Baby Rafa's Birth Story
Any birth is profoundly deep, irrevocably transformative, and beautiful even in the worst of circumstances. I dedicate this story to my two angels I never got to meet and all the other angels that left their mamas far too soon.
I was fed up. 10 days past my “due date” (due dates are a scam, by the way), I could barely take the nausea (yes even at 41+ weeks), the heartburn, the sciatica pain, the pelvic pressure, and general bigness that occupied my once agile body. I had been having prodromal labor for weeks at this point, which is a fancy word for mild or in some cases more than mild contractions that don’t progress towards labor. I had begun to just drill it into my head that labor was never coming and until the baby was practically crowning, I should just ignore any signs.
I went to the midwives’ office for yet another non stress test and ultrasound to make sure baby was okay. My midwife started talking about induction. Frankly, this scared me. With my first - she, too, was 10 days late. The birth had been seamless. C'mon baby boy. It's time. I hadn't heard pleasurable things about pitocin. But scared or not, I might not have a choice. Birth is a practice in utter surrender. A first of many encounters of parenting to reinforce in us that we only have so much control. A reminder that life's beginnings are only too close to its end and the fragility of life itself is not to be overlooked. Birth brings you the closest to God you will ever feel on earth.
We scheduled a membrane sweep for Monday. It was Saturday. I scheduled acupuncture later that afternoon.
Amazing that as someone who works in maternal health, even I have a hard time accepting help and forgoing household responsibilities. Later that night, I realized I had been stubbornly trying to maintain it all. Trying to keep up with making my daughter’s school lunch, do the dishes, plan the meals. I needed to abandon my duties. I needed to enter the cave where I felt safe, but more importantly alone. And I wasn’t going to do that while mopping the floor.
After dinner, I didn’t even take my plate from the table. I simply got up and left. I drew a warm bath. I started to feel ready. Ready for birth. I don’t think I had really felt ready until that moment. After my bath, I went to bed and listened to Vivaldi for about an hour on my headphones to drown out the carrying noises of my daughter’s bedtime antics.
I remember reading a research paper about how estrogen affects the part of the brain that processes sound. Estrogen helps determine how carefully a sound must be processed and activates processes that forge memories of sound experiences. It's one of the reasons music sounds different at different points in a woman's menstrual cycle. This must have been one of those sound experiences because Vivaldi has never sounded so beautiful, harmonious, and sensational. I had been blaming the baby for taking so long (did he not get the memo?) only to realize that I was the one with the holdup. I hadn't taken the time to connect with the remaining moments of my - albeit incredibly uncomfortable - pregnancy.
I had more mild contractions throughout the night, but this was nothing new. So I ignored them. By the time I woke up for the day they were finally getting stronger and more regular. We watched snowboard films. With Kyle by my side, he timed my contractions. At this point, I was still in denial. Should we get the acupuncturist to come? Maybe I’m making this up? Maybe they’re just practice contractions still. Maybe I still need an induction. Maybe I’m crazy.
I went to the midwives’ office for yet another non stress test and ultrasound to make sure baby was okay. My midwife started talking about induction. Frankly, this scared me. With my first - she, too, was 10 days late. The birth had been seamless. C'mon baby boy. It's time. I hadn't heard pleasurable things about pitocin. But scared or not, I might not have a choice. Birth is a practice in utter surrender. A first of many encounters of parenting to reinforce in us that we only have so much control. A reminder that life's beginnings are only too close to its end and the fragility of life itself is not to be overlooked. Birth brings you the closest to God you will ever feel on earth.
We scheduled a membrane sweep for Monday. It was Saturday. I scheduled acupuncture later that afternoon.
Amazing that as someone who works in maternal health, even I have a hard time accepting help and forgoing household responsibilities. Later that night, I realized I had been stubbornly trying to maintain it all. Trying to keep up with making my daughter’s school lunch, do the dishes, plan the meals. I needed to abandon my duties. I needed to enter the cave where I felt safe, but more importantly alone. And I wasn’t going to do that while mopping the floor.
After dinner, I didn’t even take my plate from the table. I simply got up and left. I drew a warm bath. I started to feel ready. Ready for birth. I don’t think I had really felt ready until that moment. After my bath, I went to bed and listened to Vivaldi for about an hour on my headphones to drown out the carrying noises of my daughter’s bedtime antics.
