Well here it is over a week later and I’m finally sitting down to write about my experience with the birth of my daughter. I’m here to say that there are no words to describe the experience. How could there be? After all Chris and I only donated two cells to the mix and nature did the rest. Imagine that, this beautiful little creature is the result of two cells.
It’s impossible to describe, because in those moments you’re in touch with emotions you didn’t even know you had. Here you’ve created a life. A living, breathing being who is dependent upon you for food, love, shelter, and an education of life. This little fragile being, so new to the concepts of light and breathing is looking at me with eyes glittering with wonder. Mostly, “I wonder what the hell that big thing is staring at me.”
Think about it. Babies spend nine months in their mother’s womb. It’s a nice little waterbed for most of the time. Muffled sounds, a nice orangish glow. What sort of awareness do they have of themselves? Of what they are, what they look like? Sure, upon birth they will actually recognize mom by smell, heartbeat. Babies know dad and siblings by voice. But they have no clue what we look like. For that matter, they have no clue what they look like! For all Cally knows, she and the cat are related.
Sorry. Back to the story at hand.
Chris went into labor about noonish on Monday, November 12th. At one point we went to the hospital, then came back. (Some nurses are really mean.) We labored at home until the contractions came on hard and close. We went back to the hospital and checked in around 11:30 p.m.
We sat up all night watching contractions, drinking juice and water. The contractions came consistently. It was a strange, but short night. I suppose hour-wise it was the same as any other night. But it blew by in the blink of an eye. Here we were in the final moments of the life we’ve always known.
These moments will be truly special because we sat there waiting for our world to explode into something new, exciting and beautiful. It was as if we sat at the edge of a cliff watching the most beautiful cloud in the distance slowly moving toward us. We chatted and wondered. Guessed at who this new little being would be. Boy or girl? Whose nose would it have? Will it be smart? Funny? A dancer? A singer? An artist? A poet? It was so much worse than waiting for any present. And many of this little gift’s mysteries will be answered slowly over time, like a finely written novel. A novel in which I am merely a supporting character. I wonder what my arc will be?
We stayed up all night long. Chris teased me because I refused to go to sleep. How could I? The woman I love was in the process of expelling a being from her body. I didn’t want to miss a moment!
Finally at 6:30 a.m. I went to get some breakfast, which consisted of a gooey bagel that appeared to have been baked based on instructions written in a language the baker didn’t understand. In theory, it was a bagel. It looked like a bagel. It smelled like a bagel. And yet, it tasted like white bread that was compacted into a ball. (Come on, you made bread balls as a kid. Quit pretending you didn’t.) I also had this diabetic shake thing and some coffee that tasted as though it had been sitting in the pot since World War II. Perhaps it was even digested a few times too. Ugh.
After nearly 24 hours of labor, nearly 12 in the hospital, we had the water broken. Never ask me about that process. An hour later, hard labor set in.
Now, I say it was hard labor as if what Chris had been experiencing all night long was a piece of cake. Earlier, it was something she could deal with. Not after the water was broken. These contractions came upon her in a sneak attack. They’d hit hard, stay for a long time, squeezing her uterus with a primal power that no human has control over. Then, after a miniscule break, the muscles would repeat their exercise.
Chris, remembering her Bradley training, went away mentally. She let her mind wander, her body relax and let nature do its job. Only one time did she doubt her commitment to the natural birth.
“I can’t do this,” she told me, with a sound of exhaustion, fear and pain that brought tears to my eyes.
“You already are! You have been all night!” I told her.
“Oh yeah, I have” was her only answer. And that was the last I heard of not being able to do it. This woman has a strength and resolve that few people possess, including myself. Her triumph of strength and commitment should be admired and applauded. She knew what she felt was best for her body, and the baby. She didn’t want to be numb through the birth of her child. And she wasn’t. She felt every blissful, excruciating moment. But born out of that pain was a child that was conceived out of love and will be raised to treat others with respect, love and mercy. I think, in her mind, the pain was a small trade off.
Okay. This is the portion where we had the baby. Suffice it to say that she was born and all sorts of biological stuff happened along the way and then we were happy! There she was. Cally.
We were happy. We are happy. Rumor has it that after the baby was born I was holding Cally and thanked my wife for marrying me. I don't remember if I did or not. But, if I didn't . . . I should have!
For the rest of my life, I will remember the moment that I saw my child take her first breath. The moment she entered into this world. I was present at the beginning of a life. A life that has yet to be lived. All the hopes, dreams and stories she has yet to live. All the new sensations, emotions and feelings she’ll encounter.
She has yet to walk or talk or discover the beauty of music, she has never seen snow or felt rain fall on her, she doesn’t know what it is to run barefoot across hot pavement to the swimming pool on a hot summer day. She has never tasted pizza or read Dr. Seuss. Nor has she ever seen a Picasso, Van Gough or Rodin. She doesn't know the Beatles, Beach Boys, Elvis Costello, Beethoven, Bach. She has no concept of yellow, blue. She doesn’t understand the sweetness of a new love or the pain of a lost love. She’s never cut herself and seen her own blood, the fluid that supports her life. She has yet to see a movie or read a book. She's never been to Disney World. There is so much that she doesn’t know, that I can’t wait for her to experience.
But she’s learning every day. Every minute. Each new experience, be it hunger or fatigue or wetness is being logged. Every moment offers her a new sensation. Wind. Where does it come from? Where did Mom come from? What am I?
She learns each moment. And in her long and joyous, but difficult, journey through life she learn things we never imagined were possible. In the end, she’ll know more than any of us. But, most of all she'll know she was loved.
I’m off now to sit at my desk after lunch wondering what my girls will be like in a year or five or ten. It boggles the mind!
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