Posts In: Journal

There was the opinion of her doctor. There was the opinion of her partner. Her mother also had an opinion and so did her best friend who just gave birth a few weeks ago, not to mention the online forums she had turned to throughout her pregnancy. She didn’t know what to do and now she felt like her doctor was annoyed at her for not setting a date and her mom and her partner had even gotten a little heated discussing their differing opinions. And all the while, no one had really asked H. how she felt, or what she wanted to do. Over the phone, she relayed this all to me. She might have called me hoping I would tell her exactly what to do: to induce or not. But I knew I was never going to be the one making the decision. What I could do was hold space for her while she sorted through it and answer specific questions about inductions and this would lead to her answer. “You have so many people giving you their opinions,” I said. “That must be so taxing. I’m sorry you have to do so much emotional labor in making this decision. I’m here to talk about it, but just know I support you no matter what you decide.”

For the next hour and 16 minutes, I was a doula in a way I had never been before. I was holding a leg up, I was gripping a hand and finding half moon indentations in my palm. I was steadying myself with muscles I didn’t know I had, muscles that would be gloriously sore in the coming days. I was sweating and holding my breath and crying out. I was physical. I was deeply utilized and my heart was full to the brim.

A barking dog, a crying baby, a new mom who has been home alone all day. This is how I found Laura at 9pm on a Wednesday. Partner is at the restaurant and wont be home til past midnight. Everything we covered in our prenatal meetings that was once theoretical was now real. “Hush!” Laura whispers and the dog retreats into the dark house.

We catch up for a moment or two and I ask her if there is anything she knows she needs help with tonight. “There is this one thing I need to do, but its no big deal,” she begins, “I just have to move my car for street cleaning.” I nod, and we look down at her baby, who has finally begun to settle, curled into her mother.

And immediately we are both thinking the same thing: to go move her car, Laura would need to dress the baby in another layer to go outside. She would need to breastfeed first so her baby would be calm in the transition. She would have to lock up and leave the house, buckle the baby into her car seat, hoping she wouldn’t get upset. She would have to drive the car around the corner, praying parking would be easy. Then she would have to unbuckle the baby and bring her back in and hush the barking dog all over again. 

This little creature was only ten days old, but her needs were monumental and the accommodations astronomical. 

“I don’t know…I think it is a big deal,” I say softly and the tears resting just below her eyelids begin to roll down her cheeks, as she nods.

“It is, isn’t it?”

We are both wearing socks, with our feet curled up under us, facing one another on the gray couch. The baby is nearly 5 weeks old now and she is sleeping with her mouth wide open, a little breastmilk left over on her chin. Ainsley is gently squeezing and releasing her daughter’s tiny foot while she tells me how she met her husband. She pauses and says, “I haven’t told this story in ages.” We fall quiet, smiling at the baby, both thinking how that story led to this one now. 

Ainsley’s phone buzzes softly under her thigh. She silences it and starts to move to get up. “My alarm,” she says, “gotta grab my postnatal vitamins.” “I got it,” I say and grab her water to refill as well. I’m back in a flash and she laughs and says, “that would have been a whole ordeal for me: trying not to wake her and doing everything one-handed.” I smile and we tuck back in to keep talking. 

In public, I have to remind myself not to stare when I see a pregnant body.

I try to keep my eyes on my book or journal, or stay focused on the conversation I’ve just lost track of (nodding when I should be gasping). If I’m with a good friend I can whisper, “look, pregnant.” If they are a good friend indeed, they will find a way to subtly turn to admire the person who walks amongst us, growing life. Magic and science tumble around the womb and here I sit- mouth agape as another person casually hands her coffee, or she puts on her sunglasses and continues her day.

The truth of it sits with me and always has- I want to surround myself and my life with pregnancy: yours, hers, theirs…maybe even my own one day. But for right now I’m teaching kindergarten. I’ll make a world of this one day.

Then, a stroke of luck: my friend’s wife is pregnant. She’s an open book, and one day she lifts her shirt to show me how her breasts have grown and how her nipples have darkened in anticipation for her child. She shakes her head and with fascination and disbelief says, “I didn’t even tell my body what to do.” When I’m with her she lets me rub her belly while she tells me how she wants to give birth. One night, I feel her baby kick and my heart bursts with joy. Finally! This is how I want to live! No averting my eyes, no denying the tears that swell! I am in the midst of pregnancy and motherhood and I am welcome. My calling settles over me.

In her last month of pregnancy I come over with a camera and we do a photo shoot. She dons a silk bathrobe and opens it wide, one hand tucked under her belly, holding her baby who she has yet to meet, but that she intimately knows. She holds herself with authority and grace and mesmerized, I click.