Calder Mac’s Birth Story
I was impatient with this pregnancy from the start.
I took the pregnancy test before my period was due, and when it was positive I immediately went in to have my hormone levels measured. I couldn’t wait to see your heart beating at seven weeks and to hear it at thirteen. When the twenty-week ultrasound revealed a choriod plexus cyst in your brain, we scheduled a follow-up to confirm that it had resolved. I never even wrote my due date on the calendar, but instead subtracted sixteen days because I was sure that you would come as early as your sister had.
So it was no surprise that I was impatient for you to arrive, especially once my “soft” due date passed. I couldn’t wait to meet you, to hold you in my arms, to be sure that you were healthy and strong. So I packed my bag, finished everything on my to-do list, made another to-do list and finished everything on it, and still waited. Many nights I lay awake, feeling strong contractions and thinking through my expectations for your birth.
On Friday, February 1, our eager family went to my 39-week appointment. Ari and Tessa had come to all of my appointments and Tessa loved to weigh herself and listen to your heartbeat each week. This time we saw our friend and doctor, Ann Trask, who had shepherded us through my pregnancy with Tessa too. She had not been present for Tessa’s birth though, and we all desperately hoped she would be with us for yours. When we learned that she was on call that weekend, we decided that she would strip my membranes to try to move things along.
That night, things felt different. The contractions that woke me didn’t stop, and I lost my mucus plug. I was sure that this was finally it, and told the nurse-midwife on call that I was ready to go to the hospital. She encouraged me to wait at home, but by 6 am my strong contractions were just five minutes apart. Ari called our friends Ben and Leyea, who had agreed to take care of Tessa during your birth, and I called your Grandma Judy and asked her to come to Portland. By 7 am, Tessa was settled at Ben and Leyea’s, Grandma had tickets to arrive that evening… and my contractions had stopped cold.
From 7 am to 9 am, I did not have a single contraction.
Ari encouraged me to relax, take a nap, have something to eat, and I did try, but I was so eager for your birth and so disappointed that it no longer seemed imminent. I had light contractions off and on, but they were very manageable and very irregular. Ari talked with the nurse-midwife several times, and she assured us that there was no such thing as false labor – that you were on your way, and that we just needed to be patient. Being patient has never been my strength.
It was a beautiful day – clear and sunny and not too cold – so Ari insisted that we get out of the house for a walk. We drove down to the East End beach, and as we walked, my contractions picked up again. Best of all, I began to feel grateful for the course of this labor. Ari and I had had relatively little time to focus on you together, and now we were walking by the ocean, breathing the salt air, and talking about our new baby. My mood lifted, and I reveled in the lightness of anticipation. I encouraged my body, chanting “Oohhh-pen up” as I leaned on Ari and squatted into each contraction. As the contractions faded, my chant changed to “Oohhh-kay,” and I began to feel that it really would be okay.
After lunch and a nap and another couple of hours without contractions, my mood turned again. I lay on the floor and cried. Ari tried to cheer me up, promising that you were coming and hypothesizing that once my labor really kicked in you would come quickly, but I was so frustrated that his encouragement didn’t help. He recognized this, and saw that I needed the support of other women.
Our friend Rebecca was first. Ari made me call her and tell her what was going on, and she was wonderful. In a kind, calm voice, Rebecca encouraged me to find a quiet space to talk to you. “This is between you and Ari and the baby,” she said. “You need to tell your baby that you’re ready, and invite your baby to come into the world. Let your baby know that it’s okay.” Of course! This labor wasn’t about me, it was about you! You needed to know that I would help you though your birth, and I needed to be calm and positive to do that.
Leyea was next. Ari had convinced me that bringing Tessa home would help me relax, so Leyea brought her over. After cuddling with my little girl for a while, I retreated upstairs. Leyea is a massage therapist, and she offered to do some massage and energy work on me to encourage my labor. I admit that I’ve always been skeptical about energy work, but I was ready to try anything. After a vigorous massage, Leyea focused on the pressure points at my ankles and sacrum, pressing and chanting as she worked. It was an amazing experience: I felt energized and buoyant, and I felt your energy, distinct from my own. This was a major revelation for me. Despite months of your movements inside me, this was the first time I really had a sense of you as an independent person preparing to emerge. Along with Rebecca’s encouragement to respect you and support you and invite your birth, this helped me focus on our roles as partners.
Leyea gave one other piece of advice, too. She said she had sensed that you were nearly ready, and that you might not wait for my bag of waters to break. She sensed, instead, that you might be born in the caul. This is extremely rare – only 1 in 1000 babies is born with the membranes intact – and has been seen as a powerfully good omen for centuries. Letting go of my expectation that my water would break early in labor – as it had with Tessa – was liberating, and I stood in awe of your strong energy.
When my Mom arrived, I realized what a gift this day of preparation had been. We had time to focus together on you and your unique birth, the women in my life had time to offer their support, and Grandma had time to get to Portland. Tessa felt completely safe with Grandma, and I felt completely safe leaving her. As we prepared for bed, I explained to your big sister that you would probably be born that night, and that if she woke up, Grandma would be here to take care of her.
