By Mary Esther Malloy

“What’s inside an eye?”

My daughter turns three today and this was her question that started our day.   While I am certain I have lost hearing through her so-called “terrible twos,” this little girl of ours is such a joy to our family. Not only is she a trusty little kitchen and garden assistant and faithful carrier of the new kitty from room to room, she keeps us thinking.  Moments ago, as I was putting her down for a nap, she asked, “When Halloween goes, where does it go?” I’m still working on an explanation for the spiraling movement of time and the effort is helping me understand why my daughter talks so often about what she will do when she is a baby again.  If Halloween will return next year, why not her babyhood?

When I think back to her babyhood, what returns for me is the sweet pleasure of first meeting my little girl on the outside.   The moment was poignantly unhurried.  I had the space to see and the time to discover my just-born child; it was slow enough for me to be present for the arrival of this brand new person.   What was different from my other children’s births was that my midwife, Valeriana Pasqua-Masback, did not hand me my baby, as the midwives had done at the births of my sons.  Instead, she simply guided the baby onto the bed below me.  She very much left the moment of meeting to my daughter and me. The experience was beyond what I had imagined. The labor that got me to that point, however, was not so joyful.

My boys’ labors had been exquisite.  Raw and intense, they had pretty much blasted from beginning to end and surrender was every bit as spiritual as it was physical.  Sarah Buckley, in her book Gentle Birth, Gentle Mothering, reports on her yoga teacher’s belief that giving birth is equivalent to seven years of meditation. The idea had the ring of truth for me.  With each of my son’s labors, I felt I had traveled to the fiery core of life itself and returned with a strong, centered part of myself I hadn’t known was missing.  I still feel it in my bones to this day. My daughter’s labor, however, was more ‘seven years’ than ‘meditation’.

Labor started with a rock-steady rhythm.  But then, with everybody in my home, ready for this long-awaited baby, labor slowed way down, choppy now and unpredictable.  Each time I was sure I had been set adrift and would not see another contraction for the duration of the labor, a massive title wave would hit.   Again and again, I had to choose each whopper of a wave after too long left alone by my labor.  Surrender wasn’t sweet.

Really, the only problem was my mind. The expansive down-time between contractions had me too much in my head.  Thoughts would float up: “Is my midwife getting worried?” “Will my doula be too long away from her family?”  “Will I have to transfer?” This last thought was followed by an idea that had never once occurred to me in my career as a laboring woman: “At least I will get a break if we go to the hospital….

Then there was the dreary November day I woke to, still in labor, after expecting the baby to have arrived some time in the night.  Both my boys were born in June –  a happy, sunny month with summer at the door.  My own birthday month.  Now it was cold, cloudy, and damp.  It felt more like the dark days of early winter than the crisp bright days of late fall.

But, no matter the crummy weather, I did it.  I paddled on and on and eventually got to shore. Finally (finally!), my water broke and the force I knew from my sons’ births returned. An hour later an unbelievable urge to push gripped my body and with a force beyond ANYTHING I had ever known…

…my third child was born.

I had witnessed this moment before.  I had taught and written about this moment.  And then, somehow, the forces of life conspired to give me this moment.

Here is how I met my daughter:

Imagine me on my bed on all fours heaving with a force that matched the violence of the vomiting I’d done earlier in the labor.  I remember listening as though from a distance to my own screams (I did not scream when my sons were born).  I was surprised to hear myself call out, “I don’t want my mother to hear this!” (She was downstairs praying non-stop).  I suddenly felt my baby travel down my birth canal in all of four seconds.  “Uh oh,” flashed across my mind as my midwife murmured, “Whoa… slow down…” (Odent’s “birth ejection reflex”? I’m hoping it sounds better in French, but I think that’s what was happening).  Then everything was silent…

…A head out…

…My mind blank…

…Squish of a baby…

…My mind even more blank…

…A glimpse of a baby, my baby, in Val’s hands, traveling in space toward my bed…

…Seeing boy parts (I swear I saw boy parts)…

…Double take.  Seeing girl parts.

…The remarkable thought: “Girl!”…

Val had placed this brand new being down and no one told anyone what to do.  My baby lay before me at long last and everything shifted to an expansive realm beyond the reach of language, so that only a jumble will do:  her chubby little self before me at long last, purple, crying and kicking into space for the first time. Touching her face. Touching her. Welcoming her. Seeing tiny, wet orange-y hairs standing on end.  Running my hands over her again and again. Feeling her cord pulse. Greeting her with every fiber of my being.  And, finally, when I was ready to hold her for the first time, picking up my daughter, as complete as I’ve ever been.

