A Lesson From Linden
“If you surrender completely to the moments as they pass, you live more richly those moments.”
My labour and delivery story for my firstborn wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for. But, being that it was my first time, I didn’t have any dreamed-up fantasies about how the process would go. With Maelle, I was nervous and worried. I didn’t enough trust my own instincts to really have a vision of what her birth would be like, let alone to advocate for myself and my own needs. I put my trust in the hands of my caregivers and let the highly qualified doctors and nurses guide me through the process. Nothing went wrong, to be honest - but nothing went quite right either. It wasn’t anyone’s fault and it was everyone’s fault all at the same time.
So, when it came to my second child I had big dreams. I envisioned labour that started naturally, with me bouncing on a fitness ball, basking in the late winter sun shining in through our picture window. I envisioned a slow progression of pain, working through contractions in my home, all while enjoying my last few hours with my daughter as an only child. I had sweet daydreams of a picturesque moment between my husband, myself, and our daughter sharing the intimate joys that come with bringing new life into the world. I had a well thought out plan, rehearsed to perfection in my mind, and so carefully etched into my soul that when the time came I would know my role as an actor in the perfect labour and delivery. I had the finer details organized; my mom ready to watch our daughter, our go-bag packed by the door, a playlist of calming music carefully curated on my phone ready to access when the time came, the nursery ready, the baby necessities cleaned and put away, and of course a freezer full of home-cooked meals.
Looking back, I have to pause and laugh at my naivety. As if checking a few items off my list would ensure that everything else related to the birth would go smoothly. I foolishly allowed the best-case scenario to be my goal, letting even the most improbable ideas feature in my idealistic hope for my second round of labour.
Well, those dreams were quickly shattered while Maelle and I were out at a favourite play place, Tumble Time. I was watching her run through the gym, moving through the different toys with a buzz of energy that she still carries with her to this day. Her eyes caught mine and she ran over to me with her cheeks flushed pink from exhaustion. I can still hear the sweet sing-song of her voice, “Momma, I’m hungry can we have a snack?” We had only been there 20-minutes but I had to pee for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. I stood to exit the gym and as I began to rise, I felt both a familiar and at the same time extremely unique feeling and knew instantly that my waters had broken. In just the same way as the first time; no big rush of water like you see in the movies, no pool of liquid at my feet, no indication to anyone outside of myself that anything aside from the ordinary was happening.
In that instant, my fears found buoyancy, floating to the top of all the other emotions. I was almost in denial that anything was happening at all. My mom wasn’t set to arrive for two more days. I didn’t have firm plans for who would stay with Maelle overnight. Of course, I had a backup plan but in my perfect pre-planning I didn’t actually believe that this would ever be necessary. We left Tumble Time by 10:00am and I called my husband in a flurry of disbelief, excitement, and fear. By 11:00am, Dano was home and from 11:00-12:30pm we had gotten everything together for Maelle to stay with our neighbours. We had hoped that this time around my body would clue in on what to do, but there were absolutely no signs of labour so I knew we had to head into the hospital. By 1:00pm we were in the waiting room hoping to be seen quickly so we could ensure that my waters weren’t broken too long before even going into active labour, thus avoiding the risk of infection (unlike our first time). After waiting an excruciating 3 hours of waiting to be seen, there was no questioning if my waters were broken. After being monitored for a short time, the doctors said that I needed to be induced to get things going. I hesitantly went along with this, trusting the doctors and also knowing that my body wasn’t going to do it naturally. I was thrilled to be there early enough to not be pressured into the most aggressive induction plan possible, which is what happened with our first delivery.
The doctors offered me induction by foley bulb - basically, the insertion of a balloon into the cervix to aid in the process of dilation (I will leave the details to your imagination or you can google it if you feel so inclined). This choice felt right - it meant that I would be allowed to go home and see my daughter, put her to bed, and have a last sacred moment with her before our family of 3 became a family of 4. It was about 5:30pm when the doctors came in to perform the procedure. The attending physician introduced me to a resident working with her and asked if I would allow him to perform the insertion. I agreed - everyone needs to start somewhere! As he inserted the bulb, he accidentally punctured my water and what was a minimal leak was now a full-on rush of water. What was going to be a slow, gradual process had to be quickly sped up because of this error. And, with the breaking of my waters came the breaking of any hope for my “perfect” labour and delivery. Tears flooded my eyes as I cried out of frustration and anger. I wept for the loss of a vision, a dream, a hope. I was not going to dilate at home. I would not see Maelle one more time. I would have to stay at the hospital and be put on Pitocin to get contractions going.
My husband went home and took care of Maelle - putting her to sleep in her own bed and making sure that there was some sense of normalcy to what would soon be a very abnormal world for her. My neighbour stayed at our house and my mom got the first available flight the following morning. At about 7:00pm, Pitocin was in full force and by the time my husband returned, I was working through the gentle beginnings of contractions. This time, my body knew what was happening and was manageably dealing with the ebb and flow of labour pain. Instead of fighting against the discomfort, tensing my body, shaking, and becoming nauseous from the fear of it all, I allowed myself to let the pain come as easy as I would let it go. By 2:30am I knew that our baby boy would soon be with us. The doctor, on the other hand, didn’t believe me as I had only just received an epidural. He doubtfully examined me, surprised that I went from 5cm-10cm in such a short period of time. Of course, the universe was once again conspiring against me as the doctor had to leave to deliver another baby first. In what has become a memory my husband and I can laugh at now, the doctor departed the room simply saying “wait, don’t push, I’ll be back.” Forty-five minutes later, he was back in the room and within two quick pushes, our son entered the world.
Linden: unlike your sister, you came earthside quickly and easily. Nobody had to push you, nobody had to pull you. You arrived with such a calming presence and immediately filled my heart with a sense of peace. In those moments after your arrival I felt more whole than ever before. Unlike your sister, you didn’t scream, your cries were not of fear or pain, but instead of acknowledgement; a sound to simply let us know you were there and you were okay. Soft and almost mellifluous in tone, as if your cries had been dipped in syrup (you outgrew this lovely phase quickly).
And just like that, you taught me the very first of many lessons you would go on to teach me. You taught me the importance of surrendering to what will be. You showed me that I can be prepared, I can plan how I would like, but ultimately, even the best laid plans can go awry. You taught me that I can proactively move towards any goal, but the end result I must release to the universe. That ultimately love would have to guide me through the most difficult challenges of my life.
In that moment of your birth, through the shattering of my perfect delivery dream, you reminded me that your life is not my life. That although we will forever be uniquely intertwined in the fabric of our beings, our individual threads are still very separate from each other. I can not alter the path you choose to create. I can support you, guide you, work alongside side you, but ultimately you must do for yourself what is your calling. As your mom, it is in my nature to seek control and to keep you safe but you reminded me simply that I do not know the way, but instead to trust the path we walk in spite of the unknown.
From time to time, I think back to this lesson and it reminds me to let go of an expected result which grants me permission to truly be in the present moment. For without being results-driven, the only thing to focus on is what we can do here and now together. And what greater lesson to learn than to redirect my energy from a goal, to turn and focus on what is here and now, living in the moment and meeting life right where it is presently. What a profound lesson you have taught me without even knowing it. A lesson I will carry with me for the rest of my days. And in the end, it really was the perfect delivery.
