Birth Perfect

Now

Deep in the familiar caress of sleep, a thought nudges into my dreams, now; it's going to start now. As I rush peacefully towards wakefulness, I hear the muted "POP," as I feel the warm gush of water spread down my legs. It’s a feeling of pressure released; a burden eased.

Time stops as I wait for the first timid contraction to signal the onset of labor, but it doesn’t come. I want to call my midwife but hesitate to stir her from her dreams.

I look at the clock. It’s 3:30. Fifteen minutes have gone by and I have yet to feel a contraction, but thinking that I might deliver quickly, I decide to call my midwife anyway. I roll clumsily to the edge of the bed and reach for the phone as another, smaller, trickle of water joins the first.

I look again at the clock, feeling a slight pang of guilt for calling so early in the morning. Joni answers on the third ring, "Hello?" I marvel on how fresh her voice always sounds. She manages to allay my guilt by sounding as if she has been awake for hours, just waiting for my call.

"Let's have a baby!" I say.

"I knew you'd be calling. I woke up about fifteen minutes ago for no reason. Are you having contractions?" she asks.

"Not yet." I shift positions and another dribble of water joins the rest. "My water broke exactly fifteen minutes ago, so I guess you did wake up for a reason. I probably should have waited for some contractions, but something told me to call now."

"OK. I'll be there in about thirty minutes or so." I love Joni; she's always there when I need her.

I hang up the phone and struggle to a sitting position. It's ironic that my water would break on a waterbed. I grab a cloth diaper from beside my bed and walk, hunched over, holding the diaper in between my legs.

On my way to the bathroom, I stop at the living room to wake up John. (My ballooned belly keeps us from sleeping on the same bed.) I lean over, bracing against the wall, and feel another moment of guilt as I call his name. He’s sleeping on the giant papa-san chair next to the couch, and it’s difficult to bend over and shake him. I wish I could let him be. I know he's been asleep for only an hour or so, but our child is about to be born and I need the hide-a-bed that we have in the living room. Much as I love my waterbed, I just can’t imagine Joni bobbing up and down, rocking side-to-side, trying to catch a baby. "John, wake up."

"Huh?"

"My water broke. Wake up." Standing up causes the baby's head to put pressure on my cervix, and now I feel the beginnings of a contraction. "Come on! Wake up." I hear the urgency in my voice, and it scares me a little.

I go into the bathroom long enough to get the tub started, but instead of getting in, as I want to, I go back to the living room. John still hasn't gotten up. I hate to nag, but I really need that bed. "John," I say loudly, "When you get up will you open the bed for me?"

"Ungmumph."

I take that for a 'yes' and go back into my room to get out the birth supplies. Two Safeway grocery bags are sitting in the corner, filled with sheets, a plastic shower curtain to cover the mattress, disposable bed pads, receiving blankets, newborn diapers, a knit beanie for the baby's head, the camera and film, a bulb syringe, KY Jelly, sanitary napkins for after the birth, and two small black combs. I grab a Safeway bag in each hand and waddle back to the living room. I hear the TWANG of the couch being opened, and I start to feel a little less anxious.

"What does it mean when your water breaks?" John asks.

"It means that labor has started." I expect John to bolt out the door, but instead he nods, as if in agreement, lies down on the papa-san chair, and goes back to sleep. He must believe he's having a dream, I think as I take the combs out of one of the paper bags and go back to the bathroom.

I step into the tub, finally, and think back on the other two times I have danced these particular steps. I've gotten to know the routine quite well by now.

The bathroom is nondescript, generic, painted “landlord white”. The tub is too small, and my belly doesn’t fully submerge. I lie back and prop my feet up, one on each side of the faucet, trying to sink as far into the tub as I can. Water has always been my go-to for comfort.