For a sweet minute or two, my daughter and I inhabited a place whose existence I had only heard tell of and glimpsed a few years before, a resting space that followed her (in this case, dramatic) exit from my body and preceded our first embrace.  Time for her and me to be together, as our little raft was coming in to port, landing finally on the other side of birth.

I don’t remember what I said, but I sure do remember what I saw.  For me, the gift of meeting my third child in this way was the potency of the visual.  I had no idea that being above her, with her below me, being able to really see my daughter, would feel so powerful.  I think I now understand what we mean when we talk about imprinting at birth.

Meeting my boys as they were born was deeply moving as well, but different senses were in play and the sequence of things was different too. At the moment each son was born he was placed directly on my chest, undoubtedly a good, warm, familiar place to land.  I recall the astoundingly tender, wet, warmth of each of their newly hatched bodies on my body. But I couldn’t really see either of them particularly well until later when I was sitting up.  I also remember feeling a sense of shock that I suspect was due to the fact of finishing the momentous effort of birth and receiving my baby on my chest almost simultaneously.  I couldn’t quite catch up to the moment.

From what I’ve experienced and observed, it seems that another of the benefits of a baby guided down at birth may be the way it leaves it to the woman to set the pace of turn-around from baby birthing to baby welcoming.  And some women seem to need a bit of time to come back from where they had to go to birth the baby.  Midwife Karen Strange says most emphatically, “She has just done a huge piece of work!  She has just gotten this (hands showing the size of a newborn), through this (hands showing the size of the birth canal at rest). She might just need a minute!” Karen suggests that allowing for a pause, a slowing of the moment of birth (no matter how this pause happens), gives women (and babies) the time and space to integrate the work they have just done (labor and birth!) so that, when they are ready, they can turn their full attention to the next thing: the unhurried meeting, welcoming and snuggling in of this baby.

I’ve seen that other women won’t linger long in the space of this pause, but move quickly to pick up their babies. If a midwife guides a baby down and a woman, seeing her baby before her, feels the impulse — for any reason — to grab her baby up as quickly as she can and hold that baby as tightly as she needs, this strikes me as a profoundly important claiming of that baby, and herself as mother of that child. I have seen this be particularly healing for women who feared that a baby would be taken for help with start-up, or for a woman whose previous child was taken from her at birth to a warmer or the NICU.

Meeting my daughter as I did, and witnessing women and babies meeting each other at birth as I do, remarkably, the quick pass of a baby to his mother at the moment of birth has come to seem like something of an intervention.  It is unquestionably a good, loving gesture that says, “This baby belongs to you. Here is your child.” But perhaps we can trust birth even further, and trust the women who have grown and birthed these babies to say in whatever way they need to express it, “This baby belongs to me. Here is my child. I will see and touch and greet and gather in my child exactly as I need to.” Perhaps we have been skipping over something that we would never know was there if we didn’t try things a little differently.

This morning on our walk to nursery school, my daughter asked, “What is after the sky?” Then, a few minutes later, she asked, “What holds up a forehead?”  Very human questions, indeed.  Isn’t this what we do?  We wonder what is beyond, behind, under, between.  Here’s to midwives who are exploring what may lie after the mighty work of birthing a baby and before the first embrace that launches the even mightier work of raising a child. Here’s to midwives who are leaving it to women and their newly-born babies to make the discoveries.  My deepest thanks to Val and Karen, midwives whose questions would rival those of any three-year-old.

My daughter – awake now and cuddled in my arms as I sit at my computer on the day of her birth three years ago — just said, “When I was born I was excited about…” “Yes?” I asked with curiosity. “I was excited about pizza! ” Who says children don’t remember their births? But that, I suppose, is another topic for another day…

Easy sign-up here for your Weekly Dose of Pleasure (& get your free Tips!)….

