Settling in

Ah, a kid on the chest and a cat in the lap. What more can a man ask for in this world?

Things are beginning to make sense again. We are finding a routine and figuring out our roles and sleeping better and better. Tomorrow Jack will be a week old. A week ago right now, Danny and I were lying on the bed talking about birth, having just had a wonderful spontaneous date evening following a wonderful spontaneous day for me of pampering and indulgences. The day had helped me make peace with the waiting, accepting that whatever happened happened, whether that included an induction or a C-section or what. Today would've been the day that they would have had to induce me (or send me to surgery) if Jack hadn't come out on his own. I was fearing this day until last week, when I lay on the bed talking with Danny about what my hopes and expectations had been and let myself be honest about them. I cried a little, and the cry was cathartic, and afterwards I felt I really would be okay with however the birth wound up.

And then the next morning my water broke and 12 hours later, Jack was born! Isn't life funny that way? I had wanted to do a little reflecting on the birth before it got too distant, and as Jack and Danny are both passed out on the couch right now, this seems an opportune time. The first thing I had to say about childbirth, once Danny and I were safely ensconced in the privacy of our own room, was: "You know, I've always wanted two kids but I'm really not sure I can do that again!" Danny laughed but I was serious. Birth is a humbling experience. I had thought it would be meaningful and empowering and it was those things, too, of course, but the strongest feeling I've taken away from it is a sense of humility. I hadn't even thought very much about natural childbirth before my OB constructed this great rock-climbing metaphor (I am a sucker for a good metaphor) and got me excited about it. And then my doula, after asking me about my background, told me "Oh this will be a piece of cake. You're an endurance athlete! You'll have no problem!" So between that and the birthing class we took, I felt very prepared for what I was about to face. I've run marathons, I thought. I've climbed seven mountains in one day! How hard can this be?

Well, it was the hardest thing I have ever done. And after it was over I was in a state of disbelief that I had actually managed to pull it off. I think what's different about the kind of pain that a runner deals with and the pain of labor is the control you have over it, and your ability or willingness to surrender yourself to it. If you're not feeling so hot in a marathon, you can always slow down. You might fight with yourself over that, you might succeed to different degrees on pushing yourself through the pain, but it is always your option to slow down or stop, and that makes the pain feel safe and more tolerable somehow. When the contractions ceased to feel like individual waves and started blending into each other and I still had no idea how much longer it would be and had even less of an idea how much more I could take, there was no escape. I couldn't slow it down, let alone stop it, I had to just ride it out, and that, once I realized it, was terrifying. That was about the point I started telling Danny, "I just need like a 15 minute break. Just a little break." Pleading with him, as though he could bargain with someone for me. He was so great, and the doulas were, too, and the nurses-- I had amazing support. Amazing support, and really, the most uncomplicated and one of the fastest labors I have heard of. And I still didn't know if I could do it. That's why it was humbling. I always kind of liked to think I was tougher than most girls I knew, but women have been doing this for millennia, often with much less support and in far more dire circumstances. Suddenly I feel in absolute awe of women.We had carolers tonight. We were watching A Christmas Story with mom and dad when Danny heard them outside and we ran downstairs. They were singing at the house across the street, but when they saw us standing on our porch with a babe in arms, they made a beeline for us and serenaded us with O Little Town of Bethlehem. Then they asked if we had any requests, and I asked for O Holy Night. The singing was so beautiful, the night so crisp and clear, and Jack was snuggled so warmly against me, I thought, can this really be my life? Can one person be so lucky?