This is the story of a promise, made one summer evening in the privacy of an Austrian forest. The promise to start a family. A promise tinged with uncertainty. Endometriosis has not spared me, but we still hold on to the hope of seeing children born from our love. It will probably take time, or maybe it will never work, but we will have tried…
The long-awaited news of a pregnancy arrived on September 19, 2019. We were happy, but lived the first few months in fear of seeing all our hopes dashed. It was a silent and cautious happiness, we waited a long time before telling our loved ones for fear that everything would stop overnight. Then the months passed and we allowed ourselves to imagine our life with this little bundle of joy who seemed to be hanging on.
My midwife once asked me what my wishes were regarding childbirth and my only answers were: that my partner be present at my side and that I could have an epidural if I felt the need. Then came Covid-19 with its share of upheavals… The two things that I took for granted then became more than uncertain.
Thanks to Candice's great initiative to organize live sessions on childbirth and motherhood, I found myself considering giving birth without an epidural. I, who until then did not understand the point of suffering unnecessarily, now saw aspects that made me change my mind on the matter. A faster delivery, a baby and a mother in good shape... What more could you ask for?
Feeling as usual the need to plan everything, to control everything, I followed attentively the excellent interventions of Florence, Gwenaëlle and Marine and read several books which finished convincing me. I formed an opinion, made summary sheets, discussed it with my partner and focused on some advice which resonated with me. A few weeks before the due date, we felt ready and serene.
15 days before the expected deadline, Wednesday May 20, 2020
5:15 a.m. – After yet another trip to the bathroom during the night, the desire to sleep evaporated, giving way to the need for a hot bath.
5:45 a.m. – Strange sensations come to disturb the tranquility of the early morning. I don’t think they are contractions. Although, they seem rather close and regular, and what if? After checking, said sensations occur every 3 minutes, and become more and more powerful as the hours go by. I look for positions that relieve me… Bathing, no. Lying down, no either. Sometimes leaning forward over the bathroom sink, sometimes hanging from the towel dryer, it helps. For a while.
7:25 a.m. – Breaking the silence of the night and gently interrupting Julien's deep sleep: "My love, it seems that our son has planned to meet us today."
7:26 – Panic in his eyes. Everything then happens in quick succession for him: walking our dog, running back because I’ve lost blood, calling the maternity ward, gathering the last things and then heading to the hospital. The theoretical 15-minute drive turned into 45 minutes in practice. The contractions are unmanageable sitting down, we stop every 3 minutes so that I can walk, squat or lie down in the grass, still fresh from the morning dew.
8:50 a.m. – We arrive at the hospital. Julien is asked to wait outside while I am placed under monitoring and examined. The cervix is at 3 cm and already well effaced, so it's for today! The midwife asks about my wishes for childbirth. My will has weakened somewhat, the waves are intense and I doubt my ability to carry out my plan for a natural childbirth. I am no longer sure of anything but willpower takes over the pain. Taking things step by step is what I must do. For now, it is still manageable and the bath she offers me will help me cope with this discomfort. However, this offer comes with a condition: Julien is not allowed to enter the room where the bathtub is located, due to Covid-19 measures. Faced with this dilemma, my decision is surprisingly quickly made, the bath will do me more good than Julien's presence, for now at least. Is it selfish? Maybe, but that's the last thing on my mind right now. Getting into my cocoon and getting my baby moving is the priority now.
Seconds, minutes, hours pass. Time stretches and I lose all sense of temporality. In the warmth of the bath, I welcome each wave that brings my baby closer to birth. We work together: my belly deforms and I sense my baby beginning its descent.
The exams confirm my thoughts, the work is continuing.
4.5 cm – The pain is there but the baby is moving forward. Knowing that most of labor is actually rest is a big help. Managing each contraction without thinking about the next one is key.
6.5 cm – We are more than halfway there, in a few hours the baby will be here. I ask the midwife: will it hurt even more? She answers in the affirmative. I grit my teeth and repeat to myself over and over: I am a lioness, I am powerful.
8 cm – No turning back, baby is coming. I join Julien in the delivery room. The pain is at its peak. To say that I didn't hurt would be a lie. I wanted to run away, to stop everything, I swore to him that we would not have another child. Usually discreet, I no longer recognized myself, I screamed like never before and forgot all modesty. Despite everything, I was not afraid, because I had learned that all this meant one thing: our baby would soon be here. And then, my waters broke and felt the need to push. I would never have imagined giving birth on all fours and yet... Clutching my darling's hands, my forehead against his, we brought our child into the world. The irrepressible need to push inexplicably took precedence over the intensity of the pain. I knew it, I felt it, one more push and our baby would be here. Then, his first cry rang out and he was placed in my arms, so small, so fragile, so real. His heart swelled, the pain flew away. I could read the emotion in my lover's eyes. Our little wonder, our little miracle, our son Luca was among us.
On May 20, 2020 at 2:54 p.m., our lives changed.
I was so scared of giving birth that I focused on it, forgetting about what came after. And here we are.
Face to face with Luca in my hospital room, I recall these words, perfect for the occasion: Now that you're in the deep end, guess how we swim . What a dive parenthood is! It's scary to know that this little being depends entirely on us. And yet, nothing seems more innate to me than taking care of him. I'm not saying it's easy, hormones and fatigue would quickly contradict me. I've never changed diapers or held a newborn in my arms before and yet, I feel like I was designed to take care of our baby.
Today is June 4th, the day you should have been born my son. And yet, I hold you curled up against me, you are already 2 weeks old. Asleep on my chest, I feel your breathing. Your little hand presses against my skin, your pretty features are soothed. Everyone is still asleep and I enjoy every second of this magical intimacy. I know, this special moment will pass far too quickly. I look at my sleeping lover and son, and I tell myself that I am lucky. I am happy.
To all the future mothers who read me, I would like to say that this story could be yours. I usually have no confidence in myself and yet, I found a strength that I did not consider myself capable of. You will find it too.
I am not a hero. If I could do it, you will be too. Don't doubt yourself, follow your instincts. Your body and your baby know what they have to do, let yourself be guided. The work will be intense, both physically and emotionally speaking, but the reward is beautiful!
Book references:
How to Give Birth with a Smile… or Almost! by Sarah Farri
The Natural Birth Guide, Ina May Gaskin
Hypnobirthing the Mongan method, Marie Mongan
Beginner Dad: The guide all young fathers have been waiting for! by Lionel Paillès