Mary Esther Malloy is a New York City-based doula, childbirth educator, and birth counselor who leads new mom talk groups and facilitates “Healthy Birth Choices” workshops for Choices in Childbirth. She holds a B.A. from Oberlin College and a M.A. in Anthropology from New York University. Her writings about birth have appeared in the Journal of Perinatal Education (2011), Midwifery Today (2013), and Choices in Childbirth’s National Guide to a Healthy Birth (2012-13).  “Optimal Cord Clamping: An All of Human History Practice (20th Century Exempted)” will appear this winter in Midwifery Today.  She invites you to her website www.mindfulbirthny.com and her blog www.thebirthpause.com for more about slowing it all down at the moment of meeting.

Submitted by Benjamin’s mother, Selena

The Homebirth of Benjamin David, 15th March 2012

After the beautiful natural birth of my first baby, and then an awesome planned vaginal breech for my second, having a homebirth for my third was a no-brainer. I trust my body and knew that I needed to be in a comfortable, private, sacred space where my hormones could do their job undisturbed, so what better place than at home? I announced my plans to homebirth and even ‘pre- booked’ my midwife (Lisa Richards) before I was pregnant, I just couldn’t wait! I love giving birth, and as it was going to be my last baby I wanted it to be nothing short of perfect.

The pregnancy was easy and enjoyable. It was such a treat to stay home for all my antenatal appointments, which felt more like social catch-ups with a good friend. I organised for two other friends to attend the birth: Jane to take photos and Kate to be with my girls, aged 5 & 2, who we hoped would have the amazing experience of seeing their little brother or sister being born. The fact that both women also happen to be midwives was reassuring, even though I had total confidence in Lisa.

Because both my girls arrived at 39 weeks, I assumed that this Bub would follow suit, and I predicted (and announced to anyone who asked) that s/he would probably be born on the auspicious date of Feb 29. My EDD was March 7. From 38 weeks I started telling Lisa at each weekly visit that we didn’t need to make another appointment because I was so sure I’d be giving birth before then. And then the week would pass without event and I would greet her at our next appointment feeling a little deflated. I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t happening when I was so ready and so excited! I’d had a blessingway and a pregnancy photo-shoot, road-tested the birth pool, chosen music & aromatherapy oils, designed a mud-map of my birth space, painted a trust mandala onto canvas… even my stainless steel mixing bowl with plastic bag liner was ready and waiting on our loungeroom floor to catch a placenta. The bassinet was set up in our bedroom… but something was wrong. For some reason and try as I might, I couldn’t visualise a baby in it. I couldn’t even visualise myself in labour… it all felt so far off, despite the fact that I was ‘due’ and wanted it so badly. So what was I doing wrong? Why didn’t my baby want to be born?

It wasn’t a good headspace to be in, and knowing how powerful the mind is, I realised I had to let go of certain anxieties that I suspected were holding things up. I was finding it difficult to accept that some things weren’t happening according to plan. My Mum had come to stay, but she was supposed to arrive after the baby was born, not before, because even though I love her lots, I preferred not to have her in my birth space. And now that she was here I had to face that probability, and also tell Kate that I didn’t need her anymore, which was disappointing. I wasn’t used to being ‘overdue’, and because of my Feb 29 prediction everyone thought I was a week further along than I actually was, so I was feeling pressured and increasingly annoyed by all the comments I was receiving… “You still here?!”, “Hasn’t the baby arrived yet??!!”, “Is it safe to homebirth when you’re overdue?”, “When are you going to get induced?” etc. I’d lost my sense of excitement to a certain degree as Braxton Hicks kept amounting to nothing & the comments kept coming, and I started to wonder if Bubby was ever going to arrive. I’d also wanted to have lots of R&R time to meditate and connect with the baby in the lead up to the birth, but aside from one yoga class per week this wasn’t happening either. My husband David was working lots so I was still as busy as ever doing everything for the girls and the running of our household… needless to say I was feeling very frazzled!!!

So I made a momentous decision at my 41 week appointment on March 14. “Face of Birth” was screening locally that night, which I hadn’t been planning to attend (I’d already bought tickets to the next screening instead), but I decided that it was probably just the thing I needed… so I told Lisa I’d join her there. We joked that I would probably give birth in the theatre amongst my ‘village’ of like- minded women, and I felt my excitement returning as I gave myself a little stretch & sweep in the shower before heading out.

