BIRTH DAY: A STORY OF BECOMING

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The day Emet was born was the day I came alive.

I recall the details so exactly, so intensely, that it’s hard for me to believe ten years has passed since I first held him in my arms and felt like I had real purpose. More than any other event, nothing has so singularly changed me than bringing my first child into the world.

I’ve kept the story of his birth close to my heart, and have never written it down. As Emet’s tenth birthday began to approach, I became remarkably nostalgic. There’s something about a decade, you know? I decided what better place to share this story than here, where I’ve been collecting the things that make me happy.

Fair warning, though. This is a long one.

Emet was due on a Monday. When that day came and went without even a single contraction, my doctor ordered me to the hospital at 7:30 PM the following day for an induction. I had tried everything I could think of to get things going on my own to no success, and at 7 PM that Tuesday, Jesse – my husband at the time, father of Emet and Jade, and one of my forever best friends – drove us to Tarzana Regional Medical Center.

I had wanted a natural birth, a home birth even, but due to some lady problems I’d had before I became pregnant, I was not an ideal candidate. Then, throughout my pregnancy I had been afflicted with hyperemesis gravidarum, which meant that I didn’t gain much weight. I was small, while the baby was expected to be big. Going past 40 weeks was not an option according to my doctor, and I trusted him.

So we drove to the hospital. And I was prepared. I had read all the books, I had ten copies of a birth plan I’d written tucked away in my hospital bag to be given to attending nurses. I was ready.

Still, I was nervous. What did a contraction feel like? Up until this point, I hadn’t had a one, not even false labor or braxton hicks. I didn’t know what to expect. My instructions were to arrive at the hospital and tell the nurses that I thought I had gone into labor, so that they would hook me up to monitors and call my doctor, who would tell them to induce me. This was my doctor’s clever way around dealing with hospital scheduling.

Shortly after arriving at the hospital, I was hooked up to a fetal monitor and the nurses went to call my doctor. Just like he said they would. And that’s when the strangest thing happened.

I had a contraction.

It was small, but I felt it.

The time had come!

I was admitted, and moved to LDR, room 254. I gave my birth plan to the nurses, and tried to relax into the contractions that were starting to come on a little more intensely. Around 11 PM that night, while I was being hastily examined by my least favorite nurse, my water broke. So I called my friend Brianna, who was the girlfriend of Jesse’s brother, and who had become sort of my angel and my coach. She’s the one who insisted that I go to prenatal yoga, which became a central part of not only my pregnancy, but also put me on a path toward becoming a yoga teacher.

Brianna and Corey arrived around 3 AM, and I continued to breathe through contractions while Jesse and Brianna played soft music, turned off all the lights, and took turns keeping wet cloths on my back and forehead. Neither of them had attended to a woman in labor before, and each were so fluid, so calm and caring, that you’d think they’d done it hundreds of times before.

It is because of them that I was able to labor for 20 hours without any pain relief.

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Hour 20 is when my doctor came in, and informed that me that we were entering dangerous territory. That the baby had been without fluid for a long time, and that the hospital had been wanting to give me pitocin for hours which he had expressly forbade according to my wishes. But they weren’t willing to wait any longer.

Years later I would understand the significance of this give birth or get out mentality that is characteristic of the American Hospital System. At that time, though, I was scared and I trusted my doctor.

The epidural was awful, as terrible as I had imagined it would be. Worse.

I started to get a little emotional and the I did the only thing I could think of to keep from losing it. I started to breathe. Deeply. More deeply than I had ever breathed in my life.

For eight solid hours I closed my eyes and focused on my breath opening up my body. I repeated a matra to myself. I am strong. I am opening. I can do this.

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The hours between receiving the epidural and from when I began to push took me to a place deep within my soul where I had conversations with myself, and what seemed like other women. Mothers. They were cheering for me. You are strong. You are opening. You can do this.

My favorite nurse of the entire experience, an English woman named Julie, came to check on me. Her gasp is what brought me back to my body.

“Let’s get the Doctor. It’s time to push!”

Immediately I became aware of one startling fact. I couldn’t feel my toes. You could have cut off my leg and I wouldn’t have flinched. How was I supposed to push out a baby if I couldn’t even feel my muscles?

I panicked only a little, but was reassured that the epidural would be shut off and that I would be able to regain control of my muscles in a few minutes, but that the nurses would help me along through the contractions in the meantime.

Huh?

Basically, the monitor would tell them when I was contracting (because I still couldn’t feel anything) and then they would hold up my legs and I would push. Things went on like this for half an hour, when Julie finally shouted.

“Reach down and feel your baby’s head!”

That moment, the one when the head becomes visible is called crowning. As in the crown of the head. But I like to think of it this way.

For the nine months a woman is pregnant, she stands between two worlds: the world of a singular person and the world of motherhood. Labor is the ceremony ushering her forth to her new role as guardian of a human life, and that final stage is her coronation. Her crowning moment. Because henceforth and forever more, she is a mother.

At least, that’s how it felt for me.

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Feeling Emet leave my body, hearing him cry, receiving him with my arms. These were my first moments as a mother, his mother, and I loved him harder and deeper than I had ever loved anything or anyone before. I was overcome with joy. Yet I couldn’t shake this profound feeling of emptiness.

