stop.
It’s a boy. You are totally having a boy. I am never wrong. E claims across the table which is covered with bowls of buttery chanterelle mushrooms, tossed field greens, roasted delicate squashes slightly caramelized with deep brown sugar and butter, all-spice rubbed pheasants and loafs of warm fresh bread. The candles flicker between us. Her bright blue eyes sparkle and dance, long black curls cascade down her wood-fire flushed checks. A boy.
Well, you’re not never wrong. Her husband sits next to her, a gentle reminder.
No, it’s a boy. E insists.
It’s always fun for me to hear the predictions of my baby’s sex. I try not to jump too far into it, ignoring duality for right now. Neither boy nor girl at this point for me, I like living in the oneness of it all. But I play with the conversation, sincerely enjoying why someone thinks inside is a boy. Or not.
You know, this is the first time the thought of a having a boy doesn’t freak me out. With the girls if someone insisted they were a boy I would get a lump in my throat and feel dread. Now I am actually okay with it. Nothing against boys…I smile. Why do you think boy?
I can see him. She gives me a beautiful, supportive grin. In this moment I can feel this twirl of karma and connection. After only an hour together, she is my friend.
Now this is the first time I have met E. But I have heard stories of her for over seven years. She is the oldest friend A, one of my dearest sisters, a woman I hold in the highest regard and on the most jeweled adorned pedestal. A has shared E’s adventures and journeys with me, telling stories of their time together from grade school on. A always ends her stories with, God, you gotta meet her someday. Little did we know we’d end up living less than 2 miles from each other. And although our paths have never crossed until this glistening forest night surrounded by a new Washington family and devouring this lovingly cooked feast, I feel like I have known her forever. Outside the window I can almost see the shimmer of the beaver ponds that scatter around the house. Astrud Gilberto sounds the air. Something beautiful is taking place. Something always is.
Not just anybody can tell me they see my baby and I believe them. But there is something, from spark to a fire, E ignites. Regardless if Baby Dove is a boy or a girl, E feels him/her. She sees baby’s light. At this moment I am almost tempted to ask E if she will be at Baby’s birth. Childless, yet I know she has begun thinking about the motherhood journey, I decide to wait to ask her. My birth circle will form organically.
You should think of a name that starts with L. E looks are me dead on.
L? Funny, I tried to convince B into Lennon for a stint. Lion? Lyric? Ludicris? Liev? Leo?
Just as I was about to share my brainstorm of L names, I am overcome by pain. Deep and inside, below the belly. Tight. Cramping pain. It is so intense I breathe through it. I slowly fade out of the conversation, petrified. I am sliding down the leather dining chair, my legs spreading toward the floor, holding my belly. I breathe more and it fades, yet the lingering sensation of pain is apparent
Are you okay?
Yeah, Yeah. I smile. Gas.
I sit and pretend to listen for a bit, talks about having babies, raising babies, teaching children, growing local strains of mushrooms, and wine tasting all rush around me and stupidly I pretend to listen yet inside I am freaking out. I experience at least three more of what seems to me like contractions in the next 15 minutes or so. These were not Braxton Hicks. These hurt, cut like a knife, crushed like a vice. Finally I spoke.
You know. I might be having contractions.
K immediately went and grabbed me some water and asked me if I had been drinking enough today.
It’s a different thing, being here in the wet and chilly. I am not constantly guzzling water. Maybe not. I drank up the glass she gave me and she got me 2 more that I gulped. How long had it been since I drank some water?
I ached. I felt a few more contractions, down low and in front, almost like a muscle ripor like my pants were digging knifes into my gut. Back labor is my past and not did I contract upfront for the girls. This was a new sensation. I took some more breaths and ate a little more food and put my feet up on B’s lap. Moments passed and the air cleared. Although the pains had subsided, something was still not right. What was happening? Was this baby telling me it was coming? That my path was laid out and I would birth in a hospital? A tiny premature baby taken from me and put NICU? What could Baby be? Three pounds? Why? I needed to dig deep and feel this, this was no doubt a message from my body to my spirit.
AD took me into the kitchen and placed her hands on my belly. We talked of how I was feeling. Like I am still ‘trying’ to get some place, still moving and not “getting it” that I have arrived, I have finally landed where my arrow was aimed since last April.. In the whirlwind of the past six months, working to get from one place to another I guess I haven’t been very conscious, not noticing that each transition, each step on this journey required a different velocity. Movement got me here. Now stillness and rest, long stretches, warm teas and laying on the couch and lifting my legs above my heart will sustain me and my baby while I settle in. I think I may have been moving like a wind-up toy that has hit the wall; its feet still moving with nowhere to go, stuck and in a rut. This exhaustion and needless waste of energy has made me and Baby restless. And as perfect as the body is, as wise as my baby is, I have been given a signal. Those contractions were saying this: Stop.
There is nothing much to do. Boxes will slowly open and get emptied. Walls will be hung with colors and memories from trips across the sea will be carefully placed upon the mantle. Drawers and cabinets will be filled and floors will be softened with throws. Our new bed will finally be delivered. Baby’s things will emerge; the hammock, sheep skin, the warm cozy caps. Diapers will be gathered organized, separated into piles of hemp, cotton or wool. Tiny little clothes will be smoothed by my excited mama hands. As I sink into my newness and consciously live in this protected womb of a home, the visions of birth will unfold; they will rise up from the morning mist and they will stick like glue to these walls, imprinting a safe and gently arrival at a much later date, 7 more weeks, at least. This will all happen without rush or stress or pain. Everything can slow down now. We are here. We can wait with time to seep and move through, slowly, not in a fast line or a race to some end, but an enjoyable spiral, savoring this chapter We may have to do a few things twice and take a bit longer or we might defy time altogether and fly up ahead. We’ll twist with it and turn with it, flexible like a willow. Time is not linear, there is no end, and I need to live that belief. I erase from my mind that I have a grid to follow and schedule to keep. I can just be still now and watch. Sit for a bit. Breathe. Once again remind myself that I am not only phsycially home. I am A Home for my baby inside.
Baby, rest with me. Wait with me. Sip with me the time we have while you are inside. You are loved. You are so love.
