Fierceness

I am deep in laboring with my son, and I ask between contractions, “Who invented this whole ‘laboring thing?’”

One of my more cynical friends in the room answers, “It had to be a man.”

One of my very wise friends says that of course God is feminine and invented childbirth: how else would we know that we have what it takes to raise a child? After labor and delivery, we know we can do anything.

Each wave of cramping pain makes me moan deeply. I direct my moaning into mantra and deep, deep sound, down into my pelvis, inviting her to open for this child. “Aaaahhhhh.” I direct the healing sound into my pelvic floor. “Oooohhhhh.” I let the vibration open me. Thirty-three hours of contractions, thirty-three hours of moaning and rocking and sleeping in between.

I am terrified at times…how can I do this thing? As I labor, and my child is not yet ready to be pushed out, I am overwhelmed at times by the all-consuming nature of the pain and the anticipation of opening my body to an entire child. How will I be able to do what I know remains to be done? How is it that so many women I know have gone through this experience with so little fanfare?

I remember when I discovered I was pregnant: I remember thinking there is no way out but through. There is no escaping that this child will now need to come out of me, either the way he came in, or by major abdominal surgery. There is no escaping this immense reality of a human being living inside of me and developing relentlessly toward birth. I am aware of this during childbirth…from the moment I saw the first sign of blood that indicated the imminence of labor, I felt a pang of terror in my excitement: now is the time to pass through the eye of the needle. This little camel will pass through the eye of me…how will I fair? Will I be torn? And will he be okay? Will he pass through the gauntlet of his first great adventure unharmed?