I remember reading a research paper about how estrogen affects the part of the brain that processes sound. Estrogen helps determine how carefully a sound must be processed and activates processes that forge memories of sound experiences. It's one of the reasons music sounds different at different points in a woman's menstrual cycle. This must have been one of those sound experiences because Vivaldi has never sounded so beautiful, harmonious, and sensational. I had been blaming the baby for taking so long (did he not get the memo?) only to realize that I was the one with the holdup. I hadn't taken the time to connect with the remaining moments of my - albeit incredibly uncomfortable - pregnancy.
I had more mild contractions throughout the night, but this was nothing new. So I ignored them. By the time I woke up for the day they were finally getting stronger and more regular. We watched snowboard films. With Kyle by my side, he timed my contractions. At this point, I was still in denial. Should we get the acupuncturist to come? Maybe I’m making this up? Maybe they’re just practice contractions still. Maybe I still need an induction. Maybe I’m crazy.
The snow fell steadily outside and Kyle commented it was a beautiful day. I didn’t notice the weather - but he did take a video so I do believe him. The contractions started getting longer and closer. Kyle kept trying to leave to shovel the driveway for the midwives so they could park. I begged him not to leave me - I couldn't bear the thought of weathering a contraction alone. I kept thinking what the heck, they are coming a lot faster now. Is this maybe labor? Maybe this is labor. We should call the midwives. (Little did I know that Kyle had been communicating with them all along.) In my delirium I commented, “I'm supposed to be baking cookies. Or doing a puzzle. Isn’t that what you do in early labor?” Kyle may have commented that this wasn’t early labor. So much for cookies and puzzles.
Weeks prior as we prepped for the birth, I had requested to Kyle that he help me remember to put a bra on for labor. I never managed to get clothes on in my first birth and so the pictures were quite gory and not suitable for sharing. This time, I wanted to look more sophisticated.
So at this point, Kyle (kindly) requested I put a bra on. He rummaged through my drawer pulling some out, “Which one? This one? Or this one?” I kept thinking, “I DON’T WANT A FUCKING BRA ON YOU FOOL.” But all I managed to say was, “No.” Just no.
Kyle started filling the pool. I was desperate to get in it but the midwives requested that no one get in the pool until they arrive. I heard the water trickling in, mocking me. I knew if only I could just get in that water, the pain would become even a little more manageable.
Finally, I felt the urge to push. Is this possible? I feel like labor just started. The midwives showed up just as I started pooping. Because you know, you poop in labor. God bless the birth practitioners who wipe your butt. They’re so good at it, like it’s a non issue they just whisk it all away. The head midwife looked at me and said, “Ok it’s time to push your baby out.”
Weeks prior as we prepped for the birth, I had requested to Kyle that he help me remember to put a bra on for labor. I never managed to get clothes on in my first birth and so the pictures were quite gory and not suitable for sharing. This time, I wanted to look more sophisticated.
So at this point, Kyle (kindly) requested I put a bra on. He rummaged through my drawer pulling some out, “Which one? This one? Or this one?” I kept thinking, “I DON’T WANT A FUCKING BRA ON YOU FOOL.” But all I managed to say was, “No.” Just no.
Kyle started filling the pool. I was desperate to get in it but the midwives requested that no one get in the pool until they arrive. I heard the water trickling in, mocking me. I knew if only I could just get in that water, the pain would become even a little more manageable.
Finally, I felt the urge to push. Is this possible? I feel like labor just started. The midwives showed up just as I started pooping. Because you know, you poop in labor. God bless the birth practitioners who wipe your butt. They’re so good at it, like it’s a non issue they just whisk it all away. The head midwife looked at me and said, “Ok it’s time to push your baby out.”
Now all of my friends with second or subsequent babies had promised me that because my body had done a vaginal delivery before that the second one would just “fly out”. If I had a dime for every time someone said, “I pushed twice and the baby just soared out.” So I thought to myself, “Alright I’m near the end. I just have a few more contractions and this puppy is out of me.”
