Contractions started early Thursday morning, around 3:00am. I quickly tried to suppress the thought and fall back asleep– maybe this was false labor and if it wasn’t, I should try to get some sleep before the long day ahead. I tried to keep it to myself so that Shane could continue to sleep, too, but I couldn’t hold it in. I woke him up, “Today is the day. Are you ready to meet your baby?” There was a tired look of confusion and lots of “Really?? Are you serious? Are you sure?!” The feeling was unmistakable and after all the Raspberry leaf tea and dates I was consuming since my due date had come and gone, I was sure. After about an hour of lying there and staring at the ceiling (How is one supposed to sleep with this much anticipation running through their veins?!) I finally decided to get up. It was dark and the world was still asleep. It was just me and baby right now, with inconsistent and mild contractions coming and going. These were some of the sweetest moments of my life, as I contemplated the events that were to take place in the next several hours. I wanted to savor this last day with baby inside me, closer than he/she would ever be again. There was a strange bitter-sweetness knowing that this would be my last day feeling the baby kick inside me.
I came out to the living room and finished my chapter of the Lord of the Rings cuddled up under my favorite quilt. During my pregnancy, I had spent many sleepless nights sitting out on that couch, Sam and Frodo keeping me company and our slumbering pup at my feet. I had reached the climax of the long journey. The King was returning, the White tree of Gondor blooming again and the city restored! The pain they had persevered through along the journey had not been in vain. I stowed away what courage I could for my own venture ahead. Eventually, I jumped into a hot shower, put some lavender in the diffuser and poured myself a small glass of wine. I loaded the dishes and threw some clothes in the wash because I knew I would want to bring my baby back to a clean home. I slowly put the finishing touches on our birth bags and placed them near the door– a cooler full of snacks and juices, a pillow and blanket for the drive up, massage oil and even a vase full of lilies I convinced Shane to let me fit in the back of the car (I had purchased them the night before at Trader Joes not knowing the next day I would give birth to a Lilias!)
We laugh because the night I went into labor we had plans to use a coupon a friend had given for a free couple’s massage. Last minute my prenatal certified masseuse canceled, leaving Shane to get a massage alone while I lugged my big belly around the grocery store next door. At least he would be rested for the long day ahead. Pre-labor was long and slow, lasting nearly 24 hours. My midwife suggested that I do a couple rounds of the Miles Circuit exercises because she sensed baby wasn’t in a great position (I was feeling a lot of the contraction pain in my back). She encouraged me to continue to rest as much as I could to prepare for the long night ahead. Shane filled the bed with pillows to make sure each short nap I took I was comfortable. He dimmed the lights. He made me a big breakfast that, unfortunately, I threw up minutes after finishing. I was delighted to see how gentle the contractions were to begin with— how I was able to get outside and walk and do little chores around the home. We texted family members to begin praying and my parents began their road trip up from Florida. I kept reassuring my mom that it would still be a while and she wouldn’t miss it.
We decided to get out of the house to make the time pass. We were eager for things to progress but knew we would need to be patient during this slow and steady stage of labor. We went out to lunch to try and see if there was something appetizing and protein-packed that I could keep down and we knew we wouldn’t want a sink full of dishes when we came home. I remember every bump on our gravel driveway feeling intense as a contraction came and went but it was so fun to be distracted by the outings. We kept looking at each other in disbelief that today was the day we had waited and prepared for the last nine months.
The contractions had been consistent for a couple hours now but we were waiting for them to get more intense. I wanted to labor for as long as I could in my own familiar environment. We had decided against a home-birth for our first so this was a the next best. Around 11pm we got the go-ahead from our midwife to head up, especially because we had an hour and 45 minute drive up to the Birth Center. She would meet us there and then assess the progress. We let Kelly, our doula, and my mom know that we were headed up.
Shane bundled me up in my childhood quilt and placed pillows around the seat so I was comfortable. In the car we listened to a playlist I had compiled through my third trimester. We laughed really hard at the strange compilation of artists from Aretha Franklin, Celine Deon, and Janet Jackson. Our favorite and what we later marked as the baby’s song was Donna Lewis’ “At the Beginning.” It was dark and the roads were free of traffic. It was cozy. Each contraction I would clench the door handle and try to breath, but I was invigorated by the challenge ahead of me. Shane would try to make me laugh between contractions. We recalled what we had learned during our birth class, finalized our baby names, mused about whether it was a boy or girl, imagined what it would be like to return back home with a little one. It rained a little, too, which made me so happy because I had always said I wanted it to rain when I was in labor. It’s always seems to rain on days that are life milestones, an end of an era and the beginning of a new one.
