I could look in the mirror and see a six week postpartum bulge flanked by thin ribbons of purple pregnancy stretch marks. Instead, I see a beautiful belly that housed my little Wren for almost 37 weeks flanked by equally beautiful birthmarks, not my own, but Wren\’s – evidence that marks the special place my body created for him. Both reflections greet me, but I choose to keep my eyes focused on the latter.
Wren\’s birth, just like his brother\’s, did not go as planned. Keats was supposed to be born at the Eastlake Birthing Center, but instead made his debut at the University of Washington Medical Center six weeks early in 2012. Wren was supposed to be born in water at home. Instead, the morning of June 16th found Dan, Keats, and I hurtling through early morning traffic on I-5, once again in the direction of UWMC. It had been a tough call. I was on the cusp of the 37 week mark, close to safe territory for our planned home delivery – but not quite close enough. Like his brother, Wren entered the world at UWMC, this time less than three hours after the first trickle of broken waters had awakened me.
I can reflect on this in different ways. I could feel regret that my midwives had to take a back seat to medical staff. I could feel sadness that both boys were born under bright hospital lights in rooms teeming with doctors and nurses. Indeed, these feelings have surfaced. Sometimes it takes another\’s wisdom to re-vision an experience. Fortunately, two such others crossed my path in the first two postpartum weeks.
The first other: a fellow mama from the birth class Dan and I took two years ago. As her daughter turned two, she recently posted on Facebook her memories of the birth. Her daughter, also a planned home delivery, arrived in hospital. This delightful mama, however, views her daughter\’s birth as a home delivery in a hospital because of her own preparation and the hospital staff\’s willingness to follow her birth plan so closely. And do you know what? I can view my boys\’ births this way, too.
Although born in hospital, my boys were born under the watchful eyes of my midwives, who stepped into the role of doulas, providing support through their words, actions, and general presence. The medical staff honored as many of my wishes as they could, including early laboring in the tub with Keats, delayed cord clamping, immediate skin-to-skin contact, and sending Wren\’s placenta on its merry way with my midwife, Geraldine, for placenta prints and encapsulation.
The second other: Tracy, my other midwife. In a follow-up postpartum visit, Tracy and I were reflecting on the decision to go to UW. She quantified that she had felt 98% confident in remaining at home. I shared that it saddened me not to be able to advocate for home delivery through my own experience, but that I wouldn\’t have forgiven myself had anything gone wrong. Tracy reframed this. \”But you can still advocate through your own experience,\” she explained. \”You can share that your midwives erred on the side of caution. This speaks to the safety of midwifery in that we make decisions in the best interest of mother and baby.\”
My birthing experiences, like so many experiences yet to come along the path of parenthood, are a matter of perspective. I have the ability to choose the lenses through which I view life\’s twists and turns. I\’m extremely grateful to those in my life who nudge me to position the mirror in such a way that the most beautiful reflection bounces back.
To Palimpsest 