final birth

completely, obviously, maddeningly predictably, bittersweet. what else can i say about my final baby's one year old birthday?

i think the universe was kind enough to provide an excuse in the form of a bad cold/croup for snuggling her all night long the night before. i never sleep well when i have a young baby in the bed (young meaning under 2 or so) so i lay in a light, dreamy semi-alert, half-asleep state much of the night. it was oddly, perfect, as it brought me right back to that same night exactly a year before.  

i had been in labor for what felt like a million years, but was actually more like 24 hours by the time night fell. frustrating, 10 minutes apart, painful contractions had kept me awake all the night before. i spent the morning walking with a friend, confident that things had to speed up. they did not. i ached to sleep, but was jolted awake by a forceful contraction each time i would drift off. i decided i had no choice but to carry on life as usual. so off i went with my husband to my then-14 yr old's parent teacher conferences. as we parked, my contractions came harder. REALLY painful, and now 3-5 minutes apart. crazily, we decided to carry on with the conferences - it was perfect: each conference lasted 5 minutes. in between each one, i would kneel in the hallway, have a massive contraction & then another conference. the teachers somehow did not realize what was happening, as evidenced by her english teacher's comment the next day when he heard i'd had the baby: "your mom was in labor during the conferences?? your mom is HARDCORE!"

anyway, we made it home where labor promptly slowed back down to 10-15 minutes apart. i had a close friend come over around 9 just to keep me company & help me stay sane, as i was beyond exhausted & starting to despair. we conference called her work friends to get input on baby names, and laughed a lot, when i wasnt moaning in pain. after she left, i tried to go to bed, but the pains kept me awake. i started crying, and got a text from another friend close to midnight. i called her, and she gave me a serious pep talk. that i can DO this. that i just need to commit to this labor, and that i am so strong and just need to make it happen. get up, she told me. walk around that house. then call the midwife. so, in my exhausted, frazzled state, i clung to her simple wisdom, and did just that. i cried when i called the midwife, saying i was just so tired, but it wouldnt get any closer than ten minutes, and i needed something to happen. she said simply, lovingly, "sweetheart, come on in."

we got there at 1:30 am, and got checked in. the next hour was the darkest one of the whole labor. i was in a small room, with a window facing a brick wall, and my doula was not yet there. my husband was doing the best he could, but wasnt able to be proactive, and i needed someone to tell me what to do because at this point the pain was excruciating, and 2-3 minutes apart. i was 4 cm when i checked in, and felt that i must be progressing, and fast. i kept saying, i cant do this, im going to need an epidural (i did my previous 3 births completely naturally, and am a big believer in the whole process.) i felt alone, and in the dark, and terrified that i couldn't make it. then, and it feels ridiculous to describe it this way, my doula opened the door, bathed in a shining light from the hallway, carrying her giant bag of equipment on her back, looking for all the world like a angel come to save me. i could hear harps playing and birds chirping in my head as i looked at this woman.

she strung up her tiny christmas lights and lit a few candles, and promptly began supporting me in her incredibly intuitive way (she had doula-ed for me my last birth, so we knew each other pretty well.) she heard me saying"i can't" and she kept holding that statement in her hand, yet simultaneously utterly rejecting it, crooning, "you are doing it, you are so strong and beautiful and amazing" and her words were like rivers, feeding me image after image with each contraction, of climbing mountains, of waves cresting, of peaks scaled. i felt, deeply and solidly, saved.

when the nurse came to check me 2 hours later, i was absolutely sure i had progressed. when she called out, "still 4" i could not believe it. i wanted to cry and wail again. the only thing that stopped me was her look of worry at the heartbeat monitor. she called the midwife in, who agreed that it was concerning, and she wanted this baby out sooner than later. she was so strong and calm though that the intellectual awareness i had that things were not looking great did not touch my feeling of utter safety at being in the capable hands of these incredible women. she broke my water, and the meconium staining confirmed that the baby was experiencing some distress. i turned around and labored leaning over the back of the raised bed, wearing an oxygen mask (which smelled beyond vile) and being pricked in the hand as a nurse tried to give me an iv to increase fluids (unsuccessfully, in the end.)

i suddenly felt an urge to push, and my doula said listen to your body. i turned around and with just 2-3 pushes, i birthed that beautiful baby girl. i remember thinking that it was the most incredible expenditure of energy of anything ive ever done in my life, and yet the most exhilarating.

a year later. so many first, so many lasts. i come from a family that has a lot of emotion in endings - every business trip of my father's we would do a good-bye "party", write him airplane letters, mark the occasion. every house ive ever moved from, i've spent a few minutes walking the rooms, saying good-bye. every "last" that i experience, i feel it deeply, and feel an urge to hold on to it somehow.

i'm trying, i'm learning, to see the sweet more than the bitter, to let things go and develop and move on, to embrace the next steps and try to not hold on so darn hard to things that must change, things that are so fleeting, but just enjoy them for what they are. its such an obvious cliche, feels SO like something i would have read in a reader's digest in my grandmother's apartment, sipping tea with her, and yet. im thankful to the universe that i had that sweet night with my suddenly one year old baby, a goodbye to that last first year. its a good thing. bittersweet, like the intense chocolate bars my father (the originator of the mile-long goodbyes) always prefers, without a hint of irony.