Almost as soon as Tessa was asleep, my contractions started coming stronger and faster. They still didn’t give me much pause, but for the first time that day, they were incredibly regular – first 11 minutes apart, then 10, then 9. I continued to chant “Oohhh-pen up” and then “Oohhh-kay” as I had all day, and began to feel a real rhythm. At about 10 pm, Ari left to take Sadie to the park. He was only gone for 10 or 12 minutes, but things changed dramatically while he was out. I had three strong contractions in that time – contractions that took my breath away, that hurt, that made me remember what labor really feels like. They continued coming just as strong and close, and Ari only had to see one before he announced that it was time to get to the hospital now. My Mom hugged and kissed me and wished me good luck, and I realized how happy I was to have her there – to take care of Tessa, yes, but also to see me in this part of labor. As we walked out the door, I felt proud and strong and capable, and I knew that it wouldn’t be long till I was holding my new baby.
The crisp, clear day had given way to a cold, frosty night. We walked quickly to the car, and didn’t take the time to scrape the windshield, so Ari peered through a small clear spot for the few blocks to the hospital. It was about 11 pm when we arrived at the quiet hospital, and the nurses at the front desk quickly shooed us into the Birthplace. We hadn’t called ahead, so we waited patiently through several more contractions while our nurse, Carey, called Ann and set things up.
I hadn’t had time to labor in the birthing tub with Tessa, and really wanted to give it a try. Carey checked my cervix before she went to fill up the tub and again before I got in, and I had gone from 4 cm to 6 cm in that short time. I had so many expectations about the tub that I was slow to see just how little I liked it. I had heard that warm water would both ease and encourage my contractions, that it would support my big belly, that water labors and births were peaceful and beautiful. Not for me. The jets were too intense, the fan was too loud, the water was too hot or too cold, and I just couldn’t get comfortable. Ari recognized this before I did, and remembered that once I pass a certain point in labor I refuse to move. He encouraged me to get out of the tub, and we walked back across the hall to our room.
Ann had arrived before I got into the tub, and she never left my side. Now, with my cervix stretched to 8 cm, we all settled in for your birth. Ari held my hand and murmured support; Ann and Carey silently watched, massaged, and encouraged me. At times, someone suggested that I change position, or asked a quiet question, but nothing disrupted the calmness that had settled over the room. I responded in my own time, if at all, and I finally began to feel that I had given myself over to your birth. I began to push.
It was hard, harder than I remembered. I was tired after a long day of waiting, after a long pregnancy, and I expected the loud, bright, empowering rush of labor that I remembered from Tessa’s birth. There was no frenzy in your arrival, though, and at times I worried that I wasn’t doing something right. Ari, Ann, and Carey immediately reassured me each time I voiced doubt: “You ARE doing it, Kathleen, you’re doing it RIGHT NOW.” I pushed, and pushed.
My bag of waters still hadn’t broken, and Ann suggested that we break it now so that you could move down more easily. I hesitated: Leyea had mentioned the possibility you emerging in the caul, and I didn’t want to rob you of the power of that kind of birth. I looked to Ari for advice and reassurance, and looked to you for guidance. I felt suddenly and strongly that the power of being born in the caul was yours, whether we broke my membranes now or not, and that you were comfortable taking this step. Ann reached up, and I felt a rush of warm liquid and you moving down inside me. With each push, fluid flowed like waves.
I had been laboring on my knees, arms draped over the back of the bed, and now Ann suggested that I turn over so that you could emerge directly onto my chest. Time had stopped for me. Apparently it was many minutes later that I wordlessly moved onto my back. I felt so safe, so protected. Ari was by my side, holding my hands, Ann was gently holding my perineum, Carey was quietly preparing for your arrival.
Soon your head was crowning, and when I reached down and felt your skin, it felt so, so right. It was a confirmation that you were inside me, ready to emerge. I pushed, and your head was out, and I pushed again and your shoulders were free. You slid out and up onto my chest, and I finally, finally had you in my arms.
Your Daddy announced, without surprise, that you were a boy. We had known, in the same quiet way that we knew you were healthy and strong, the way that we couldn’t quite trust, but could now appreciate. You were waiting, too, waiting to introduce yourself: Calder Mac. Our baby. Our boy. Our son.
You were born at 1:59 am on Sunday, February 3, but you completed your birth into our family the next morning. When Tessa woke up, Grandma told her that the baby was ready to meet her. As they walked into the Birthplace, Tessa whispered in an excited little voice, “I’m so excited!” She was amazed by you, and we were awed by our two children, cuddled together, staring into each others’ eyes.
Your birth was completely your own – silent where Tessa’s was abuzz, dim where hers was bright, calm and clear where hers was excited and blurred. I wonder whether you each created your births, or whether they created you, because you certainly have a deep and abiding peace about you, which traces back to your earliest moments. You carried it throughout your gestation and birth, teaching me so much about trust and peace and faith. Thank you, my Calder. I am honored to be your mother.
