Today, nineteen years ago, was the day I found out what it was like to actually give birth to a baby. I knew what it was like to be someones mom, I already had one adopted child, but I had never experienced the sacred event that separates those who know and those who don't know. To be honest with you, I was really plain out scared. I heard all the stories. You know the ones, in labor for 10 years, broken ribs, broken collar bones, ripped... well... let's just say areas of real concern. I was told to breathe and to focus. I was told to drink water and eat before I went in. I was told not to eat or drink anything after I went in, ice chips only. I was given the 411 from every mama that I came into contact with, almost from her conception. It seems as though it is a rite of passage to listen to the horrors of what to expect in child birth. Before labor began the thing I was most afraid of? My water breaking. I was afraid of being somewhere and getting caught with wet pants. Funny that wet pants was my most feared part of the whole labor process.
When I adopted my daughter Mariah Lynn, my mom told me to wear a full piece bathing suit when we went to the lake. Of course, what daughter listens to their mother when they talk of things like bathing suits, so I went my first time in a string bikini. After all I was going to spend my afternoon playing with my baby girl Mariah and tanning while she napped in the shade. Results... nobody but my mother talked to me. Pretty much every other mother was in a bathing suit that covered their battle scars from child birth. I, on the other hand, had not actually given birth yet, so I was a size three and very, very firm still. Not a stretchmark to be seen... anywhere. Let me be very clear on one thing though, child birth did not make me feel like more of a mom. I was very much a mom, the bags under my eyes said it all. And the aroma from my clothing of formula and baby powder was also a tale tell sign. I no longer had a little cute Mundi purse with just my keys, lipgloss and wallet. I had a mondo bag with diapers, formula, baby wipes, snacks and extra clothes... for Mariah AND me. Giving birth did not make me a mom, but it did give me a front row seat in the "mom's who gave birth" club.
The day I went in to have my daughter, I began the journey that all birth moms for centuries have gone down. It begins so sweet. A little stirring and then some pressure. Your body begins to look really weird and you can no longer stand up tall. Instead you are a little hunched over and feel the urge to hold your tummy tight. You are excited about the baby you will hold in your arms. You are anticipating the pain everyone says is to come, and in my case, the water that will surely come at the wrong moment! The pain starts getting more and more painful. The air is tense and people start to look at you with pained expressions, leaving me to believe that I am on the direct path to Drama Mama. These pains can be "blown away" like steam on a soup bowl with the right technique. That is what birth classes were for after all. Then the pain gets more and more intense. The contractions start rolling one after another after another until blowing the stream off the soup resembles blowing the soup clean out of the bowl. You being to moan and cry. Tears stream involuntarily down your face and panic begins to set in as you wonder if this is ever going to end, this place where you have no control. In my case, this is where my mom stepped in. "Shannon, you are going to be OK." Ahhhh the soothing sounds of my mom when I am in pain. Now the world makes sense again.
The pain gets harder and harder to endure. The pains grow more and more intense. The end does not seems to have an end and you feel like you are in a dark hole with just pain and more pain. Then the pressure begins to build. The baby decides that it is now time, time to greet the world. You are put into another very uncomfortable position, knees bent, pelvis touching your feet. You push harder and harder, everyone chanting right along with you, your mom on one side with tears streaming down her cheeks with fear, eyes bright with excitement. You take her cue, and forget the pain, you visualize how beautiful your baby is going to be and this gets you to finish this incredible race to bring life. Then once more and out comes the most beautiful expression of love that there could ever be. The sound that fills the room of the baby crying, of you crying and of your family's great love for this little being is overwhelming. Then the little bundle of sweetness is placed in your arms.
You look at all her toes, you kiss all her fingers, you run your lips over her sweet little baby hair. She opens her little baby girl eyes and you cannot tear yourself away from her. You are exhausted and your baby must be looked at by the doctor, so you reluctantly let go. You crash from exhaustion and then anticipate the moment that you get to hold that little baby again. This is the part that never goes away. The holding your life's breath in your arms. Desiring her in your day and in your every moment of life. Seeing her live life and know that for a moment, you held her closer then anyone could ever hold her. You held that girl under your heart for nine months, then spend your whole life holding her in your heart.
Life as a mother is an amazing way to live. Becoming Kasaundra Arleta Kincaid's mom is one I will never forget. I love you Kasi....
Mom
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