I feel my abdomen tighten as the ritual begins and, as I take a deep breath, I wonder if it will go like it did the last time.

~~~**~~~

Then

Labor had awakened me then, as now, only instead of the baptism of amniotic fluid, I was roused by an uncomfortable ache in my uterus. I thought that I had to pee, so I went into the bathroom. When I wiped, I felt the thickness of the mucus plug.

Looking back, I wonder why it surprised me at all. The baby had been due nearly three weeks earlier. Nevertheless, my heart startled, and I had to pause a few moments before getting on with business.

I remember being dismayed that I was going into labor with so little sleep, but there was nothing I could do except get into the right frame of mind for a birthing.

I turned on the tub, got my birthing supplies, and padded into the living room.

John was sleeping on a king-size mattress on the living room floor, and I paused to wake him up before calling Joni.

“Hey, John, wake up.”

“Why?”

“I’m in labor.”

“Uh huh.”

“Really, John. Get up. You have to get Aisha ready and go.” We had decided that Aisha, our first-born, was too young at seventeen months to attend the birth.

It seemed to me that John hadn’t believed me, so I gave up and turned to the phone instead.

Joni answered after three rings, “Hello?”

“Let’s do it!”

“Well, it’s about time! Are you having contractions?” I knew she was listening, waiting for a contraction so she could judge my progress.

“Yeah,” I answered rather sheepishly, as if I had kept the baby in on purpose, “and I lost my mucus plug.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

The phone call must have convinced John that I was serious because I heard the mattress springs ‘BOING’ as he jumped out of bed.

I went back to the bathroom and got into the huge clawfoot tub. I hated the bathroom but loved the tub. The walls had been a sickly green color, years of staining adding to the indescribable tint. The house had been designed by a famous architect, I was told, but not much had been done in the way of upkeep. In fact, the house itself was divided into three distinct apartments. My unit was on the alley side of the house. It had one bedroom, a kitchen, and a living room, and not much else. It had served its purpose, though, and that antique clawfoot was the best part of the deal. I could fully submerge, and the water would stay hot for the longest time.

I felt my abdomen tighten as the ritual began, and I wondered how it would go this time around.

~~~**~~~

Interlude

Hot water soothes and caresses the body, as tense muscles are relaxed. Gentle rocking through the contractions helps to alleviate a lot of the pain and serves to help nature by allowing gravity to assist in the dilation process.

Effleurage – gentle, circular motions with the fingertips – and water dripped on the abdomen during the height of the contraction can also ease the discomfort.

The most effective method, at least in my opinion, is the healing qualities of a tub of water.

Our earliest sensations are of water, and to return to it as you prepare to deliver your own child somehow completes the circle and soothes the mind, as well as the body.

~~~**~~~

Now

My contractions are coming a little stronger now, but they still feel like early labor. I don't have to concentrate to get through them. In fact, I hardly feel them at all.

I hear Joni come in and begin to unload her equipment. I catch a glimpse of her walking by with the oxygen tanks, and I hope we won't need them again.

A contraction sneaks up, and I splash around the tub, looking for my combs. Ah, there they are. I squeeze one in each hand, the teeth of the combs pressing into the fatty areas on my palms, below my fingers. I close my eyes and breathe my way through the contraction.

Joni comes into the bathroom, sees the combs, and asks, "Are they working?"

"I don't know. I guess. My contractions are very mild and last only about thirty seconds or so. I wonder if the contractions are efficient enough to be effective."

"Well, maybe those mild contractions are all you need. I'll check you in a minute. Let me finish setting up. Is there anything you need right now?"

"You can call Elise and Amanda for me. Let's not wake Aisha, though, until Amanda gets here and the baby is about to be born. I don't know how she’ll react to seeing me in pain, and it would be better if Amanda was here to take her someplace else if she can't handle it."

Joni nods and says, "I already called Elise; she should be here soon. I'll go call Amanda now."

Another contraction comes and, beyond and below me, I hear Joni say to John as she passes, "Hey, John, the midwife is here. Women in the house! Are you going to stay for the birth?" No answer. Wouldn't it be funny if he accidentally saw his son being born? Such a tough guy, yet terrified of birth.

Elise, Joni’s assistant, arrives, pops her head in the bathroom door to say hi, then goes to help Joni set up.

I hear the soft pad of Doctor Denton"s feet walking down the hall. My son, Sayyid, stops at the bathroom door. "Splash-bath?" he asks.

"Yeah, Mama’s taking a splash-bath. You're going to go bye-bye with Daddy, and when you come home your new baby brother will be here." I wonder how much of that he understands.

"Bye-bye?" Well, at least he got that part.

"Go wake up Daddy," I say.

My little nineteen-month-old son turns and goes over to his father. His little diapered bottom wiggles as he walks. He bends carefully over John's ear and screams, "Bye-bye?", and finally John stirs.

I hear the front door open, and Amanda comes in, all smiles, and begins to help the midwives.

My contractions are stronger, and much closer together now, but still not painful. I experiment with the combs, holding them through one contraction and not the next. I can definitely feel the difference. Native American women used to use sticks, but the idea is the same: Steady massage to the uterus pressure points during a contraction eases the pain of labor and helps the uterus to work more efficiently.

Joni comes in, snapping on a glove, "Ready?"

I nod and lean back as best I can. Joni gently inserts two fingers into my vagina and measure how far my cervix has dilated.

"Five centimeters," she announces, "you've got time to dink around."

My heart drops, "Five centimeters? Is that all? I don't want to dink around!" Poor Joni; it's not her fault. "But I already threw up! I've got to be more dilated than that!"

Joni smiles and says, "Don't worry, you're doing great. Things will happen when they happen." This is what I call a ‘Joni-ism’. She goes back out to do whatever it was she was doing before she came in. Okay, Mayra, get it together. Five centimeters are better than one. I lean back in the tub, waiting for the next contraction.

Elise comes in to keep me company and starts to stroke my arm during a contraction. I shrug her away and gesture to her that I don't need help yet. I can do better by myself right now, and besides, Joni and I have worked out a good routine, and no matter how well-meaning, Elise is new to the act.

I take another contraction and wonder how many other women all over the world are giving birth at this very moment, too. I try to tap into that energy.

I open my eyes and see John standing at the door staring at me. He doesn't speak. After a moment he turns and walks back to the other room. My, my, that's more than he could do last time! I wonder how many more births it will take to get him to stay for the whole thing.