So many moments in the film really hit home for me and confirmed everything that I know to be true about birth. When the Aboriginal woman declared that “we are holy women when we give birth”, I had tears streaming down my face as I recalled telling David, my Mum & Lisa that my birth space was sacred – quiet, respectful & candlelit, where anyone present would behave as though in church or in the company of a higher presence. The film undoubtedly reconnected me with my birthing ‘mojo’ and inspired me to let go of everything that was weighing me down, and just let this birth unfold however it was meant to. I was back in tune with my baby and my instincts, and when I said goodbye to Lisa I knew I’d be seeing her again very soon…

I got home at 10:30pm and was in bed by 11pm listening to my Calmbirth CD, visualising the birth with lots more clarity now, when at 11:30pm Bubby kicked so hard that I felt an odd pop, realising soon after that I was very wet. I lay there quietly for several minutes in surreal disbelief, wondering what it was… urine, blood, semen, amniotic fluid?? Could it be??!!! I began to feel some regular tightenings so I tottered off to the bathroom, where I discovered that my membranes had indeed ruptured, and by midnight contractions were established and 10 mins apart. I let Lisa & Jane know and went back to bed full of delicious anticipation (like it was the night before Christmas!) whilst David quietly got to work setting up my birth space in the loungeroom. When I made my way out there an hour or so later I was blown away – it was bathed in candlelight with music & aromatherapy oils softly spilling into the room, the ‘purple pool’ full & inviting… such a warm, comfortable, sacred space, exactly as I had imagined! Mum and the girls slept soundly nearby in their beds – it couldn’t be more perfect.

I spent the next hour quietly breathing through the waves as I leaned over the lounge (kneeling on the floor), while David gave me a beautiful back massage. Sometime after 2am things had ramped up a gear, so despite feeling bad about waking Lisa & Jane, I texted them to let them know that they should probably come. Little did I know that ‘ramping up a gear’ was actually ‘transitioning’! Luckily Lisa lived only 10 minutes away because when she arrived I was in second stage, realising with some regret that I wasn’t going to make it into the pool – Bubby wasn’t far away! I was on my yoga mat leaning over my fitball now, rolling back and forth with each wave, feeling Bubby descend and my body open up whilst I was instinctively bearing down at the tail end of each exhalation… such an incredible sensation! I remember thinking that if Mum was awake and hearing my orgasmic “aaaaah”s, she would think David & I were makin’ whoopee in the loungeroom! It was definitely pleasure as opposed to pain.

Lisa wasn’t there long before I asked her to take my undies off – she hadn’t realised things had progressed so far and was surprised to see a head crowning. I reached down and felt it as David got into catching position, and after a couple of pushy exhalations through a ring of friendly fire, a little head was gently born… and then our precious Benjamin David slid beautifully into his Daddy’s hands at 3:09am. A boy!!! And in only three hours! David passed him back through my legs to me, and we had a lovely group hug, marveling at our perfect little man, before I moved onto the couch to get comfy for a nice long skin-to-skin breastfeed. After an hour or so I felt the need to sit up and realised that I was also feeling a bit ‘pushy’ again… my body was doing its job beautifully, and within minutes I birthed my placenta into the bowl and lay back down again. It sat beside us for another hour or so, still connected to Benjamin, until the cord had long-stopped pulsating and David cut it.

We all sipped champagne by candlelight and marveled at the whole experience, all high on oxytocin, until daybreak when Mum and the girls woke to meet our gorgeous new family member… none of them realising that he was being born as they slept! It was so surreal and SOOOO sublime. And I felt like a goddess.

Lisa was amazing. She cleaned everything up so quickly & efficiently and stayed with us well into the morning to give me a shower and tuck me into bed – such attentive TLC that one couldn’t possibly receive in hospital. Jane took some incredible photos. I hardly knew she was there as she captured all the miraculous moments that are etched in my memory forever. And my Mum was great too, feeding us all toasted hot cross buns and opening her arms for my girls as they slowly took in the surprise of waking up to a new little brother. She took care of them so David and I could snuggle up in bed together with Benjamin, which is where we remained cocooned all day, drinking him in.

The whole experience surpassed all my expectations in the end, and it taught me some valuable lessons… that too many expectations can result in too much anxiety; and that I needed to quiet my mind and let go of these expectations, and simply let the birth unfold in its own time and find its own perfection.

Thank you Selena and family, and Jane McCrae for sharing!

Readers, please consider sharing Your Birth Story with the O Birth Pod Cast. Join us Tuesday Nov 26 (with access all week) for eClass w/ Sex Coach Kim Anami.