I knew I did not want my baby’s system flooded with drugs or fear.
I ruled out an epidural right from conception.
I booked us hypnobirthing classes with Hulda, the doula who held me through my pregnancies.
For two months before my first daughter’s due date
he sat opposite me with a bowl of olive oil in one hand,
stretching my perineum toward my rectum with his thumb.
Fifteen minutes each evening to keep me from tearing.
I tore anyway but small.
My OB, Michelle, stitched me up
after examining the placenta she placed on the trolley at my knee.
This was the first of three she stitched me up.
Michelle was there for every daughter; every exam, every heartbeat, every scan, every stitch.
She was resting on my chest.
My doula, Hulda, guiding my nipples into her mouth.
She did not latch.
He filmed everything.
This will be the first generation
to watch their own birth in HD.
She was ten days late.
Three point six kilos.
The night before, I was at my cousin’s wedding.
Contractions started during dinner
and lasted all night.
I moved from bath to bouncy ball and back.
I told him to sleep while he still could.
When they were close, Hulda came to feel my cervix and pulse.
She can express urgency without panic.
She said, “There’s no rush. We need to go right now.”
He heard: “there’s no rush.”
I heard: “go right now.”
She grabbed my bag and walked me to the car.
He was still not rushed.
He dropped me at the hospital entrance.
She was ready to join us.
Pushing down on my cervix hard.
He left the car in the pick-up area.
He was one elevator behind me.
I was already hooked up, legs up.
Michelle broke my water and said: “Honey, Push.”
I pushed once.
She placed her on my chest in a single breath and said:
“You did well, honey. That was the easiest assist ever.”
That was the plan.
They all followed it.
Including her.