~~~**~~~

Then

The contractions built faster than I had expected. Joni had been setting up with her assistant, Maryann. Darcy, I had been told, was on her way down from Portland and would take at least another hour to arrive. John was busy getting Aisha ready to leave. I guess it's fair to say that I was feeling a little abandoned at that moment.

I remember Aisha running into the bathroom and saying, "Love you, bye-bye." Words from an angel! My girl was excited about going out so early in the morning with her father.

I heard Joni ask John if he was going to come in and say something encouraging to me before he left, and he had said, "Hell no! I'm not going in there!" I laughed, wondering when he would admit his terror of childbirth. To this day he still hasn't. It was OK, though. I liked the fact that the house would be filled with women and female energy. There was something sacred about women helping one another labor.

Joni had come in a while later to check my dilation. "Five centimeters, but you're stretchy to seven." And that's when I threw up. I can still see Joni's mad dash into the living room to tell Maryann that the baby would come sooner than expected.

At about 7:30 a.m., Darcy had finally arrived from Portland. Everyone, except John and Aisha, gathered in the bathroom.

Joni, after listening to the baby's heart tones through her Doppler, said, "It's 120; a little slow. Why don't you turn on your left side for a bit and see what happens." I turned, thankful I had a big claw-foot tub, and after the next contraction Joni checked the heart rate again, "140. Much better. The cord was probably being compressed, and by turning over you moved the baby off the cord."

The contractions had started to come faster and harder; harder both physically and mentally. I remember feeling like I couldn’t get control of them. Just as I would make it through one contraction, the next would already be starting. Joni knelt beside the tub and stroked my arm gently. It felt good having her there.

~~~**~~~

Interlude

The first stage of labor is the longest. The body works to open the pelvis and cervix enough to allow the baby to pass.

Usually, the beginning contractions are mild and spaced relatively far apart; but soon they intensify and come quite close together. It's not unusual to "double peak."

Transition occurs when the cervix is dilated to approximately seven to eight centimeters. This is said to be the time in-between the first and second stages of labor. Others believe that transition is nothing more than a textbook attempt to categorize labor.

Either way, this is said to be the hardest part of labor; the time when a woman is most likely to ask for, and receive, pain medication. ‘Experts’ say that the difficulty lies in the intensity of the contractions and in the fact that there is little, if any, rest between them.

I think the real difficulty lies in the fact that at this point of labor, a woman will realize that the action is beyond her control. It's difficult to ask for help when you want to be strong and prove your womanhood by delivering your child easily and with little fuss. Labor seems to take on a mind of its on, and all sense of control is lost.

There is always some sort of barrier to be crossed; a lesson to be learned, perhaps. Transition is the time for a laboring woman to conquer her fears, apprehensions, feelings of inadequacy, whatever, and move forward with her labor. Some women, I feel, are robbed of that opportunity with medication.

For me, the lesson was in admitting to myself that I needed help.

It isn't surprising that when a woman reaches the point of begging for help; accepts the help, cries, and admits that labor is harder than expected, that she finds it suddenly gets much easier.

Learning to accept the help of others, putting my body in someone else's hands, and accepting nature for all its powers, were the lesson that labor taught me.

In my mind, transition is not just the period between the first and second stages of labor, but the transition of what the mind has tried to portray and what the body knows to be true. Perhaps it is even the transition from 'pregnant woman' to 'mother'.

