So, the paperwork isn’t totally filled out yet, but it’s almost all set: I’m going to have a homebirth.
We found a midwife that we both really like, and after talking to my mom, who somehow conveyed how completely and utterly superior a homebirth is, Ryan was convinced to give it a whirl. (Well, I guess this sort of thing is probably more than just a “whirl.” Somehow that puts labor and delivery a bit too lightly.)
As soon as we moved here, I had somehow decided, based on absolutely nothing other than my own imagination, that I would not like having a baby in any of the hospitals that are a stone’s throw from us. And sure enough, after talking to enough people, I found out my hunch was well-founded. Would you believe that it’s hard to find a hospital that will let the baby stay with his mother? Call me naive, but, I can’t believe that hospitals would be allowed to do that, and, well, over my dead body.
I’m really excited. My mom had the three middle kids at home, and I was old enough to watch all three be born (except Julia; inside joke.) I can’t say that I retained a whole lot of details about giving birth, but what it definitely did was help me to understand birth outside the context of a hospital, and realize that’s perfectly normal. Ryan didn’t have quite the same box, but like I said, I think he’s persuaded. His only concern is the white carpet in our bedroom. Literally. He’s not worried about emergencies, or all the what ifs, he’s just worried about a blood stain on the carpet. I think he’s going to be talking about it while the baby’s crowning.
Of course, I say I’m really excited, but actually, I’m having to work really hard at remembering that there is a baby, and not just a constant concern about vomiting. When I was pregnant with Jameson, I purposely lived in every moment of the pregnancy, knowing that with successive babies, there would always be a toddler to keep my attention divided. And sure enough…!
And Mom and Bri always said that the first pregnancy is blissfully ignorant of what’s ahead. Oh, worried, maybe, or a bit overwhelmed by the unknown, “but trust me,” Bri would say, “as daunting as that seems, it’s nothing like knowing exactly what you’re in for — and knowing there’s no way out.”
Well, she must have been right, because I find my mind quickly finds a new line of thinking as soon as it gets anywhere near the idea of having this baby. The other night, I chided myself for how silly that is. One would think I am afraid of childbirth, from my knee-jerk sub-conscious reaction, and I have no reason to be. I made myself think back to those fast and furious 4.5 hours of my life, delivering Jameson. “Were you scared then? Then? How about then?” And no, I wasn’t scared. Of course, who has time to process “scared” when within one hour, you’ve gone from getting ready to go out for the evening to laying on the couch unable to talk between contractions?
No reason to be scared, but at the same time, I’m not going to cross a bridge unnecessarily. That’s several months down the road. There is plenty of time for me to think about this little stumpy-armed baby in my belly — to think about how they are growing and being knit together by a Creator who, once again, while I was just doing laundry and walking to the playground, had plans for a person He’d known since before the foundations of the world. Time for me to fall in love with the plans He has for me, for Ryan, for this baby. Time to marvel at my growing belly, (and groan at my chubby face), to walk lots and drink tons of water and eat better. And then, as I start to feel the little fists punching me from the inside out, it will be time to think about how God created me to be a mother, to birth these children — as absolutely sci-fi as that may seem. The midwife says a woman just has to have some sort of faith to empower her in labor. But I can’t help but think, my faith in a God who made me and this baby because He loves us trumps all of the other faiths. That is as empowering as it gets, I think.
Sorry for this long pregnancy ramble. Of course, there will be plenty more. Perhaps I’ll put a disclaimer at the beginning of such posts for the few men who kindly read this here blog.
Or not, because that would just be one more thing to forget remember.