Brother Butterfly's Birth Story

A month ago while eight months pregnant in bed, propped up on three different pillows, I read over a childbirth book that in one chapter, advised ditching the birth plan. They were deemed counterproductive and many times led to more inflexibility, and an 'us vs. them' struggle with caregivers. Instead, the author suggests to be a self-advocate for the way you would like to labor and give birth, yet allow yourself to accept the things you cannot control. "We cannot plan our births," she reminds us again at the end of the chapter. 

I mulled this over before I went to sleep, acknowledging my own uncertain feelings over having to switch doctors last minute because of an insurance provider change.  My concerns that my new doctor would use unnecessary intervention floated away much like the bubbles Sister Butterfly likes to blow on our front porch. And I slept well. 

On April 18th at 6:45am, I woke up calm and with mild cramping. I poured myself a warm bath with rose oil that a wonderful friend had given me and used during her labor, and I sat in the water quietly for a half hour while everyone slept. I thought mostly about taking Sister Butterfly to the park that day, and how I'd manage feeling so "off." Instinctively I must have known I was in labor, though like many mamas, I didn't quite allow myself to believe it. Slowly the cramping felt more like surges, and with excitement, I sprang from the bath as fast as my enormous belly could manage and told Baba. He had an exceptionally important meeting that day for his new business, but gracefully accepted he wasn't going to make it. 

We ate breakfast (bagels and cream cheese, Sister Butterfly's favorite!) one last time as a family of three, and chatted, perhaps nervously, about what to expect that day. I labored at home with a labor ball for the next four hours, trying to dodge Sister Butterfly from making a game out of kicking the ball out from under me. Baba tried to help, but it wasn't until after an intense surge that had me buckled over, she realized she was making this harder for me. 

"Sorry mama. Here you go," she said, and quickly rolled the ball back, her eyes averting mine. I gave her a quick hug and got on the ball before another surge came. She's truly an empathetic and sweet spirit, that one. Luckily, my sister and brother in law were heroes and arrived just in time to look after her so that I could concentrate. 

My water broke shortly after, and we decided to call the hospital because my water broke very early with Sister Butterfly as well, which caused me to have an infection. The doctor advised we go into the hospital, and so we did. We were greeted by nurse Sharifa, our tiny yet vivacious nurse who had eyes that twinkled under her violet hijab. She made us laugh with quips about hospital underwear resembling Victoria Secret's line while she examined me. To any nurse that came into the room she'd say with a big smile, "I like these two, they are mine!" We discovered I was four centimeters dilated, which dashed my hope at being six centimeters and near the end. 

I labored there, able to walk freely unmedicated and un-attached to any kind of monitor for another two hours, with nurse Sharifa encouraging me as I leaned in and groaned on Baba shoulder during each surge. She was a midwife in Egypt and she truly felt like the kindred spirit I needed to keep me going. Her shift ended, and I decided to get an epidural when I was 6 centimeters dilated, feeling exhausted and ready for more comfort. While the epidural helped me to relax, I was baffled by the liberties that it had ultimately caused me to give up. I was soon hooked up to a blood pressure monitor that tightly squeezed my arm every 15 minutes, an oxygen monitor on my finger, a baby monitor on my belly, a catheter was inserted along with an IV drip into my arm. Later on I'd have an oxygen mask on my face. I felt this urge to strip everything off and run for the hills, but without legs that moved I was stuck and wondering how to give birth to a baby while feeling this constrained. 

Then I remembered the sage words I read just a few weeks ago:
"We cannot plan our births."
"Accept the things you cannot control"
"Become a self-advocate"

I asked Baba to blow up a peanut ball, which kept my pelvis open, and is used by midwives to shorten labor, even with an epidural. I refused Pitocen, and felt confident that my body would do what it was supposed to do, without any further intervention. With each small surge I now felt, I visualized my body opening like a flower, and thought of my baby and I like a team - working together so that I could hold him soon. Four hours later, much to the surprise of the nurses, I was ready to push. Fifteen very quick minutes after that, Brother Butterfly was out and in my loving arms! 

Baba was able to cut the cord, and the nurses gave us nearly two full hours of blissful skin to skin cuddles and nursing time before they weighed and measured him. He was immediately handed back to me and was told he was healthy and would not go into the nursery. I held him tight and close and sang him his first lullaby next to the big windows under the moonlight. 

I see the moon and the moon sees me. Shining through the branches of the old oak tree. Please let the light that shines on me, shine on those that I love.

Welcome to the world, our son! Haven't you always been here?