I missed out on blogging during my pregnancy, something I really regret, but I was napping so much and also my other blog has been down for a few months, one of the reasons I’m back at my old blogspot blog, until my other one is repaired.

There are so many things I want to say about this experience, about my son who arrived a little over two weeks ago. When I think back to three weeks ago, he was not in my life, I was just trying to imagine what he was like, what he looked like. Now I know his sweet little face by heart. Two days ago I packed him up in the stroller, leashed up the dog and headed up the hill to meet a friend for a drink, and we were marveling about how we had met just two weeks earlier at the very same cafe, I had waddled breathlessly up the hill, my swollen ankles just barely carrying my girth, and now things were so different.

Yes, there is so much I want to say, and maybe I will skip around in the timeline, but right now, there is one thing I want to write about, which is a piece of writing I wrote in my journal the night before my son was born, when I was told that, due to the health complications that I had developed, that my son was going to be induced. With visions of painful Pitocin-enhanced contractions dancing in my head, I wrote down the things that I had that could help me get through the pain. An excerpt:

It’s still not sure if they are going to induce, and im already bone tired. I had hoped to be able to rest up before this experience, but it appears it’s going to be harder than I ever imagined. I’m trying to breathe, and let go of fear.

In the book “Birthing from Within”, it talks about how when we give birth to a child, we must recognize the “death” of the person’s life when they didn’t have a child. Meaning, the person who was before will “die”, not literally physically, but the life they had before will cease and they will be reborn into a person who is a parent. And that we have to acknowledge that death. This week, most likely, I suppose sooner rather than later, the person I was before will die, and I will become a mother. A woman who has birthed a child. That is scary. Its scary to think that my old self will die. Not completely, mind you, but I will be rebirthed.

Who will die?

That childless girl, and I will become a mother. I will be responsible for this beautiful baby. I will no longer be responsible for just myself.

Im so afraid of being a crappy ass mother.
It’s French mothers day tomorrow.
This is going to be the most intense experience of my life.
The most painful, probably.

What do I have to get through it?

I have my breath, and I have fear that I can let go of with each exhale.

I have Om.

I have the women of the world who will be birthing on the same day as me. 300,000 according to Birthing from Within, some of whom surely are being induced as well. And my mother, and her mother before me. Who had no pitocin but also no epidural.

I have my husband’s touch.

I have music, and a DVD box set of Star Wars, and a photo of my dog.

I have The Moment, as in Being In, which is all I can do. I have the ability of letting go of the next step, and being in The Present.

I have my jaw, which I can relax.

I have my thoughts which can float past me, like clouds.

I have the ability to look at the center of the pain, and to not run away from it, but consider it and invite it in and accept it as a gift, bringing me closer to my baby. The stronger the pain, the closer I get to meeting my son.

Most important, I have the word


….which is mine to yell when it gets to be too much.

This is the start of the adventure. See you on the other side.

A couple of hours after I wrote this, my water broke and I went into labor naturally the next day. I didn’t have to succumb to the pain of induced labor after all. Not, mind you, that the experience was a day in the park. Far, far, far from it. But that’s another blog post isn’t it. One that I hope to write very soon…


2 thoughts on “Rebirth

  1. Pingback: Birth: Part one of four « Letters to my son

  2. Pingback: It’s off to work I go | Letters to my ̶s̶o̶n̶ children

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