The 'everything' of birthing baby Luka

My son arrived after a 36 hour labour, on his due date, four weeks ago. The experience of birthing him was the most intense of my life and did not go to plan.

The short story is…

After 26 hours at home, and four hours of pushing with not a lot of progress, my contractions slowed (likely due to exhaustion) and we made the decision to transport to hospital in order to stay safe and avoid any potential emergency situation. 

Upon arrival to the hospital (crying a LOT as this was not what I’d wanted), I tested positive for covid. More tears, lots of wires and monitors, several hours rest, an epidural, catheter and some pitocin later and I birthed baby Luka, into my hands and onto my chest, with Joe by my side breathing with me and offering nothing but the same love and encouragement he’d been showing up with since we opened our birthing ceremony, in the seclusion of our bedroom at home, the morning of the day before when my contractions began.

What a journey.

Luka is perfect, he was born healthy and happy (and even pooped on my chest right after he came out!), and I made it through his entry healthy and happy (albeit with seven stitches and a lot to process emotionally). Pulling him up to me feels like it may have been the most relief I’ve ever felt. It was finally over, he was here and we were both ok.

My experience of birthing was one of duality. The co-existence of strength and vulnerability.

Despite circumstances, we achieved the empowered birth we wanted and seeing my way through the entire process left me humbled by my own miraculous power and that of every woman who’s walked before me and alongside me. Without women birthing, there would be no humanity. It is nothing short of miraculous.

Likewise, I’ve never felt more exposed, more vulnerable and more afraid than I did during those long hours pacing, squatting, pushing, breathing, screaming and crying. I faced old stories of being a failure, of letting people down because I was taking so long, of robbing Joe of the opportunity to catch our son because we were in the hospital, of my body not working right.

Luka’s birth was the climax of my transition from Maiden to Mother. A transition I’d been engaged with throughout pregnancy. I’d made space for grief, and joy and everything in between, along the way, but nothing could prepare me for the absolute rawness of his birthing ceremony.

I was stripped bare, broken down to nothing, and have spent the past month grounding into my new reality alongside my son as he grounds into his new reality.

They say our own birth is the first trauma we experience.

I remember this when he cries, when he’s unsettled and grizzly, when he won’t sleep or is insatiably hungry. I remember he’s just arrived into his tiny human body, out of the safety of my womb where his every need was met instantly and constantly, and into the bright lights and action of our world.

I remember this when I feel his old soul, but hold his brand new and perfect little body.

I remember this, and the fact he chose us to be his parents, in the moments I feel scared and like I don’t know what I’m doing. And I love on him, and thank him for coming, and promise him I’ll do my very best to walk by his side, with love and support, as he grows into all he can be, and all he’s here to become.

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