Happy Birthday, Peaches!

A fly cuts through the muggy air to land on my forearm and suckles at the water droplets sliding down my skin. Normally I’d shoo him away without second thought, but right now I only have enough energy to witness. Charmed, I smile at the humble creature; grateful for a reason to dial down my focus to the rainbow of his gossamer wings.

Our encounter is cut short when the fly is startled away by a passer-by, widening my vision again to the hectic family scene; a patio buzzing with excitement.

“You sure you don’t want to go inside? It’s hotter than we expected.” A cool hand brushes braids away from my face and I look up into kind eyes expertly studying me.

I don’t even know at this point. I’ve been set up here for hours and I know keenly, inside or outside, it’s still gonna be Georgia in August. I'm feeling drunk and lazy under the intensity of the sun, suspended in a cozy cocoon of tepid water and the occasional breeze. I shake my head no, reach for a sip of ice water, and my forearms become my whole world again, punctuated by the squeak of inflatable pool plastic straining under the weight of my exhaustion.

The char smell of expertly grilled ribs floats by my sweaty post and I’m entranced. But only for a moment. I let go of the side of the pool and float backward as a thread of intensity builds deep within my body, pulling energy from my fingertips and toes, up my legs to the base of my spine. One little yelp of warning escapes my lips and and all eyes are trained on me. All but my awkward nephews who are tasked with keeping the little ones busy and out of the way.

“This a big one” I think out loud as every muscle in my pelvis grips downward, pulling my senses into the beginnings of a ring of fire. Maybe I should’ve gone inside when I had the chance because my face is burning up.

“Somebody grab a cold washcloth and an umbrella,” my midwife barks as she gently presses the sphere of my rock hard belly bobbing above the lived-in water of the birth pool. Under the side eye of her mentor, the doula guiltily licks barbecue sauce from her fingers and scurries inside to grab the items and get back in position.

By and by, the vice grip around my ribs loosens and breath finds space within my abdomen once more; just in time to catch the bright scent of watermelon being cut by my auntie in the corner. My God, I cannot wait to get through this to my “Push Plate”; the only reward I seek for all this Women’s Work.

A chilly washcloth on the forehead and a gentle stroke across your shoulders is delicious at this point of having babies. The birth team calculates that I have two or three minutes of rest before the next contraction, so I savor every moment of relief, eyes closed and weightless. My love settles next to me, kisses my neck, and rubs a mango popsicle across my lips.

“I told them to put the Peaches on,” he rumbles into my ear and chuckles as a grin takes over my face in earnest. I open my eyes to see a gaze as tired as mine, concerned but peaceful. No surprises here, we’ve done this before.

“You remembered!” I laugh, letting go of the pool to grip his hand instead. Securing my favorite post birth treat is the only thing that absolves him of missing the last four contractions.

“You’re making pushing sounds, Momma. I think she’ll be here in a couple more waves! You ready?”

Oh I’m ready. Fourteen hours of this, and I’m over it.

I give myself permission to retreat into myself for the rest of this journey to Mommahood, already engulfed in the thrill of holding my baby and a heaping plate of food. Don’t judge, I find joy in both.

Soon, there’s pressure. So much pressure. A sharp pinch beneath the searing stretch of my loins. I bellow the temptation to get up and run from the limits of my ability when, there, it floats by: the salacious aroma of Roasted Peaches! Plumes of the bright, floral and nutmeg-y scent are punctuated by the smoky hiss of caramel cobbler streaming onto hot coals; and a smile finds my face anew.

But this contraction just. Keeps. Going. There's even more Widening to allow for the bolus of Baby slipping through my thighs… Then complete silence as you rise into view.

Even the littles are quiet as the stage is set for your sweet first cries; and relieved laughter rings out into the yard as you mewl a gentle protest at such a huge ordeal.

Now the party truly begins.

Amidst the haze of kisses, the ripening dessert at the back of the grill never escapes the back of my mind.

After enjoying a reasonable amount of cuddling, I tap my man’s shoulder and lift an eyebrow. One knowing grunt later and I’m hoisted out of the pool, wrapped in a towel and headed to bed, eagerly awaiting the second best part of the evening.

Spoonfuls of brandied whipped cream shimmy over glistening grill-marked mounds of juicy decadence and I’m beside myself.

“Baby girl, I’m so happy right now,” I whisper as you nestle into my breast and your daddy flops down next to us ready for his first bite.

“Aht aht! Candles first!” Grandma says as we shove flickering dots of celebration into each bowl.

“Happy Birthday!” ushers in Pure bliss as fireflies light up the best summer night I’ve had since childhood.