Birthing Surrender

My pelvis is softly set jelly. My pelvis is softly set jelly. My pelvis is… Oh god daaaaamnnnnnnn! The muscles below my belly contracted with no inkling of my mantra. Lightening bolts of pain through my pelvis, no jelly, nothing remotely soft. Those books are bullshit, I wanted to scream. Instead I used my breath through each building wave to moan and bellow. The soft vowels reverberated throughout my shaking body creeping under every inch of skin. This was real. This birthing thing. I was in it. I felt every sensation and the world around me melted into separately digestible moments. Faces brought me back to this one moment, this world when I floated into others, strokes on my cheek, hands in my own grounding me in a room surrounded by woods and the sea.

My pelvis was not like softly set jelly. It was a tightly balled fist trying to punch through the wall of contractions instead of simply bowing and opening the door to the baby inside, like all the books said. Why wasn’t my body following the rules? I’d read the goddamn gentle/orgasmic birth manuals. I’d cat and cowed, swam laps, lowered myself into muscle shaking squats throughout the nine months. I’d listened to self-hypnosis birthing scripts to “pre-program” the softening of my cervix which would coincide beautifully with a quick and painless labor.

12 then 24 then 36 then 48 then 60 hours in, as the landscape of my labor shook and erupted in fiery bursts then quieted and plateaued, molten lava receding underground, over and over, I wondered what was wrong with me. Had I somehow not followed the directions for a healthy birth? What were my underlying fears that were so obviously undermining the normal process? Could I breathe those fears out too? My pelvis is softly set jelly. My baby door is opening. My cervix is a bowl of pudding. Clap for fairies, save Tinkerbell! Believe in something, dammit!

In another part of my body, in the heart room, none of this was going on. The chatter did not permeate the deeply pumping contractions of another kind. Life force made itself known and put me at ease. All that was true was this moment, full of love and tenderness and exquisite, life-bringing pain. Every squeeze of my uterus was bringing me a heartbeat closer to a soft little girl who would nuzzle upon my chest and squint her puffy and perfect eyes up at mine. But this was not even possible to visualize. All I could do was howl and laugh and love as waves of pain and gratitude washed over me. No really. The beauty of the days and nights sang into each new room I found myself within. Each unexpected and totally unplanned venue for my drama brought me to a new level of appreciation and utter vulnerability.

Surrender. Eyes tightly closed. Hands gripping bed rails, pounding pillows, fingernails sinking into my beloved’s arm. Guttural moans spewing from deep inside. I could feel everything. I was in love with the moment and the man beside me, even in the pain. I could go on for days more if that’s what it would take. She was worth it. Even if my pelvis was not softly set, it was opening. Slowly, surely, she would come. There was no turning back.

Maybe it was her choice. She started to swim downriver as every cell in her body told her to with that whooshing rush of water. But then a noise caught her attention. She turned her head to listen to the ebb and flood tides of my heart, the pounding of my organs as Kevin and I walked up the hill to imagine her with us on the land. She paused, scratched her head with a little arm (and that is where the little arm stayed, wedged against her face), and despite the fiercest of backpeddling she could not retreat back under my ribs, closer to my heart, closer to the vibration of sound that was my voice singing her a welcome, his voice interrupted by kisses to my (our) belly. She was on a downward trajectory spurred by the whales at sunset the evening before, dark fins pushing through the liquid breath of the ocean. Muffled blowholes spouting water-coated air as regular as would be my quickening contractions. But the desire to be between the worlds was overwhelming and a hand went up. Yet our hearts beat strong and the descent, while slowed, continued.

I could feel his heart against the back of my hand resting on his chest. He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my fingertips. “You’re doing it, Jenny. You’re so close. She’s so close!” he whispered close to my face. The love and pride shining in his eyes fueled the opening. We needed this time to discover that we are each other’s strength and beauty and love. It washes over us with each tightening and stretching. Our circle spirals outward. We are in the center and there are women surrounding me, holding my hands, my legs, stroking my face. There are friends and family lighting candles and sending prayers from home. We are bathed in support. Support as unpredictable and changeable as the sounds emanating from my dry lips, as welcome as the drops of water from icy fingertips.

Nothing went as it was planned (ruptured membranes, prolonged labor, hospital transfer, interventions) and the voice of surrender mewled alongside me as I pushed. It felt good to push, to be an active part of the pressure and pain, to feel something moving- her head, her body, all that energy taking shape. They told me to pause when she was halfway out but there was no time or energy for that.

I screamed her out, into the world, onto my chest.

It was not love at first sight. It was a gasp of recognition of the immense amount of responsibility I was about to hold in my arms. What the hell have I done? mixed with Holy god, she’s real! mixed with How do I hold her and I never want to let go and can I sleep now and wow this is MY baby.

The love seeped in quickly, steadily, voraciously. From my hospital bed I watched her swaddled chest rise and fall, her tiny bowed lips search for nourishment, her puffy eyes flutter in the early morning light.

Love. Surrender. Amazement.

It has begun.

Again and again it begins.