount of walking.  It was all in my body that things moved, not in my head.  Bean was all about the physical, not the mental or even the spiritual, unless you acknowledge the deep spirit of the body.  It was all about my bones and my blood.  About being present and letting things happen.

 

12:30 pm on April 16^th, it’s time to go.  The husband and I get in the car.  The Ant and the Mouse to follow later. 

 

I don’t remember much of that car ride, except that I was glad to be going.

 

And then there was the waiting at the hospital.

 

Here’s where I knew my father was sending me messages.  They had music in the birth room.  The first song was Zero 7’s In the Waiting Room, which was what I listened to when Mouse was trying to be born.

 

I got pain killers this time.  Spinal.  I’m glad I did.  I didn’t go into the kind of exhaustion and PTSD that I did with Mouse.  I was comfortable and unafraid.  Okay, a little trepidation, but not even the same.

 

The Ant and the Mouse came to visit.  Mouse charmed every single nurse, all who were thrilled to discover she had been born there as well.  Mouse was enamored of the monitors, because she could listen to her sister’s heartbeat.

 

And then it was time.

 

Really, it didn’t take long.  Again, like with Mouse, from arrival to birth, it was about three hours.

 

Jessica arrived and checked on me.  Says hello to everyone and we laugh that it’s going so much less dramatic than the Mouse’s arrival.  At this point, Mouse is antsy, so I kiss her and let her go with the Ant to find something to do.  Apparently, they went and watched anime on the portable DVD player. 

 

No needles bother me.  It’s just one peaceful, if intense period of time.  The music changes and fits at every point in time.  Jessica tells me hysterical stories about when she was pregnant and how she was such a horrible patient, they had to sedate her to get to give birth.  Having her there made all the world of difference. 

 

At 3:03 in the afternoon, again with the capable assistance of Jessica and her team, Grace Margaret Hunt came into the world quietly and with little fanfare.  She merely wriggled and only cried when they had the bad taste to try and weigh her.  She came into the world with the song, Calling All Angels.  Grace and angels. 

 

I cried, but this time, I couldn’t stop smiling.

 

My beautiful girl.

 

Grace was so awake, that within two hours, she was nursing and nursed for forty-five minutes on each breast.  Nurse said she’d never seen a baby take to it as fast or as good as she did.  She just knew what to do.  But she wouldn’t open her eyes.  It was like she had a secret to keep yet.

 

When she opened her eyes for the first time for me, it was to show me eyes so dark blue, they were almost black, with flecks of green.  Eyes like her Daddy’s.  Wise eyes, deep as the ocean.

 

Grace is the night sky after her sister’s solar presence.  She looks straight at you as if she’s memorizing everything.  When I hold her, I just smile.

 

Aho! I face the four directions. I give thanks to the Grandmothers and the Grandfathers. From this sacred hoop, I hold forth my daughter, Grace Margaret. In her, I feel the strength and solidness of the Earth, Gaia’s heartbeat in her skin.  16s this time, instead of 9s.  7s, if you take in the numerology. 

 

I didn’t “see” anything this time.  Well, not as solidly.  I keep catching movement out of the corner of my eye when I’m doing other things.  Each time, when I go to look, it’s to see Grace looking at me with her deep sea eyes. 

 

My father didn’t forget his second granddaughter either.  On the 16^th of April, the Lyrids meteor shower began and ran to the 22^nd.  The annual meteor shower out of the sign of Lyra, or the Harp.  Up there, my father’s star shines in Ursa Major.

 

Look, Gracie.  You Grandpa didn’t forget you either.  Shining, falling stars for the day of your birth, just like your big sister.

 

Comments

The Mad Model Says:

[(Anonymous)]

You made me all weepy before breakfast. WELCOME GRACE!

Re: The Mad Model Says:

[angela-n-hunt.livejournal.com]

*hug*

Didn't mean to, but I'm glad you liked it. :)

[ms-jacket.livejournal.com]

What a lovely story, and I enjoyed how you told it. I'm glad you had that oh-so-important sense of comfort around you. I think that's the key and what modern culture has robbed so many women of. We used to have each other for that and nowadays most women experience labor without that kind of support. I had a whole crew for Linnea as well and while I get why some people don't want anyone around, I'm like you . . . I like feeling the love.

It's amazing what a little experience does for birthing as well. Should you have baby number 3, no doubt that would go equally well. ;-)

[angela-n-hunt.livejournal.com]

Thank you!!!

Yeah, it was a completely different and far more supportive experience this time around. Let's here it for having the crew, eh?

But I'm good with two girls. LOL