~~~**~~~

Now

A quarter of an hour goes by, and I hear the living room activity ease down to a few shuffles and plunks of equipment.

I interrupt the quiet voices gathered around the birth bed to call out, "Joni, I feel like pushing!"

Joni comes rushing in and checks my dilation. "I can't believe it!" She yells to the others, “She's dilated five centimeters in fifteen minutes! Mayra, unless you want to have this baby in the tub, you'd better get out." I always wanted a water birth, but Joni is left-handed, and my tub faces the wrong way for her to deliver the baby easily.

Another contraction.

The pressure points in my hands aren't working anymore. Instead, I massage the tendons behind my ankles.

I catch a flash of John rushing down the hall with Sayyid. Perfect timing!

Elise wraps a towel around me as I rise out of the water and helps me to the bed.

"Someone go wake Aisha," I say. Amanda runs into the bedroom, and I hear her calling Aisha. "Hurry!" I add.

I sit on the bed, wanting to push, but wanting Aisha there, too. Aisha was too young for the last birthing, and I don’t want her to miss this one, too.

"Hurry!" I say again.

Aisha comes in wearing mismatched pajamas and takes her place at the foot of the bed.

"Is the camera loaded?" I ask.

Amanda picks up the camera and turns the flash to the ready position.

I see my stomach tighten before I feel the wave hit. Here we go again, I think.

~~~**~~~

Then

"Joni, I can't do it," I had sobbed, "I want to go to the hospital."

"No you don't, not really. You're doing great, Mayra."

"Don't patronize me," I snapped. Joni laughed, and I had gotten even angrier.

"I can't do it," I insisted.

"Yes, you can."

"I've felt like pushing for the last two hours and I don't think I can hold back anymore."

"Your water hasn't broken yet, and during the contractions the membranes bulge out, opening your cervix wider, and make you feel that pushing urge. Let me check you again." It hurt when she measured my progress, but it had been worth it when she finally said, "Nine plus. Want to get on the bed, now?”

Maryann stayed to wrap a towel around me and helped me to the bed. Joni and Darcy had gone on ahead and were waiting for me when I got there. At the time, I had had a pretty advanced camera, and when I got to the bed, I saw Darcy fiddling with it, trying to get it loaded. This was back in the day before digital.

A contraction hit me just as I started to crawl onto the mattress, and I took it on my hands and knees, moaning loudly.

Joni checked my dilation when the contraction had ended and said, "You can push whenever you feel like it."

I got into position on the bed, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Darcy still struggling with the camera. I snatched it from her hands and loaded it myself. It was all for nothing, though; we never did get good pictures of that birth.

The next contraction hit just as I gave the camera back to Darcy. Here we go again, I thought.

~~~**~~~

Interlude

After the cervix is fully dilated, ten centimeters, the baby has to move only about six inches down the birth canal to be born. These few inches can take quite a bit of time, however, to traverse; anywhere from half an hour to hours.

It really isn't that surprising that labor takes so long, consider that muscles, tissues, and bones have to move, allowing for the opening to become about four inches across for the baby's head to fit through.

After the birth of the head, the baby makes a quarter turn, faces the mother’s right or the left thigh, and on the next contraction is born, ideally.

