A Birth Story: Part 3 - Restoration
The emergence of the greatest joy.
I was at the end of myself, ready to walk into new life, but I wasn’t through the most arduous part of bringing this new life. I had a final crucible to be molded in. And I would come to realize I was so thankful to the midwife and the people that God sent me to. I would need them more than I would ever be able to anticipate.
At this point in my labor journey, I began to panic. I could tell that my baby was not descending, and the birth pangs were coming sharp and fast. I thought to myself I cannot do this for another day or longer— I am going to fail. I begged God to hear my cry.
And then I do what I often do— I ask God for help and then take things into my own hands, never having patience to wait and see how He responds.
I told my doula and my husband that I wanted out of the water. I got out. I drank some water. I paced about the room. I then begged to be brought to a shower so I could search for some relief from the pain that felt never-ending. I ran through the birth center (which, thankfully, was empty). I distinctly remember going down the hallway, past the exam room. One of the birth assistants was lying on a settee with a coat over her, trying to get some sleep as I barged past the couch and the empty second birthing room into the bathroom tucked behind the administrative office. My husband was on my heels, trying to offer some help. He stood with me as I tried to find some relief I was unable to find among the jets of water.
Full panic took over, and I charged out of the shower, back up the hallway, and into the original birthing room. At this point, I thought for sure this would end up with a transfer, and I would have failed at the one thing I told everyone I would do. I was crying and could feel my anxiety rise as a panic attack set in.
At this moment, Lucie confidently entered the room. I distinctly remember her saying, “You asked for Jesus’ help, and He sent me.” At this point, her no-nonsense nature took over, and she directed me to squat. I was having none of that. She then tried to send me to the toilet, and I was having none of that. She then stopped me.
“You are having a trauma response to what you are going through. You are feeling all this pain coming at you, and you are doing all you can to get it to stop; you are trying to get away. This is not something you can run away from, but together, we are going to get through this.”
She then directed me to push. “I don’t often direct women to do this, but you need to regain some control. So you are going to push. And if you don’t do it on your own, I am going to have you lay down, I will hold you open, and we will do it together.”
The thought of her touching below my waist again was something I very much did not want. So, with fear coursing through my veins and wanting this to be over, I happened to squat on the bed, praying fervently to God for this to be over, and I pushed.
At this point, we all heard a pop, and the water that we thought for sure had been depleted by the water bag tear1. This is also what had kept my baby from descending to be born. As soon as my waters broke (and saturated the bed right next to the puppy pad meant to catch leaks — sorry, Lucie!), my baby descended, and it was time to start pushing.
At this point, I was depleted. I wanted to get her out and take a break from the pressure and the wandering. I lay first on one side and then another, flipping this way and that to figure out what exactly my body wanted to do. I finally settled on my left side, Lucie holding my leg bent at an angle above me, and my doula holding my hand. I was following through on the instinct to push, frustrated by the ‘turtling’ that baby was doing. Filled with a desire to be done, I mustered the energy to give one big push.
The ring of fire is something that does indeed happen. But for women that have given birth, at this point, you’ve just accepted it’s going to be a thing, and it was far easier to embrace than the pelvic contractions. Another push and she was through — or at least I had hoped.
In my exhaustion, I didn’t realize that shoulders would also take a little more of a push. My daughter also gave me false hope as she let out a cry as soon her head had emerged, causing Lucie to exclaim, “Well, that was early!”.
“Is she here yet?” I asked cautiously. When Lucie responded with “No, just her head,” all I could think about was my mother-in-law telling me my husband had massive shoulders. I groaned inwardly and then pushed again.
In my delirium — and I think fear — I had a moment where I hadn’t connected that I had delivered a baby. I had a moment where I legitimately thought the midwife had delivered me of another — ahem — bodily substance and that birth was still imminent. However, upon my scrambled brain regaining some composure, I looked down to see that Lucie held up to me a squalling purplish baby with a little squashed face. My brain could not compute further what had happened as it began to descend into shakes.
“Here is your daughter!” Lucie exclaimed. I looked over at my husband at this point, who was crying (even though he had been spared the death grip I had on my doula’s hand as I had been pushing). But my brain could not fathom that I had delivered a baby.
Everyone’s attention turned to the little crying baby, and all I could think to say was that my husband needed to cut the cord. My husband rounded the bed to cut the cord. All the while, I was in another dimension (from the combination of a hit of dopamine and pure exhaustion), delivering my placenta quickly and quietly. I was astounded at how quickly all of this process had come to an end.
As the midwife and birth assistants did all the necessary first checks to hand over my baby for me to hold for a moment, my body continued to shake. No one had warned me about all of this, so let a sister in Christ tell you what can happen — as you come down from all these high emotions and hormones, you can get the shakes. My body was quivering like I had stepped outside into frigid weather, which I was unprepared for. The birth assistants quickly wrapped me up in blankets, handing my daughter over to my husband to hold while they continued to perform checks on me to ensure my well-being. Most of these moments are a blur to me; I mostly remember getting my baby back in my arms, bundled up, as the midwife and assistants set us up to take our golden hour in the room in the light of the dawn.
