Friday, November 6, 2009

Birth is so much more beautiful when I'm not the one pushing...

One of my best friends just had her beautiful baby girl. She asked me to be there with her during labor, to support her and to take pictures. It was the first birth I've ever attended where I wasn't the one delivering. I was so moved by the tenderness between her and her husband, and the way they communicated without words. Now, this is a man who normally pisses off his wife on a daily... no hourly... basis. But he gently rubbed her back, and held her hand, and patted her hair. He kissed her forehead, and told her she was doing a great job.

It took me back to my labors. BigGuy is amazing during labor... does all the right things. He's supportive, and encouraging, and loving. I'm so blessed to have him, and I tell him that all the time.

When she was exhausted, she asked for an epidural. Her doula and husband reminded her that she hadn't wanted to do an epidural. I'm fairly certain flames shot out of her eyes as she told them in no uncertain terms that she WAS getting an epidural. So Dr. Epidural was called in rather quickly, since she was dilated to 6. As soon as he walked into the room, she yelled, "We're not doing the epidural!" She was officially in transition.

Things happened quickly after that. Lights went on, the room filled with doctors, and the baby warmer was ready to go. As I stood at the head of the bed, encouraging her as best I could, I snapped the first pictures of her little Pixie. And I cried. I didn't even cry for my daughters' births because I was so exhausted and caught up in the moment. But being there, to see this beautiful little girl come into the world... it was just so amazing.

I've struggled for a while with the way my labors went. They weren't at all what I expected. But being there with my friend, with her husband and doula gently supporting her, I saw what birth could be like. It was natural and non-clinical... surrounded by people who love her. I hope I can have a delivery like that some day.

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