If you didn’t get a chance to read Cora’s Birth Story: Part One, click here and then come back. I’ll wait. Done? Ok, so when we left off, we were finally heading to the birth center around 8 pm on the evening of Friday, January 13th, 2012. As a side note, it was surprising to me how many people thought it was a bummer that Cora was born on a Friday the 13th. I actually thought it was pretty cool, and it didn’t make me fearful or worry about luck at all. And if she grows up to be a witch, she’ll have some pretty legit credentials. Or is that only for kids born on Halloween? I don’t know.
So back to the birth part. When we got to the birthing center, I was pretty miserable. Some women talk about their birth as if it was this magical, peaceful, one-with-the-earth kind of experience. Some women even claim they feel sexual and attractive during labor. I did not have that kind of birth. I was in pain, there was no getting around it. Call me a wimp if you will but remember I was doing this all without any type of pain medication or intervention. Our midwife Jennifer wanted to check and see how dilated I was as soon as I arrived. This is a make or break moment for a lot of births. At this point I had been laboring on and off for almost 24 hours on my own, so if I turned out to be only two centimeters I would be hitching the next ambulance to the hospital for an epidural and waving the white flag. When the words “eight centimeters” came out of Jennifer’s mouth, I am pretty sure I cried tears of joy. That’s only two centimeters away from go time, which I seemed to be approaching rapidly.
We decided it would be a good idea to get in the tub and trying laboring in the water for a little while, which it turned out I LOVED. It took all the pressure of my body, let me focus on just laboring, and the warm temperatures relaxed me to the point where my midwives were concerned I was actually slowing down labor. It was also at this point that I realized my biggest “doh” moment in labor. Right before we left for the birthing center, I decided it would be a good idea to put on mascara. Why I thought it would be important to look good for those post-birth pictures is beyond me. My mistake, however, was not using waterproof mascara and then proceeding to spend two hours in a birthing tub with my eyes now streaming black down my face. I absolutely hate 99% of my photos from after the delivery because I look beyond horrendous. Like a very sad, plump, clown. Note to self the second time around: buy waterproof mascara, or just forget about makeup all together.
Back to the birthing tub. The whole time I was floating around, having a grand old time, my midwives were giving me supplements to boost my energy and encouraged me to eat and drink if I felt like it. I remember having some Gatorade, and once things got really intense, my midwives would just tell me to open my mouth and periodically give me natural remedies to keep me going. Throughout my life, I’ve trained for sports in some pretty harsh conditions, but I don’t think I’ve ever been that exhausted. Thank goodness my midwives were there to let me know I was almost there.
About an hour into the tub experience, I started to feel the need to push. My midwives thought pushing in the tub would be a great way to start off, and I remember thinking there was a possibility the baby could be here in just one to two pushes. With my day-long labor at that point, I should have known one to two pushes was not going to cut it. As good as it felt to push, my midwives could tell that I wasn’t getting much done, and my energy was depleting quickly at that point. They suggested we get out of the tub and try the birthing bar, which is sort of like a chair without a seat in the middle. You basically sit on the bars, hold on to the sides, and push as if you’re having the worst bowel movement of your life. The force of gravity and being out of the relaxing tub really kicked my contractions into high gear, and with each one my midwives were spurring me on to PUSH harder than I thought I could.
So where was Orlando in all of this? At this point you should probably know that any time we had a doctor’s appointment throughout my pregnancy, Orlando would get queasy and come close to passing out at the very thought of the nurse drawing my blood or a baby coming out of my you-know-what. We thought for sure when the real deal happened he was going to be THAT dad who faints and takes all the attention away from the laboring mother. Amazingly, quite the opposite turned out to be true. Orlando was fascinated by everything that was taking place in my delivery, especially once we got to the birthing center. I will never forget one moment when I was pushing on the birthing bar, and the midwives told us they could see the head. Orlando was behind me supporting my arms and letting me lean against him in between contractions, but at that moment he leaned forward and pressed down on me trying to get a better look at what was happening down there! I hope I’m not the only laboring mother who got very short and brutally honest when in the midst of birthing a child, because I remember snapping, “I CAN’T BREATHE! GET OFF ME!” Just goes to show you that nobody knows how they’re going to react to any given event in life until you’re actually in the moment, experiencing it. Orlando was loving it, and I was about to rip somebody to shreds.
