MY DEAREST FRANKIE:
Finally. An opportunity to write your birth story. Not because you will ever want to read it. Gross! ;) But because it means so much to me. And I want to remember it until my body stops.
First of all, you were conceived in love and fun, and again, I know that's weird to share, but it’s important to me that you know where you came from. You are rooted in Love. You are rooted in safety. Not everyone has that gift. But you do. We do.
My pregnancy with you was challenging because your brother was only a young toddler, and he was facing major health complications. I was heavily focused on keeping him whole and well, which is what needed to happen. But it didn’t afford me the same kind of time and softness I had while growing him. And I regret that.
Later in my pregnancy, between William’s first and second surgery, I went to the woods to meditate with some other women. It was one of only a handful of times I slowed down to spend time with you while you were still on the inside. I wept for the lack of peace, lack of time, lack of attention. And while I finally allowed myself the space to ache and be with you, a mama doe and her three babies popped out from behind some prairie grass only a few yards from me. No, I know! It sounds like a movie. But it wasn’t. It was real, and it meant so much to me because, for whatever reason, the symbol of a doe and fawn played a huge role in my pregnancy and birth with William. And this moment was a continuation of that for me. A confirmation that we would all be okay. That our family went beyond just you and me. And that we would have our time together when you were ready to enter the world. It was a beautiful moment. Every time I see a deer, my heart swells thinking about how blessed I am to have carried you and your brother in my body and to walk alongside you through our lives. It’s an experience I cannot fully look in the face because it’s so divine that it blinds me.
A couple of months later, the day before our due date. I started feeling some mild tension in my belly. I believed they were Braxton Hicks preparing my body for the big event that might happen within the next week or two. They were on and off, and hardly uncomfortable. I visited my midwife who worked some magic and suggested I go home and nap. I obliged. The aches didn’t increase in intensity or frequency, so we stayed home and eventually I went to bed telling myself it was all in my head, but secretly hoping you were on your way. The next day, I continued to gently labor at home. The only way I can describe these hours and days are slow, peaceful, and easy. As I write about it now, I can feel the sweetness and excitement, and I feel thankful to have had this experience with you. I was getting eager to meet you, and my midwife suggested I try eating scrambled eggs with two tablespoons of Castor Oil. And I did!
I don’t know if it was the Castor Oil or my excitement, but things picked up. The contractions remained mild, maybe mild plus. And the timing was becoming rhythmic. I assumed I would have you within twenty-four hours. After lots of convincing from Grandma and dad, I finally agreed to going to the hospital, though I knew they would laugh me away.
As we packed the car, unrushed, I had a moderate contraction. Dad and grandpa were talking and I interrupted, “Caton, get in the car, we need to go NOW.”
We arrived at the hospital, and were checked into triage where the intensity continued picking up. Tight contractions that required intentional breathing, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The nurse checked me. I was 5 centimeters dilated, which isn’t much. My midwife shared that she believed I would be laboring for several more hours, and suggested I walk up to my birthing suite to keep things moving.
When I stepped into my suite I had one massive contraction that flung me over the hospital bed. Things changed QUICKLY. I ended up in the bathroom. Thanks Castor Oil and Fetal Ejection Reflex. And wowzer was I hurting. I called your dad in who, bless his heart, was scoping out my situation—up close and personally. I don’t recall the exact time frame, but I would assume we had been in the birthing room about three minutes at this point. I went from zen mama, to GIVE ME THE MFING DRUGS NOW.
As Caton was drawing a bath for me, I was yelling, “DRUGS. Give me drugs now. I didn’t want it to be like this again! Where are the drugs? What the f*ck is taking so long?” It was not cute. Meanwhile, everyone else knew that I did not have several more hours to labor, and that YOU were coming.
My doula, friend, and chiropractor Dr. Britt walked into the bathroom at that moment and helped me get into a squat. BOOOOOM. My waters erupted, and wait WHAT? About 2 minutes later, I could feel your head!
I heard the nurse yell, “I need some help in here!” right about the time my midwife makes it back into the hospital room. Midwife Sarah, in her loving and gentle way, told me to get to the bed. I said no. So I wrapped my arms around Caton’s neck and he carried me there. No easy task. For the rest of your birth, my arms stayed around his neck.
No one touched me, talked to me, moved me, guided me, or directed me. No one interfered at all—and Frankie, you and me, we were in our power. I remember Dr. Britt breathing a beautiful, deep, powerful breath that became my rhythm between contractions. I had learned in my birth with William that the only way to YOU is through this strange forest of intensity. Not around. Straight through. So I closed my mouth, and I pushed with every wave. “This is NOT going to kill me. My body is NOT actually breaking. The quicker I can focus, the quicker I meet Frankie Love.” I felt you moving with each push, and that was all the motivation I needed to keep going.
Toward the very end, contractions seemed to slow, but I was so ready to meet you—and to experience some relief! The room was still quiet except for me saying, “I’m ready to meet you baby, come to me.” A couple pushes later, I reached down and pulled you onto my stomach. Your face was purple, but you were well, and I was so proud of us. 17 minutes from start to finish. In my hazy post-birth high, I kept repeating, “That was wild.” Over and over again. It was the most beautiful, healing, empowering experience of my life. I love you so much. Thank you for coming into this world through me. I’m honored to be your mama.