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It’s hard to explain. But for nine months you body changes to accommodate a growing human, and then in an instant you’re left with a hollow vacancy where there once was a baby. I missed having him so close to me, inside of me, where I could feel his every move. I wasn’t prepared to feel this way.

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I’ve had a long time to reflect upon what it all meant, something I wasn’t really able to at the time. How could I? It takes being a mother to understand the complexity of a mother’s love.

Boundless. Eternal. Transformative. Fierce. I have come to know the essence of these words only through loving my child. And I’ve come to understand those first few moments of motherhood only through experience.

Ten years later, I can say this. That feeling of emptiness? It’s a metaphor. You see, children leave. That is what they do. Slowly at first, and then increasingly as they grow, they leave a little bit more until they are gone. Bravely into the world they must go, it is their job to do so.

Our job is to hold on. To stay. To love them through it all.

So they always have a place to come back to.

ON BEING GRATEFUL

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At the beginning of June, I made a conscious decision to stop waiting for happiness to find me and to just go out and find it for myself. I started writing. I started riding my bike.

I let go of expectations about what I thought my life should be like, and instead embraced the life I have.

The result of making this simple shift in thinking (and doing) has been a tangible feeling of connectedness: to myself, my family, the Universe. I feel whole. Or, at least, a whole lot happier.

As we were driving home from our adventures at LegoLand yesterday, I had this moment where I realized that even though my life isn’t really all that different than it was a month ago, it’s better. It’s better because I’m thankful for it. All of it, even the bad days. Which, by the way, are rare these days and I can’t help but wonder if I really did manage to write my way to wellness?

Today I woke up flooded with gratitude for these last few years. They have taught me so much about myself, the depths of my sorrow and the heights of my joy, and more importantly, just how resilient I am. I can say that I have never been happier than I am at this moment, and for that, I am truly grateful.

In other news, not only did I find the pictures I was desperately searching for, I found along with them a veritable trove of treasures from when my sweet boy was young. Oh, what a glorious time in my life that was. Even still, I wouldn’t trade those days for the ones that are yet to come. All of this to say that I’ll be back tomorrow with something truly special.

LINKS + LESSONS // 03

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Monumental. That’s about the only way I can think of to describe this week.

It’s been an absolute whirlwind of day trips, family reunions, playdates, sleepovers, not to mention one very important birthday party. My heart (and my belly) is full. Life is good.

I learned the best surprises are the ones least expected.

Most of my time over the last several days has been spent offline, but I did read this great article about a woman who started a blog about learning to live by facing her fears, and I’ve decided to adopt the last line as my personal mantra for this summer: “‘Wheee!’ makes everything less scary.”

A very hot bath and my beloved foam roller are in my immediate future, followed closely by a Mexican coke spiked with cherry bitters because I’m crazy like that. Ok, ok, and NetFlix.

Weekend, ahoy!

STERLING’S GOLD, AND OTHER RECENT GEMS

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Do you like Mad Men? Of course you do.

Surely you can imagine my surprise when I discovered a copy of Roger Sterling’s book staring at me from the dollar shelf at the Kensington Library book sale last Saturday. I almost didn’t believe it was real. Even the librarian looked confused when I gave it to her along with the few other books I decided to purchase. Alas, it now lives in a place of honor: the bathroom bookshelf.

I’ve taken to meeting my neighbors. Tonight, I even stepped out for a quick walk around the block and ended up chatting with the sweet lady that lives four doors down. She’s been in our neighborhood 47 years! I wonder if I will ever be able to say that.

The obsession with Pompelmo continues, but having recently bought out our local supplier, I’m at a loss. Why oh why must the most delicious flavors be so hard to find? I’m sorry Limonata, but your lemony bubbles just aren’t doing it for me these days. Not since I’ve been corrupted by your tarty little cousin, grapefruit.

In closing, I shall leave you with my favorite song (and favorite video) from BOY:

PS: They’ll be in San Diego on October 27! Tickets are available here. I’m just saying.

AND NOW YOU KNOW

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I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I am that busy.

That story I promised? Well, trust me when I say it’s worth the wait. It only took me ten years to write! I’ve been combing through old boxes of photos looking for a few specific images to share along with the text, and since I worked so hard on it, I figured I’d do it the honor it deserves by sharing these elusive pictures. I know they’re in the garage somewhere. I hope.

In the meantime, I thought I’d let you in on a little secret: I’m currently obsessed with Pompelmo San Pellegrino.

You’re welcome.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EMET!

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Today, we celebrated ten years of Emet Preston Miller!

I know I said yesterday that I’d be back today with something lovely, but the truth is, throwing a surprise party is kind of consuming, and I haven’t managed to finish that post just yet. Instead, I’ll tell you that the look on Emet’s face when he realized what was happening was something I’ll never forget.

Oh, how I love that son of mine. What a guy.

MONDAY MIND

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I haven’t been able to think clearly all day, and then I realized that it’s been a week since I last rode my bicycle. Nothing, not even running, cures my cloudy brain like a good ride. And cloudy, in this case, is an understatement.

I’d blame the heat, but I know better.

I’ll be back tomorrow with something I’ve been working on — and I get choked up just thinking about it — involving a certain boy who will wake up ten years old.