The entire time I was pushing on the birthing bar, my midwife was right in the midst of it, letting me know I was getting so very close, just bear down a little more. I remember looking at her with (probably) pitiful, mascara-streaked eyes, and telling her, “I can’t do this, I can’t do this” over and over again. As a first time mom, I was terrified, and it was beginning to feel like I was going to have this child stuck inside me forever. I’ll never forget Jennifer looking me in the eye and telling it to me straight: “You ARE doing this. Your body is doing it right now. You ARE doing this.” That gave me the extra confidence boost I needed to make it to the finish line, I have absolutely no doubt in my mind.
The very tail end of labor is often referred to as the “ring of fire” when the baby is JUST about to make his or her grand entrance and it feels like your lady parts are literally on fire. Prior to being in labor, the worst pain I’ve ever been in in my life was probably during the rehab for my ACL reconstruction in college. They would force my knee to bend to a certain degree, more and more every single day. The pain was excruciating and I saw grown football players twice my size crying through the same experience. The “ring of fire” blows ACL rehab pain out of the water. I’m not trying to scare any soon-to-be moms out there. I pray you have the rainbows and unicorns labor some women describe where they just sneezed and the baby was in their arms. I’m just letting you know I did not have that labor.
Something crazy happened in the middle of the pain though. It turns out there is this very small part of you, buried way down deep until this very moment in time when God knows you’re going to need it, that pushes you to find the savage strength to try one. more. time. And then again. And then once more. It is a guttural, instinctive moment that defines the female gender as a whole, I think. We are tough, we do whatever it takes, and when we are pushed to the limit for our child, it doesn’t matter how far we have to take our bodies. We will do it to make sure they see the bright morning sunshine of their first day on Earth. Because from the first moment we saw that pregnancy test, heard their heartbeat, watched them squirm on an ultrasound, we have loved that child. More than we ever dreamed was possible. And amazingly, we can still find that love in the midst of all the pain.
And then finally, with one overwhelming push, Cora Marie Mendez-Valdez joined us in the world at 11:45 pm on Friday, January 13th. She was 8 pounds, 6 ounces, and 21 and a half inches long. At least that’s what they tell me, because I was too exhausted at that point to pay much attention to the weighing, measuring, and monitoring that took place in the quick moments after her birth. I do, however, remember that she went straight from the womb into my arms and onto my chest, where she laid for those first precious minutes of her life. I think I was just saying, “Oh my God” over and over again at that point, so I apologize if you were hoping for something more eloquent. After some time, though, our midwife said, “Don’t you want to know the gender?!” and I lifted Cora up off my chest to discover that she was, indeed, a little girl. I cried, Orlando cried, and my mom got to work notifying all our family the world over that her first grandbaby had arrived.
We named her Cora for the female lead character in The Last of the Mohicans, one of my favorite movies growing up. If you haven’t seen it, Cora Munro is a strong, independent woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. Thus far Cora is living up to her namesake rather nicely. 🙂 Marie is for both Orlando and I’s mothers, who are named Maria and Marianne respectively. Speaking of which, I am so glad they were both present to witness Cora’s birth, along with Orlando’s father. I remember at one point vaguely wondering if Orlando’s mother and father could hear me screaming on the other side of the birthing room walls in the waiting room. It turns out they could, and Orlando’s dad was a little freaked out, but that also meant they got to hear Cora’s first cries in the world, and rush in to see her only a few minutes after she was born.
In Spanish, one of the phrases for giving birth is “dar luz”, which literally translates to “give light”. I love that so much. The task of bringing a child in to the light is so daunting, but with such a beautiful end result. No matter what else I achieve for the rest of my life, I can say I gave someone light. I gave them life. I sacrificed my body, experienced pain, feared the unknown, and joined the ranks of millions (billions?) of women who have done the same. At least for me, it sort of makes all other accomplishments in my life pale in comparison. They say the rush of “love hormones” that flow through your body right after delivery are some of the most potent a human will ever experience. It’s the truth though. Because it doesn’t matter what the hours proceeding entailed, when that little bundle of love is wrapped up close to you, a bond is formed that is more powerful than any pain. Any trial. Any tribulation. A mother loves her child because she gave that child light, and the child, in return, will fill her life with a thousand times more.
XO,
A
