Birth Story

a story from the before times

A while back, Austin Kleon¹ shared a story in his newsletter about how he found comfort in solving the Rubik’s Cube after a friend died just before the pandemic. He journaled² about his process and said, “There’s something about keeping your hands busy when your brain feels broken.”

I love this story because it gave me a reason to recall a memory of our family from the before times. Before chemo and surgeries and doctors saying, “I’m so sorry.”

---

February 16th 2018

“Would you like to induce tonight?” my OB asks.

A list of things I’d planned on getting done before the baby comes rolls over me like a tidal wave, and in the length of a breath, I’m exhausted. This is my third pregnancy, and each time it’s the same:

First, I convince myself that at any moment, I will go into labor and not know it, and the baby will just fall out. Three weeks before, I asked in a Facebook group what I should do if I go into labor while driving. One of the members is a 911 dispatcher, and he very kindly replied, “Unlikely, but in the very rare case it does happen, pull over and try to cover myself and the baby with towels to keep warm and call 911.” I kept beach towels in my car for the rest of my pregnancy. And second, up until the moment the baby is laid on my chest, I’m certain I’m not ready. I could field a softball team of children³ and still not feel up for the enormous task ahead.

I called the sitter and Nick, and I checked into the hospital that night.

The next morning, while laboring, I had a panic attack. I spun myself up so much that I nearly passed out and needed oxygen. Physically, I was safe, the baby was safe, but mentally, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong. I don’t know if I let myself take in a full breath until Nick told me we had a boy, the nurses laid him on my chest, and I looked into his bottomless blue eyes.

---

Meanwhile, our two older children were home with the sitter. My daughter (5 yrs) spent the day wiggling a loose tooth until it came out. It was her first. And my oldest son (7yrs) spent the day solving a round “Rubik’s Cube”- like puzzle. We’d had that toy for years, and he’d never so much as looked at it, but on this particular day, he posted up on the couch and didn’t move until he was done.

It dawns on me now that if I had been worrying for weeks about my uterus spontaneously emptying onto the sidewalk, what had they been thinking? How weird is it to send your mom off to a hospital and come home with a baby when you really have no context to understand what that means, or what could happen?

I’m guessing they didn’t think about it much until they woke up the next morning and saw that I still wasn’t home. They busied themselves with a loose tooth and a puzzle because they must have registered that something was happening, even if they didn’t know exactly what.

---

I’d like to leave it there, but I can’t. I wish I could go back to the before times, but a loose tooth and a Rubik’s Cube have a clear completion; grief does not. A good life filled with love is hard, and all my stories feel unfinished if I don’t bring them forward.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the piercing pain of those first few days and weeks. A little less time since I’ve felt its white-hot rage. Most days it’s a dull ache, and I feel joy and gratitude more often than not. But still there are those days when, “There’s something about keeping your hands busy when your brain feels broken.” I write, Nick coaches, the older kids play sports and video games, and who knows how Tatum will cope with this very big thing that happened to her family before she came into this world.

---

Epilogue

January 15nd 2023

I’m lying on a table in my obgyn’s office, warm gel on my very pregnant belly. I’m looking over my right shoulder at a greyscale image on a monitor projecting down like a street lamp after dark. Nick and I relax to the steady whooshing and thumping coming from the ultrasound machine and smile when we recognize a hand or spine or tip of a nose.

“Your fluid is a little low, so I think it’s time to move things along.” The doctor says as she stands, casually wiping my belly. Nick and I nod, waiting for her to tell us what she means. Move along? To where? She cocks her head in a way that’s barely on the respectful side of, You do know how this ends, right?

At once, Nick and I straighten up and laugh it off, “Oh yeah, the baby.” This is actually happening, like… right now.

Some things never change…

This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.

xoxo

Emily

---

In an era where you have access to every word ever written, I’m so grateful you’ve chosen to read mine.

1. Austen Kleon is a big-hearted writer and illustrator, and he publishes a fantastic newsletter.

2. It’s weird to call what A.K. does journaling because it’s so much more interesting than your average “Dear Diary,”

3. Had Nick and I met when we were younger, I probably would have.