rudderless

Being Born

It was only a matter of time. I watched The Business of Being Born. It was great. The footage of homebirths was such a great anecdote to the hospital emergency births broadcast in endless loops on cable TV. I appreciated hearing Abby Epstein’s (the director’s) own obstetrician encouraging her to try for a homebirth. Our girls weren’t born at home, but they were born with midwives, both of whom deserve an enormous bouquet of thanks for listening to my wishes and doing everything in their power to give me the births I wanted. The time after Sophie was born was a fog of exhilirated exhaustion laced by narcotics. But the half hour after Rosy’s birth is a half hour I will treasure for the rest of my life. The crazy work was over. We weren’t in a hospital, so she was simply handed up, wrapped in a towel. She was wide awake, not crying, just nursing, and nursing. She was hungry and so so sweet. I must have held her there for an hour. Everyone should have that magic.

Laura, our midwife for Rosy’s birth, delivered her last baby this week. She delivered my friend Diana’s son, and our friend Jessica’s two daughters. For nearly a year she was a huge part of our lives, and a great friend. Thank you, Laura, for giving me the experience I needed to have. In the documentary someone comments that a midwife’s job is not to rescue a laboring woman. Let her feel it. Let her face her darkest moments and claim her victory at the end.

Thank you for not rescuing me. Even as I was convinced it was going terribly, horribly wrong, you had patience for me and for my body. It was the wildest ride of my life. And I will never, ever forget it.