Birth Story: Sutter Ford by Madison
The story of you really began a decade before you came into our world, slowly, on your own time, in the darkness of the morning seven days after your due date.
I paced the house, slowly, starting at 3:30am–I could feel you coming. Pressure was quietly building in my pelvis, a smile spread across my face with the ache. Finally, I thought. I called our midwife, Kennedy; she recommended I take Benadryl and go back to sleep. “We knew he’d come on his own time,” she said. “Get some sleep and text me updates throughout the day.” By 8 o’clock that morning, the aches had gone from 30 minutes apart to 20. Daddy woke up and looked over at me, side lying among a pile of pillows. “Are you ready to have a baby today?” I asked, smiling. He raised his eyebrows. “He’s coming?” he questioned and exclaimed simultaneously. He’s coming.
In graduate school, I dreamed you into an essay, then a manuscript, but the only difference is I was alone in that story. It was just you and me and the fear that I’d brought another life into the world who would never know what it was like to have a father’s love. But in this version of our story, in our reality, we found the dream we never thought we’d have–a daddy for you, and this great, big, everything kind of love for me.
I spent the day walking around the house, wearing nothing but Daddy’s big hoodie, the red and black one with oil stains I’d been stealing for years. He did all he knew to do: he cooked. He prepped sandwiches and fruit and quesadillas and crackers and cut cheese into small cubes–anything and everything to keep me energized enough to get me through the day. He refilled my water repeatedly, dripping extra minerals into the cup each time. He watched me circle the house, waddling, rubbing along the curve of my belly for some of the last moments, before finally settling in on the couch.
For years before I even met Daddy, I had boxes of children’s books, a closet full of bamboo and organic cotton, waiting to wrap you up in all the years I waited for you. I never knew I wanted to be a wife, a partner–it was the surprise I had least expected. I gained a dream of a husband, a best-friend, but most of all, an incredible father who would be here for every moment of the biggest dream of all: you.
At noon, the contractions were less than 15 minutes apart. I stood naked in the shower, the shower head hose placed directly on the pain, hoping to urge you out sooner. I could quietly inhale the pain as it was not excruciating yet, but uncomfortable and frequent. The contractions grew closer together and more intense as the afternoon went on. I texted updates to Kennedy every hour.
3:00pm: Contractions are 9 minutes apart, lost mucus plug
4:00pm: Contractions are 7 minutes apart
5:00pm: Still the same!
I laid on the couch on my side, propped among pillows while Daddy and I watched tv, his arm draped across my leg. He answered a phone call–his father–and shared small talk. No one else would know you were coming until after you were here. We were basking in the final moments of just the two of us, waiting to be three.
I gasped and Daddy jumped to his feet, yelling into the phone, “I gotta go!” Fluid gushed from me, soaking the blanket I was curled up with. He handed me a towel and I stood up before giggling uncontrollably as more fluid gushed. You were coming.
5:45pm: Water broke!
The contractions became more intense the moment my water broke. I spend the next couple of hours in and out of the shower, holding the shower head on the pain along my stomach coming every few minutes. I sip on mango pineapple juice and sit quietly with Daddy’s hand firmly placed on my thigh. I give up on wearing pants or underwear and switch over to a nursing bra, Daddy wrapped a warm towel around my waist. I apologized for all the laundry coming his way and he smiled. “It’s the least I can do.” “Are you sure you want to do this with no drugs?” he asks shortly after our midwife arrives at 9:30pm. I nodded and smiled, but in my mind, I was telling him to shut the fuck up and YES I can do it, I can do anything. Our baby was coming.
I knew I wanted to bring you into the world at home, with just Daddy and I, even before we were pregnant. It made him anxious, but I was so sure of the decision. “You are the one birthing him, so I will trust your judgment,” he said. And that was that. You would come into the world quietly, in our bedroom, with low lights and warm blankets, and a mother and a father and love and love and love.
Days later, I’m told how I started moaning, deep, guttural growls at 11 that night, begging you to come, begging the horrendous pain to stop. The contractions felt like my entire body breaking in two, over and over, every couple of minutes. I remember sitting on the toilet, complaining of pressure, so much pressure, and Kennedy helping me move to the couch.
“Lie like this,” she motions, placing a large rubber peanut between my legs. Daddy sat near my head, rubbing my head periodically between the moans. “Are you sure you don’t want drugs?” he asks again. The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m going to punch him in the face if he asks me that again. Instead, I say, “No, baby. I can do this. I want to do this.” I’m told how I got into the birth pool a little after midnight. The water was warm, still, calm. But inside, I was fully disassociated, focusing only on each moment of pain. Each guttural cry I let out meant you were coming, and I had to keep going to get to you.
Kennedy told Daddy I was fully dilated at 12:34am, and he nodded, forcing me to drink water and take bites of crackers and cheese. I shook my head each time, unable to speak. “You have to eat,” he said. “Just one bite,” he said. I finally agreed, and took one single bite, one single drink.
At 12:59am, Kennedy put her hand on my knee, slowly rubbing my leg. “Madison, it’s time. It’s time to push. Let’s get this baby here,” she said. Daddy says he had never heard a person screaming like that, he’d never seen someone in such pain. I remember the screams, and the small breaks to uncontrollably cry. Kennedy stopped me, “You can do this. I see his head, let’s go, push!”
“I am pushing,” I cried out, and she held my feet and pushed against them. One final cry, one final push, and there you were at 1:09am. The pain was gone within an instant. I looked around and you were on my chest, a towel laying across you, and Daddy was smiling, and Kennedy was smiling, and there you were. “I did it,” I kept whispering. “I fucking did it.” 21 inches and 9 pounds of perfect, healthy, strong. Our baby. You.
I stared into your soft, wispy blonde hair and whispered I love yous into your ear while I birthed the placenta, and finally it was Daddy’s turn to hold you close. Kennedy handed you over, with the placenta in a big stainless steel bowl next to you, and he sat in bed, propped up, staring into your big, blue eyes. My eyes. My father’s eyes.
Kennedy helped me out of the birth pool, shocked to see me snap back into reality so quickly. “I feel fine now,” I exclaimed, and easily stepped out of the pool and slid into bed next to you and Daddy. It was just the three of us now. I told Daddy on our wedding day how he was the beginning and the ending. And here we were again, with another beginning, another ending. Our first and last baby. The one and only dream I ever had was here, in my arms, drinking from my body, the body that kept you safe for 41 weeks and 1 day. And here the three of us were, drowning in the quiet magic, together, complete, still.
Madison is an avid reader and a once-upon-a-time writer, who dove head first into becoming an involved step-mama, and then a mama to the most beautiful boy. She lives in small town Paoli, Oklahoma with her dream of a husband, her book-obsessed teenage stepdaughter who has adopted her love of words, her growing son, and their three dogs. She has a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and is fueled by nontoxic living, Dr Pepper, audiobooks, and long walks.