Piper had come out, seeking Mama. I held her close, and she slept on me and I smelled her and let the tears slip silent into her hair, writing in my heart about this last time my baby would be my baby.
...
Brandy came, and it was time for Pip to go, time for me to move, time to bring Bredon into December, into Christmas, into my arms and my heart.
I wandered the house. Blogged a little. Tweeted a little. Leaned on counters, on desk, on husband.
The labor was gentle, I thought. Strong, firm, but gentle. Where was the pain I remembered from Piper's birth, the pain that made a birth-song for her as I breathed in crescendo, up and down with the strength of the contractions?
As they strengthened, I moved into the living room, more comfortable on my knees, resting between, giving camera instructions, so aware of my surroundings. I told Brandy at one point that I hated transition. Why did I have to experience transition?
I wasn't ready.
But the baby was coming, and as I labored and moved and longed for him to come, every contraction brought him closer to me, and I encouraged it, and suddenly transition was upon me with an intensity that shocked me.
From gentle strength into blinding fury, the pain took my body. For the first time during my labor, I cried out, recognizing heart-deep that the words I cried in my panic were for God, for His help. I was helpless against these waves of pain I had handled once before, panicked.
...
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
(Image © Informal Moments Photography)
1 comments:
I felt transition, though more swift than last time, was definitely more intense, too. I remember praying loudly out loud for God's grace and mercy and wondered in the back of my head whether the nurse and midwife were believers...
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