We arrived at the birth center and our midwife greeted us and helped us bring in our belongings. She laughed at the amount of things stuffed in our trunk. Common for first-time parents, she assured us. I wasn’t very dilated (although decently effaced) when we arrived and she felt that my body just needed to relax in order to progress. She dimmed the lights and drew me a warm bath and encouraged Shane to rest in bed nearby as I labored in the tub. The warm water felt amazing and eased the pain of my contractions allowing me to occasionally doze off. Shane was able to sleep in little increments too. Every so often I would catch his head peering up over the pile of pillows to see if everything was going okay and then he’d disappear into the cozy bed once again until the sounds of the next contraction startled him awake. He didn’t want to miss anything. At this point, there wasn’t much he could do to help and I just needed to bear through each contraction on my own and try to rest in between.
I practiced harnessing my imagination as the contraction pain increased, thinking about how good it would feel to have this baby laid on my chest, how worth it, it would be. It was equally comforting and terrifying to know that I could only move forward through the discomfort. There was no looking back– I had to embrace the task set before me. I thought of Shane as a father and how excited I was to see this baby’s face light up at his silly faces and dance moves. To see a part of him and a part of me in the face of our child. I thought of how thankful I was for the previous nine months of pregnancy, how they had prepared me for this moment. For the many long days spent in the sun, giving baby vitamin d and for how the farm work had kept me active and made me strong. For my own mother, how she daily lays down her life for me and my three sisters and how eager I was to show this new soul a love like this. For Kelly’s care, bringing me quarts of bone-broth, herbal tea and pregnancy snacks, educating me on labor, running errands with me, bearing through the 98 degree weather with me, preparing me for the life transition, encouraging me to rest. For Shane who had been my rock since the day we found out about this surprise. Frequently I would cry to him about not feeling ready for this change. Afraid of giving up those things I love. Sad about having to sacrifice a job that gave me so much purpose and embracing a more “hidden” home-bound life. Sad that it would no longer just be the two of us, taking on the world together, unbound by these obligations. Knowing that I was still growing up myself. He reassured me of how much sweeter life would be. Different, yes. But all the richer. So many more tears to come. But so much more laughter. More joy. More beauty. How our friendship had produced something beautiful and that love will and must grow. We can take each day in stride, trusting that the Father would provide the daily manna.
Around 4 AM, nearly 24 hours after my first contraction, the midwife came in and it was “go time.” Baby would be here soon (or so we thought). Kelly and my mom quickly rushed over from the hotel they were staying at nearby, Starbucks coffee in hand. They immediately began to set up the room and display my labor aids– my favorite quilt on my bed and on the bedside table my favorite Van Gogh’s, a picture from home of a shepherdess holding her sheep, a copper vase of fragrant Lilies (the whole room smelled like them), a photo of Shane and me, my mom holding me as a baby and the strip of ultrasound photos. A Lilias Trotter painting with a quote I had cherished through the pregnancy and even now during labor was giving me strength: “Measure your life by loss and not by gain, not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth, For love’s strength is found in love’s sacrifice, And he who suffers most has most to give.”
Contractions would come and go and each one felt a little more intense than the other. Shane and Kelly would take turns pushing on my lower back to ease the pain and remind me to keep breathing. I could see my mom in the corner of the room praying and I could feel her empathy. “It’s just hard to watch your baby in so much pain and not be able to fix it,” she would tell me later. I tried several different positions to try to find one that was the most comfortable. Leaning over the bed, the birth ball, the birth stool, standing, laying, all fours. Around 9AM I began to push. It was time for baby to come! I was so ready to meet this child. The pushing lasted for four hours. I had never experienced pain like this. But it wasn’t suffering– it was pain that felt meaningful. I felt strong. Courageous. More alive then I ever have. But it was so, so hard. During that last hour, I wondered if I would have the strength to keep going. I was exhausted and didn’t have much left to give. I thought of all the women around the world who were in labor at the same time and all the women throughout history who had endured this and it filled me with pride and stubborn determination. The nurse kept handing me my labor-aid drink and telling me that I needed the hydration and sugar to get me through. I didn’t have an appetite but I managed to suck on some honey sticks. During that last hour, I was delirious and I remember trying to pray through the pushing and only really being able to think “God is with me,” over and over again.
