Mars’ Birth Story
I was the most pregnant I’d ever been (39 weeks 4 days). My pelvic pain had hit a new high. Sitting, bending, or standing felt impossible. I found comfort lying down on my left side, but found it pretty much impossible as I chased my 2.5 year old around. My boy had cracked open the portal, and my body was waiting patiently for his invitation to initiate labor.
It seemed that invitation was received the next morning. I woke up around 6am, went to the bathroom, and saw my mucus plug.
I immediately texted my mom. We had planned for her to be at the birth if possible (she lives in Indiana). And although losing your plug doesn’t guarantee you’ll go into labor, I felt a sense that today was the day.
I got a text back within minutes with a screenshot of the earliest flight down to Florida. She could be here by 2pm. “Book it,” I replied confidently.
Isaiah and Rex were still asleep. I took my moment of solitude to my backyard prayer spot. Looking up to the sky, I asked for grounding and safety. Tears hit my cheek as I realized this was the day we’d finally meet our baby.
Isaiah and Rex woke up and started on breakfast. I did some final nesting tasks—guest room preparation, birth space curating, and Christmas decorating.
By 9am I had consistent contractions (10 min apart). My friend, Morgan, texted to check in. I told her I was in labor. I told her how much pain I’d been in days prior.
“The pain is your baby talking to you,” she said. I’d use that and “you know how to be born” as my mantras throughout labor.
As the morning went on I could feel my contractions creeping closer. We decided to time them again around 11am. 5 minutes apart. Things were moving fast.
I got in the bath to see if they stayed consistent. They spaced back out (7-12 minutes apart). However, as soon as I got out they were back to every 3-4 minutes. I called my midwife.
“What does this pattern mean?”
“Where do you feel them?”
“Mostly in my back”
“Try some inversions”
“So they baby is trying to get in a better position?”
“Maybe”
We went on a walk down the neighborhood sidewalks. Rex rode his tricycle. I walked behind him, stopping to position myself into downward dog every time I felt a contraction. “The pain is your baby talking to you.” I repeated as I tried to help baby find their way through. Zay timed them. 3-5 minutes apart.
My mom arrived around 2pm. After some excited hugs, kisses, and updates, I asked her to take Rex to lunch and the grocery.
“When you get back, I won’t be able to talk to you.” She understood. I was hitting active labor.
The midwives were on their way. One last moment just Isaiah and I before we met our next child. I walked out to the backyard to my prayer spot. He joined me.
Contractions brought me to my knees. I thought about my prayer earlier. I looked up to the opening in the sky again. This time I talked to the baby inside me. “You know how to be born.” Repeating this mantra brought me back to a place of trust as things began to intensify yet again.
We settled in on the screened in porch. Me laying on a Japanese mattress in front of my birth altar and Isaiah behind me with a giant stick of moxa. Between contractions, he held the smoke just above my swollen sacrum. The warmth reminded me to soften and open. As the contraction began to peak, I’d give him his queue. “Ok!” He sat the moxa down and pressed into my back with his hands.
I wanted to rest—so I did. I closed my eyes as I listened to Claire De Lune play on the house speakers. The smell of Moxa filled the room. Wind gusts tunneled through as a storm quietly approached. Isaiah put a family quilt on top of me as my body began to tremor. I drifted off into labor land.
My midwives arrived. I hardly noticed. They sat on my couch and witnessed from afar. Eventually, they came to my side and asked to check on me and baby. “Yes.” And there it was—our baby’s heartbeat.
The contractions were building. The counter pressure was no longer giving me relief. I decided to change my position. First I tried sitting on the toilet, but felt no relief.
“Are you ready for the tub?,” the midwives and Isaiah asked.
“No. It’s too early.”
I crawled to the side of our bed. Each step forward brought on another contraction. They were back to back. “Ok. Fill it up,” I said.
In between contractions Isaiah set up the hose for the birth tub. As the contraction peaked, he responded with a hip squeeze.
Again I tried to listen to the pain. Hands and knees? No. Chest on pregnancy ball no? Peanut ball? Absolutely the fuck not. I threw it across the room. I opened my stance. Yes! That felt better.
When the tub was finally ready it was dusk. It sat in front of my altar with family photos, heirlooms, and birth mantras. Amber light filled the porch. It smelled of fresh air as the storm grew closer. Christmas lights framed the doorway to our living room where my two midwives and photographer sat. It was exactly how I’d envisioned it.
I sunk into the pool around 6pm. It felt euphoric. I melted into the water just as I had my first birth, but this time “nature’s epidural” was no match for my contractions.
I had mentally prepared myself to be in the pool for hours, but the intensity made me question myself. Am I further than I think? I focused my attention to my cervix. It felt open, but blocked—my waters still intact.
My mom and Rex came in with supplies to make her famous lasagna. As I completed a contraction, I’d glance in the kitchen. Rex’s eyes only occasionally drifting my way as he stood on his stool at the counter. Then, he’d return back to arranging noodles. His indifference helped me relax further into each wave. Birth is ordinary. Everything was happening exactly as it was meant to. “You know how to be born.” I repeated quietly.
Isaiah offered me sips of water, cold washcloths, and shoulders to brace myself as I continued to labor.
“Are you ok if I to go hand off the keys? I’ll be two minutes. I can send the midwives in to be with you.” Isaiah said.
Our employee for our business had shown up over two hours late to pick up the company truck. Still convinced labor would go on for hours, I told him to go. I didn’t want the midwives. I wanted to be alone. He sent them in anyway. I told them to leave. The next few contractions brought out a roar. I started to panic. Where is Isaiah? I thought.
Just as I was about to yell for him, he was there by my side. I grabbed him and a huge pop erupted within minutes. “Waters broke!” I yelled. The midwives rushed in from their perch in the living room. “You ready?” I asked Isaiah as we locked eyes. We were about to become parents yet again. “Yes,” he replied with a smile.
Then, in just one contraction, the baby dropped into the canal and head was emerging. Fire erupted between my legs and panic began to set in. It was happening so fast. As started to lose my breath, I heard my former midwife, Mia, in my ear. “Slow your breath honey. Breathe.” I obeyed.
It started to rain. On the next contraction, our baby was born. “Out!” I cried. My midwife helped him to my chest. Lightening lit the sky behind us. We did it, again.
After a few minutes I pulled the baby up to reveal gender. “It’s a boy!” I cried in surprise. I was thoroughly convinced I was having a girl. We all laughed. “Of course you’re a boy.”
I examined him. Dark hair, plump lips with a little cleft, and a button nose. He looked exactly as I thought, but I had the same feeling I did with Rex immediately after birth. Who are you?
Each pregnancy and birth has also forced me to ask myself that question. Who am I?
This pregnancy I grew into something different. I became softer, slower, witchier, and more intuitive. I became more feminine. For that reason, it had to be a girl right? Wrong.
Being so surprised about gender humbled me. It reminded me of one of my favorite recurring lessons of motherhood—I know nothing.
There is only so much we can know in birth. More so, there is only so much manifesting we can do to optimize our experience. At the end of the day, birth is a headless endeavor. Unknowable and unpredictable.
Motherhood is pretty unknowable too. It forces any type A bone in your body to let go. That is exactly what makes it so enjoyable. It’s like a good book you can’t put down because you just HAVE to know what happens next.
So again, who are you Mars? It’s been six weeks and we are slowly discovering. What a blessing to be navigating the unknown of you.