I've learned that pushing a baby out is a matter of practice and establishing a rhythm. It works best when the mother pushes when she feels the urge to do so, rather than when told to by the medical professionals. My midwife agrees, and we both dislike the frantic shouts of ‘PUSH’ from well-meaning nurses or birth attendants. Worse yet is the misguided advice of, “Pretend you're having a bowel movement" that is often heard throughout the labor and delivery ward of the hospital. My pre-birth instructions to all people attending include, "Please, do not yell, tell, or otherwise indicate that I should push."

~~~**~~~

Now

I grasp my thighs in my hands and push as the un-ignorable ancient impulse grips me.

I close my eyes and grunt softly with the exertion. No one speaks.

I feel the baby move down rapidly, and only a few minutes after starting to push, I feel the Ring of Fire; the burning, as my vagina stretches to accommodate the baby's head.

"Joni, it burns." I want to tell her to put a warm washcloth dipped in ginger water on the spot that burns, but I can't find the words.

"Put your hand where it burns," she says.

I move my left hand down between my legs in what seems an oddly obscene gesture.

I look up and meet my daughter's eyes. She has the most radiant smile I have ever seen on her face. Her upper body is leaning on the bed, but I can tell by the way her little bottom is moving that her feet are doing quite a dance underneath.

I feel the baby's thick hair as his head starts to crown. My eyes are closed, but I can tell by the flashes of light that Amanda is taking pictures.

The burning stops and is replaced by the warm, wet roundness of my son's head pressing against my thighs. This is my favorite part of labor. I hear Joni suction mucus and amniotic fluid from Yusuf's mouth with the bulb syringe.

Another contraction comes, and I push.

I can feel my son slide out of my body, and I open my eyes.

There he is, lying across Joni's arms, as if she caught him in mid-flight. She places him on my chest, and I look down to greet him. Beautiful!

Aisha comes and sits down next to me, silent, for once.

Yusuf looks up at me, seeming to study me. Is he as curious to see what I look like as I am to see what he looks like? He doesn't cry; he just stares. I offer him my breast, and he clamps on; eager to quench his thirst after so much work.

I hear the door open, and John walks in. He looks amazed. I can understand why; he’s been gone only a moment - as far as the corner store and back - and Yusuf was already born! I pushed this boy out in nine minutes!

John rushes out to the van to get Sayyid. Soon my entire family is gathered around me.

"He looks like a Smurf," John says. I laugh; he's right.

I smile as I look at my family. My gaze travels across the room to the oxygen tanks leaning against the corner. It's comforting knowing they were there 'just in case,' but I'm sure glad we didn't need to use them this time around.

~~~**~~~

Then

"Okay, Mayra, anytime you're ready."

I leaned back against the pillows and grabbed a hold of my thighs. I recall actually hearing a soft POP before feeling the warm flood of fluid wash down my legs.

An almost unbearable urge to push hit me, and I bore down.

Maryann leaned over me with the Doppler and listened to the baby's heartbeat. A guarded look passed between her and Joni.

Joni jumped up next to me, practically on top of me, face level, and quietly, but urgently said, "I need this baby out right now. Turn over onto your left side." I had started to turn, but another contraction had hit me and I couldn’t move. "Wait." I pushed again.

Another look passed between the two midwives. Maryann said, "Sixty."

The full implications didn't hit me at the time; it was only later that what Joni said to Darcy would haunt me: "Get ready to call 911."

"Oh, God," Darcy answered, "Push, Mayra, push!"

Maryann joined in the litany, "Push, push!"

Someone put an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose, and I breathed deeply, hoping the precious oxygen would get to the baby.

I had never pushed so hard before, or since. I pushed during the contractions and in between them. The shouts rose in pitch, "PUSH, PUSH!" I yelled back wordlessly, using the power of my voice to expel the baby. Joni had been the only one silent.

I didn't feel the infamous Ring of Fire, and even if I had, it wouldn't have slowed me. I didn't care about tearing; that could be repaired. My son's heart rate had gone from a healthy 140, down to a dangerous 60. I knew there was cord trouble, and I wanted him out where he could be resuscitated if need be.

The oxygen mask slipped from my face, and I struggled to fix it and push at the same time. "That's O.K.," Joni said, "You don't really need it, now."

"I kind of like it," I said, and slapped it back on.

The baby’s head was born and Joni told me to stop pushing; she wanted to suction him first. The screams of 'push' had finally stopped, but I could hear Darcy weeping softly beside me as Maryann sat rigidly on the other side.

Joni was using the DeLee suction to get at the mucus, water, and meconium deep in the baby's throat. It was then, after the voices screaming for me to push had quieted, that panic struck me. I ignored Joni and started pushing, again.

Joni dropped the DeLee and reached to support the head.

The shouts picked up where they had left off, "Push, Mayra, push!" And, boy, did I push!

And nothing happened. The baby was stuck.

My continued pushing had denied the baby the chance to turn to one side, and as a result, his shoulders were stuck. I had created a dystocia; the midwife's nightmare.

I had pushed during the entire contraction, but it had been like pushing against a brick wall. The baby hadn't budged.

Another contraction struck, and I pushed with all my might. All my fear and all my anger were behind that push. Joni jumped up on top of me and applied suprapubic pressure, forcing the baby's shoulder down and out from behind my pubic bone.