Eventually, shortly before baby was here, my water broke. I remember crying at this because I wanted so desperately to have some sort of sign of progress. I was so confused at why baby wasn’t moving down, even though it felt like I was doing everything right. They had to frequently check her heart rate with the fetal monitor to make sure she wasn’t in distress. I later found out (midwife didn’t want to tell me and risk discouragement) that baby’s head was “Asynclitic” or tilted, making it difficult for her to descend into the birth canal. Because she was asynclitic, she was unable to help much in shimming her body down. Labors with this type of complication can be twice as long as a normal labor. Shortly after my water broke, baby had moved down enough so that the midwife could see her head. “Your baby has a full head of hair!” she told me. Despite my resisting, she grabbed my hand had me feel it. I wept at this—I couldn’t believe it! My baby has hair! Funny how this simple realization was just the motivation I needed to get through the rest of pushing.
At 1:02PM our baby finally entered the world.
8 pounds 11 ounces and 21 inches long. She came out with her hand nestled tight against her head, the way she still loves to sleep (she always manages to get her little hand out of the tightest swaddles). The umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck twice from all the flips she had done in my belly. They put her little wet body on my chest immediately and I remember my first thought being how warm she was and how incredible it felt to have her skin against my chest. I looked over at Shane and he choked out the words “it’s a girl!” (he was so adamant she was a boy this whole time!) I couldn’t believe I had a little girl. Neither of us had a preference for the gender but when he said those words I suddenly realized how much I had wanted a girl…this little girl.
The room was full of rejoicing and crying and laughter. My parents ran out to order me a “recovery bowl” at a nearby Mediterranean restaurant, full of lentils and chicken, hummus and veggies and some refreshing turmeric tea. My favorite. I had never felt so nourished by a meal. We took some photos, laughed and cried together, already recalling the highs and lows of the labor experience, called other family members to tell them the news. The nurse remarked how strong she was, already holding her head up on her own. Eventually the midwife insisted that we clear the room and rest. Both Shane and I spent most of the nap starring at her peacefully slumbering in between us, as if she was still cocooned in the womb. She was just as exhausted as we were. I would drift off and then open my eyes to again be surprised by reality of what just happened and the beautiful little girl next to me– it wasn’t just a dream. We get to take her home!
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We named you, Lilias, after Lilias Trotter, an English painter who gave up the fame of her painting career to tell nomadic Algerian Muslims about the love of Jesus. She saw the face of God in creation and writes about the lessons she learns from the bees, the flowers outside her window, the nearby well, the child she passed in the street. I pray that you, too, would have eyes to see these seemingly “ordinary” things as radiant ideas of God and that they would spur you on toward wonder and praise. I pray that you would “consider the lilies of the field” all the days of your life— you are like one of these flowers and your Heavenly Father will delight in providing for you every day of your life—you need not worry.
“Dawn” for many reasons– after your great grandpa “Don” who went to be with Jesus the day we were going to tell him the news about you. After your parent’s love for the morning and the new energy it brings. After the comfort Aragorn gives the weary fellowship during battle “Dawn is ever the hope of man.” After the promises in scripture that we pray you cling to all your life : “Oh, that we might know the Lord! Let us press on to know him. He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of dawn or the coming of rains in early spring.” (Hosea 6:3) and Proverbs 4:18 “The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, which shines ever brighter until the full light of day.” Press on to know Him Lilias! Watch for the early Spring rains. We pray that your path will continue to increase in light and joy as you travel along this life journey with Jesus.
Right now as I write this you are laying heavy on my chest, the easiest way to get you to fall asleep, like when we first met. The sound machine hums in the background and the light is kept nice and dim. Soon you will wake and you’ll open your squinty, kind eyes, smack your little lips and wiggle in your swaddle, maybe give me a little grin of gratitude and ask for me to once again attend to your needs. What a beautiful thing you are, Lilias! I see God in you. Thank you for making me a mom. Thank you for already showing me the beauty of pouring forth this cup of wine, this life. What a privilege it is to know you and be your friend on this journey.
“Now and then in life, love catches you unawares, illuminating the dark corners of your mind, and filling them with radiance. Once in awhile you are faced with a beauty and a joy that takes your soul, all unprepared, by assault.” ― Jennifer Worth, Call the Midwife
