Life

It's June 9th, which means that thirty-three years ago I was in labor with my first child. It being my first child, I had no idea what was before me. None. Not in any sense of the word. I had a doctor's appointment and I went and he examined me and agreed that I was in early labor and told me he'd see me at the hospital later on. He didn't know, because I hadn't told him, that I was planning on a home birth. In those days, you could get thrown in jail for such foolishness but oh well.

I went home and called my midwives and because I was young and stupid, I pretty much went to bed. I don't have the slightest idea why. I should have mopped the floor and started walking but I didn't figure out that walking thing until the second child.

And then it happened- the education of Ms. Moon began.

I had read approximately one hundred books about labor and delivery and I had listened to my friends' stories of their births and I had taken Lamaze and my friend Jena, who had just had a baby at home with a granny midwife had told me, her eyes averted, that "the amazing thing is that god will get you through it."

That was not comforting and I knew it was going to be hard, but this- well, the force of the pain that overtook me as my uterus contracted and my cervix began to dilate was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I vomited continuously, I went into the bathroom and shut the door because I wanted to scream that I needed drugs, I needed help, I needed to not have one more contraction because really, I was going to die.

And I was not going to do that because my mother had told me that labor was really hard and that having a baby at home was not a good idea and so of course I had to prove her wrong and besides, I knew other women who'd had babies at home and if they could do it, so the hell could I.

And I labored through the day and I labored through the endless night and I did it one contraction at a time. One. Contraction. At. A. Time.

I was twenty-one years old.

I thought I knew, if not everything, then a lot. At least.

My universe was my uterus and it was an entire universe made of red exploding galaxies, hot waves of roaring lava pouring forth to form a mountain, and where was a baby in that?
And where was god and why did women have to go through this to give birth and really? this is how it was supposed to feel? Why did anyone ever have sex? All the orgasms in all the history of all the world could not balance out what I was feeling every two minutes.

The next day, after I had been pushing for about four hours, I told everyone that I needed to go to the hospital and so I went. It was only about four blocks away and believe me, the doctor was not so happy to see me at that point. I was a mad woman, squatting on the floor to push and the nurse was laughing at me, saying, "You better get up in this bed or you're going to have that baby on the floor."

Well, that would have been fine with me.

They finally got me up on the delivery table and into the stirrups and the doctor said that he'd thought I was going to have to have a Cesarean but I had indeed moved that baby down and also, that if I couldn't control my hands, they were going to have to tie them down.

And then I had my baby.

I had my baby.

And the pain was gone and the universe was formed and it was perfect and the mountain was still and I was a mother and there he was, so amazingly worth it all that I was astounded.


Tomorrow is that baby's birthday and he'll be thirty-three and I still remember that nurse laughing at me, but not in an ugly way. I think she was delighted to see a woman in the hospital, squatting on the floor, roaring like a lion, overcome by the force of her nature.
"Come on, honey. Get up in this bed."

Now I raise chickens. I grow potatoes. I nurture begonias and I remember when I was someone who created life through a universe of pain and power.

I am glad those days are over but I am far more glad I was part of that. That I experienced that pain and power and I have to remember that when my Lily is giving birth this September. That as much as I'd like to take that pain away from her, if I do something like suggesting she go to the hospital for an epidural, I'll be taking away her power.
And what kind of mother would I be?

She has no idea what's in front of her. She has no idea that she is about to learn more about herself and her power and life than she can even imagine.

And I can't imagine what is in front of me- this journey of becoming a link once removed from the chain of the life force but I have a feeling it's going to be ecstatic.

Until then, I'll be raising my chickens. I'll be content right here, waiting for the baby to come. And although I often feel inept and ridiculous and as if life is speeding by and what have I done, what have I accomplished and what is my purpose here on this planet? I'll remember that my purpose, if you get right down to it, was to create life.

Which I have done. Which is leading to more life.
The power of that thought shakes me to my core and my head swims with the enormity of it all and I can feel my heart within me, fixing to break open and expand again, and I know I have no idea what that's going to feel like.

I am fifty-four years old and I have no idea.

But here I am, waiting for the universe to unfold again and again and again.

And my arms ache with the wanting to hold babies. My own baby as she holds her baby.
As I held my first baby, so will Lily.

And then I will know more. I will be fifty-five by then and I will know more then than I know now. I'm old enough to know that.

And so it begins. Again.