With a pop and a whoosh, the baby had flown out.

Joni put him on my chest, and I looked down to greet my son. His purple body slumped limply against me.

Maryann listened with a stethoscope to the baby's back, "I'm not getting any heart tones," she said as she sat back, neatly folding her hands on her lap.

I remember a roar filling my head. How can you just sit there and do nothing? I wanted to ask, to shout. Instead, I reached for my son. Joni and Darcy had reached over at the same time. As one, we flipped him on his back. Sayyid let out a yelp and started screeching.

"Maryann, you used the wrong side of the stethoscope," Joni said quietly, "He's fine." I was glad to learn later that Sayyid’s birth had been Maryann’s last as Joni’s assistant.

I cuddled my Sayyid up against my chest, then offered him a breast. I looked into his face. It had started to pink up, thanks to the oxygen mask Joni had set near his face, “blow-by” oxygen, and thanks to the lungsful of air he took in as he cried. The poor little guy had bruises on his forehead and broken capillaries in his eyes from the rapid descent down the birth canal.

My first birth had entailed a move to the hospital setting and a cervical block, and this, my second birth, ended in near disaster. I wondered if I would ever get it right.

There was a timid knock on the door. John stood reluctantly outside and wouldn't come in until he was positive that the baby had, if fact, been born. Aisha hurried to sit beside me and her new baby brother, while John stood over us, watching.

"Isn't he beautiful?" I asked.

I recall John had hesitated before he said, "Well, he's really kinda ugly."

I looked closely into Sayyid's eyes. No, he’s beautiful, I had thought. Would he have lived if it hadn't been for Joni and the Magic Oxygen Tanks? I'm glad we'll never know.

~~~**~~~

Interlude

The third stage of labor is the delivery of the placenta. It can occur anywhere from a couple of minutes, to a couple of hours after the baby is born.

The time in between the birth of the baby and the birth of the placenta is, to me, another form of transition. It is the last time that the mother and the baby are so closely bound, physically. They still, in a way, share one body. But with the severing of the umbilical cord comes the beginning of a tight emotional knot that lasts throughout life.

In recent years the term 'bonding' has taken on almost cultish proportions. You can't equate getting to know a pet or a peer with the knitting of emotions that occurs when you hold your child for the first time.

~~~**~~~

Now

John is once again asleep on the pillow chair, and someone has given the kids breakfast; Amanda, I think.

I mention that I have some Ghirardelli chocolate in the fridge, and the room clears. The kitchen is dark, but the light of the refrigerator displays 3 bodies, all bent over, digging for the chocolate. Great, I think, I just gave birth and everyone is in the kitchen, stuffing pieces of candy into their mouths. Don't they know I just performed a miracle here? I smile. If I could, I’d be in there with them.

Joni, reading my mind, offers me a piece of chocolate and says, "Well, you did it. You had your perfect birth. How does it feel?"

"That depends," I say, drooling chocolate on the baby, "Did I tear?"

"Not a bit."

"In that case, it was a perfect birth. I loved it. I couldn't have asked for a more peaceful, easier, birth. Thank you, Joni."

"We've really gotten our routine down, haven't we? Next time I'll be in the tub and you'll be setting up!"

"Just so long as you do the tearing next time, too."

"There won't be any tearing next time, just like this time."

While we talk I can hear Elise filling the tub with clean water for me.

Joni helps me into the bathroom, and Yusuf and I take our first bath together. The warm water invigorates Yusuf, and he kicks in content remembrance as he nurses in the tub.

Soon, I will go to bed, lie on my stomach for the first time in months, and sleep side by side with my new son; picking up my dreams where I left off.

~~~**~~~

Then

It's funny, but the first time I can remember John cooking breakfast was the morning of Sayyid's birth. After eating a huge plate of hash browns and eggs, I got into the tub with the baby.

The water stung a little where I had torn. Considering the circumstances of the birth, I had gotten off quite easy; it was only a second-degree tear and Joni repaired it with ease. After Sayyid had been born and things had settled down, Joni had weighed and measured him. 9 pounds! Out of curiosity, she measured his shoulder span; six inches across! No wonder he had gotten stuck! I was glad a second-degree tear was all I ended up with.

The warm water relaxed us both, so after I had washed up, we went to bed. We laid side by side, both on our stomachs, as sleep gathered us up in its familiar embrace.

We dreamed.