Being There

By Milva McDonald and Justine McDonald
Web Exclusive

At a soccer game once, I overheard two mothers discussing birth. "Every teenage girl should observe one," said the first. "That would go a long way toward ending teenage pregnancy."

They both laughed. I stayed silent, recognizing the labor-as-nightmare theme and wondering: Is that really what we want our daughters to know about birth?

In the last two and a half years, I’ve had two baby girls, and my older daughter Justine, now almost 14, has attended both births. I know she will never forget seeing her sisters come into the world. But what, I wonder, did my teenager learn about birth by being there?

When I became pregnant with Claire, Justine admitted to feeling ambivalent. Her ten-year-old brother Eric was enthusiastic about the upcoming birth and wanted to talk about it constantly. But Justine was reserved and didn’t want to discuss the pregnancy or attend sibling classes, so in the end we didn’t do much formal preparation with her. She said she would come to the hospital but didn’t know whether she’d stay in the birthing room. We told her whatever she wanted to do was fine.

On a cold January evening, I went into labor, and we rushed to the hospital. In the end, Justine came along but sat quietly in a chair, saying nothing, while Eric bounced around the room, excitedly asking questions. At one point the baby began to show signs of an elevated heart rate. The obstetrician ordered a fetal monitor and an IV. From then on, I was confined to bed. But I managed to convince the doctor I did not need any pain medication, and when the time came, I delivered my daughter in three hard pushes. Justine watched all of this silently.

Afterward, basking in the glow of my baby’s perfection, I asked Justine how the birth had compared to her expectations. She paused for a long moment, then replied that I had not screamed as much as she had thought I would. That, for her, was the best that could be hoped for from labor.

I never imagined she would be attending another birth so soon, but within a year, I became pregnant again. As my delivery date approached, I decided I didn’t want to return to the hospital. I wanted to be free to walk during labor, and I wanted Claire to be at the birth, which the hospital wouldn’t allow. A birth center was an option, but I did not want to travel miles during labor to a center. No, I decided. This time help would come to me. I would give birth at home.

Once we settled on a midwife, Justine, Eric, and Claire came along for the prenatal visits. I’d never experienced pregnancy quite like this before – no ultrasound, no blood tests, only a quick measurement of my fundus, and lots of quiet reassuance. Justine seemed entranced, and I felt healthy and strong.

The night before my due date, I went into labor. At about 5 a.m. my midwife and her assistant arrived, and active labor kicked in about an hour later. Five hours of contractions followed, with slow, irregular progress. I walked from room to room, stopping to lean against the walls or squat for contractions. Justine, Eric, Claire, and my husband wandered in and out during this time, while my mother and a pregnant friend stayed downstairs.

Eventually I hit a high wall of discouragement. The midwife put me in the shower, fed me Popsicles, and literally held me up during contractions. My husband did, too. Eric and Justine visited often, and I’ll never forget the moment during a contraction when Claire, who had seen the trail of waterproof pads left wherever I went, climbed onto the bed and placed one under my kneeling body.

Finally the moment came. I was squatting on the floor, in the middle of a very strong contraction, when I felt the baby’s head. "It’s here," I said calmly. "Call everyone."

My husband held me from behind and my other children gathered around as I pushed Abigail out. Incomparable joy and relief flooded over me as she was placed immediately on my chest. My midwife had not announced her gender, so for the first time in four births I got to discover for myself the sex of my baby. A few minutes later I was lying in my own bed, with my baby beside me and my family all around me, and my mother downstairs cooking up a feast for everyone.

Justine’s reaction to Abigail’s birth was absolutely jubilant. She dropped all the reserve she’d shown after Claire’s birth and told me over and over what a great job I’d done and how proud she was of me. She clearly loved the fact that she did not have to leave me and her new sibling in the hospital while she and her brother went home to wait for us.

Later, Justine sat down to write a letter of appreciation to our midwife. She thanked her for all that she had done for me and Abigail, adding that she appreciated how nice things had been during the birth at home, in contrast to at the hospital, where, as she put it, everyone kept running around like there was something wrong.