This did not happen. After a few contractions, it was clear to me that much to my chagrin, this baby would require some gymnastics. Thank goodness midwives are highly skilled in labor gymnastics. Moving from position to position, I started to lose hope. This baby would never come. Will I need a C-section? I started telling the midwives that I couldn’t do it anymore, knowing full well that I didn’t have a choice. There is no off button. They kept telling me they could see the head - “He’s got a head full of hair!” Liars. Complete and total liars. They’re just saying that to boost morale. I asked Kyle desperately, “Can you even see him?” He excitedly nodded, “Yes! Yes, he’s really coming!” He’s in on the conspiracy. I started throwing up. All over my beautiful rainbow woven wrap.
I was desperate to get in the birth pool. And finally, the invitation was extended. “It’s full now. You can get in.” Between contractions, they helped me waddle into the pool. And I finally felt it. He really was coming. The (in)famous ring of fire. I only had three contractions in the pool - the final three. His head was hanging out in the water in between the last two. There was a silence. Exhaustion, no pain, a brief respite. One midwife commented, “There’s always a great pause before the final push.” And then it came, I pushed the rest of him out.
He floated up to me and I felt the utter rush of oxytocin mixed with relief like never before. My boy. My baby little boy. I pushed him hard into my chest and couldn’t stop kissing him. Never mind the water around me - filled with poop and blood. I did it. I really really did it.
My next thought was, “Dammit - I didn’t put a bra on.”
As they helped me out of the pool, I started to come back earthside. The blinds were wide open and the snow was still peacefully falling down. Had the windows been like that the whole time? Did all of Morse Ave see me with my feet in the air on the bed pulling on a scarf screaming “Fuck!!!! I can’t do it!!!”
The midwives busied themselves cleaning and sorting and packing. I felt the after birth high. The thrill of no longer being pregnant. This precious bundle. Despite 9 months (actually 10, let’s be honest) of a tortuous pregnancy and nausea that didn’t stop until the very second the placenta came out, I looked dreamily at my husband and said, “I can’t wait to do this again.” Hormones man. More powerful than drugs.
This did not happen. After a few contractions, it was clear to me that much to my chagrin, this baby would require some gymnastics. Thank goodness midwives are highly skilled in labor gymnastics. Moving from position to position, I started to lose hope. This baby would never come. Will I need a C-section? I started telling the midwives that I couldn’t do it anymore, knowing full well that I didn’t have a choice. There is no off button. They kept telling me they could see the head - “He’s got a head full of hair!” Liars. Complete and total liars. They’re just saying that to boost morale. I asked Kyle desperately, “Can you even see him?” He excitedly nodded, “Yes! Yes, he’s really coming!” He’s in on the conspiracy. I started throwing up. All over my beautiful rainbow woven wrap.
I was desperate to get in the birth pool. And finally, the invitation was extended. “It’s full now. You can get in.” Between contractions, they helped me waddle into the pool. And I finally felt it. He really was coming. The (in)famous ring of fire. I only had three contractions in the pool - the final three. His head was hanging out in the water in between the last two. There was a silence. Exhaustion, no pain, a brief respite. One midwife commented, “There’s always a great pause before the final push.” And then it came, I pushed the rest of him out.
He floated up to me and I felt the utter rush of oxytocin mixed with relief like never before. My boy. My baby little boy. I pushed him hard into my chest and couldn’t stop kissing him. Never mind the water around me - filled with poop and blood. I did it. I really really did it.
My next thought was, “Dammit - I didn’t put a bra on.”
As they helped me out of the pool, I started to come back earthside. The blinds were wide open and the snow was still peacefully falling down. Had the windows been like that the whole time? Did all of Morse Ave see me with my feet in the air on the bed pulling on a scarf screaming “Fuck!!!! I can’t do it!!!”
The midwives busied themselves cleaning and sorting and packing. I felt the after birth high. The thrill of no longer being pregnant. This precious bundle. Despite 9 months (actually 10, let’s be honest) of a tortuous pregnancy and nausea that didn’t stop until the very second the placenta came out, I looked dreamily at my husband and said, “I can’t wait to do this again.” Hormones man. More powerful than drugs.
Rafael Joseph Moriarty
Named after Kyle's Great Grandfather
One of the seven archangels
"God has healed"
Born on 2/7/21.
10 hour labor
2 hours of that spent pushing
8lb 4oz
20"
In a Jersey snowstorm.
Named after Kyle's Great Grandfather
One of the seven archangels
"God has healed"
Born on 2/7/21.
10 hour labor
2 hours of that spent pushing
8lb 4oz
20"
In a Jersey snowstorm.
