Last night was a first for me in 12 years of being in birth work- I got to assist a family in welcoming their baby on my birthday. ❤️
I sat quietly beside the tub, with our student midwife by my side, knowing that we would soon be meeting a baby. The only light in the room was from the glowing chandelier overhead, the only sound was the breathing of the laboring woman and the quiet garble of her own mother and grandmother whispering in excitement in the background. Dad sat in nervous silence, in witness to it all.
No blinding overhead lights. No dings, bells, alarms. No repeat questions or pushed agendas.
“I feel like I have to push!” Slight panic and a hint of doubt in her voice. “What do I do? What should I do??”
Simple reassurance: “Listen to your body. If your body is pushing, then push.”
Such a basic concept, but something birth has gotten so far from.
How did we get here and why?
She takes that thought and eases more into the water with it. She bears down with guttural pressure, and then starts to creep up in the water, her butt beginning to rise to the surface.
“Keep your butt in the water.” My voice is soft and gentle, but there’s no if in what I’m saying.
She doesn’t open her eyes but her body relaxes a little.
“Ease into the water and push into your pain. You’re almost done!”
A few pushes and the baby begins to crown, head slowly emerges. Megan reaches in to get ready to help this mom bring her baby up.
A snap back from primal incoherence to once again cognizant- she asks, “Will the baby drown?!”
Her baby’s head is in between her legs, submerged under water.
Simple reassurance: “Your baby is being born from water, to water.”
Megan reminds her of the purpose of the umbilical cord- giving oxygen-rich blood to the baby throughout birth.
I sit overseeing, sitting on my hands to not interfere or disturb unless I’m needed. The baby is born and Megan slowly brings the baby up. He goes straight to his mother’s arms, onto her chest.
Silence. That’s what we hear.
The baby doesn’t cry, yet the family rejoices.
Why?
The baby has no clue he’s been born. His heart is excitedly beating. He’s breathing quietly. His lungs are clearing. He starts to open his eyes and looks at his momma. And yet he’s silent.
A birth so gentle that the baby doesn’t even recognize that he is outside of his momma’s womb. Looking around, in awe of the world.
Stop. It’s a science and an art. Imagine what would happen if you just stopped. And observed. And thought.
We don’t wipe him off.
We don’t routinely stimulate him. There’s no need.
He’s kept warm by the warm water and his mother’s body.
We don’t routinely suction him. There’s no need.
That’s the beauty of midwifery. We are there, but not. There to support, there to safeguard, there to witness, there to intervene when it’s warranted and needed.
The day before, another patient of ours had to deliver at the local hospital. She was abused, belittled, and threatened by the doctor. An episiotomy was pushed on her and she was told she was going to kill her baby for informly declining certain interventions. The stories aren’t mine to tell, but I will say this- we hear it time and time again, over and over and over. And yet, we are the crazy ones?
I think to myself of this stark contrast, two different worlds that shouldn’t be so different.
How did we get here and why?
How do we bring birth back to where it belongs and what it is suppose to be?
One woman, one baby, and one birth at a time, just like this Birthday Birth.