At this point, all of the chaos in the room ceased. We had begun our golden hour with our firstborn little baby — an 8 lb 10 oz little girl born with all of her fingers and toes, wriggling in my arms after she entered the world with full force and speed. I wish I could describe to you what this hour was like: a glimpse into the life of parenthood we are currently living: simultaneously a long hour and the shortest moment of my life. It was filled with quiet awe, looking at the little girl with a squishy little face in my arms, her body slowly becoming less purple in time with my body quieting from the shakes.
The morning I had planned to spend sleeping in was one where I was greeting the dawn with a small bundle of joy and hope in my arms. Little did I know I would walk through some of the most challenging months of my entire life after this initial trial by fire. But this one morning, as we walked out of the birth center at around eight with a full car seat in hand, a new season was dawning in our own lives, rising with the glorious sun.
Equipped for More
The beauty of childbirth is not only the way in which we learn to suffer like Christ did. Women in labor, exhausted no matter how long the process, wanting to take a break, going through the hard work, come to the end of themselves in such a short span of time.
It brings Philippians 4:13 to a genuine head, as we consider the trials and tribulations Paul walked through as he learned what he was able to do through Christ:
I rejoiced in the Lord greatly that now at length you have revived your concern for me. You were indeed concerned for me, but you had no opportunity. Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:10-13
I realized that women must learn to rely on something to give them strength. My mother-in-law tells me the story of bringing in a picture of Jesus to look at — the very Catholic version — when she was in labor with my husband. While she tells the story with a laugh, it’s true. We need to focus on something. For some women it’s “positive affirmations” or “mantras” that tell them what they can do in their own power. For others, who seek the truth, it’s the affirmations and reminders that we cannot do this on our own, but we need the comfort and peace of God.
When we walk through labor, we walk through one of the longest and toughest trials on our body, mind, and spirit we will ever walk through as women. The saddest part is that we often ignore how very spiritual this process is.
Because with each birth, we have the opportunity to grind that snake’s head further into the dirt, beneath the weight of the victory of Christ and the prayers of all the saints. Those of us who have a saving knowledge of where our Hope comes from are an even greater threat to the enemy, and I think Satan especially wants to prey on this vulnerable time in our lives where much good is happening. He wants to deceive us, like he did in the garden, that we can do this all on our own. That this little trial proves how very great and strong and awesome we are on our lonesome. The pride of life (1 John 2:16) that has us fooled into believing our bodies are cosmic entities of great power, a goddess within us leading us through a life-giving act of self-denial. Twisting the goodness of the truth of God designing women as the jewel of His creation, giving her access to a taste of the suffering of Her Savior her husband may never endure, and walking with her through the self-denial that comes with giving life, an act of mirroring the blessing God gives to His people.
Labor teaches us the lesson that becomes pertinent in parenting — we really cannot do this on our own. While we may have the physical strength to deliver, so many women still face fear and anxiety and apprehension when they enter the throes of labor. It is why I believe birth has developed into a distinctly group dynamic when left to its own devices — women need other women with knowledge and foresight to help them walk through it. We need the community of the body leading us to communion with Christ in these most holy and sacred moments. It is often recommended that you invest in a doula (as I did) to help you work through each labor pain and to help you stick with the plan that you made before the pain and the fear settle in. And I truly believe you need to find a woman who will lead you to the truth of where your strength and power come from during these hours — not the inner goddess inside, but the wonderful grace of our God.
Pain and fear do not need to reign. They do not need to be what marks labor and birth — yet we see culture and society propagate this lie. In part, because birth is offensive to the old snake in the garden, but also in part because so many women enter labor without acknowledging the strength and the hope of the Lord.
It was in those moments of me crying out to Him that He could answer. He sent me help in the form I needed. He provided me the ability to have the will to deliver my baby this side of Heaven.
My only prayer is that I do not forget that in the years to come of thriving and prosperity that I still need Him to help me work things toward His glory and victory, as much as I needed Him in the pain and energetic poverty of labor. Every moment of motherhood is made possible only through the power of Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection, Who is sanctifying me. There will be seasons of highs and lows; there will be years of need and abundance. My hunger may not be physical, nor my filling by food alone. May I be reminded, as I think back to those desperate hours of life, that none of this is achieved without His ultimate provision.
Without His provision, there is no glory to be given to God. At the end of the day, I pray that this story of bringing forth life highlights the coming of the Kingdom of God to earth, the abounding of God’s blessing, and the Hell-charging-fury of new life, a new heart that will prayerfully make its way to God’s Kingdom in the years to come. In all of this suffering and joy, may God be given glory. Amen.
Stay tuned for some exploration into what I learned walking through significant postpartum anxiety and depression after the birth of my daughter by subscribing to my Substack.
Any thoughts, reactions, questions, or requests for future topics?
Which is why, ladies, your doctor telling you that your waters are depleted is more often than not a fib to get things moving along. Sacs have been known to replenish fluid when it gets too low; it’s extremely rare to have inadequate fluid for your baby before your bag breaks. I’d highly recommend you do not allow your provider to break your bag for you. A bag breaking at the beginning of labor naturally happens in a small percentage of deliveries.