The Christmas of 2009 I was merry enough, though feeling particularly swollen all over, sleep-deprived, and generally over the pregnancy and ready for the next part. Really I just kept hoping that the boy would come before the New Year's so we could benefit from a nice tax return. The morning after Christmas I concentrated on keeping busy- getting the house cleaned up, making sure bags were packed, cat arrangements were confirmed, and finally a trip to the grocery store.

My son's father and I had barely known each other when I became pregnant, but I had decided to go through with the pregnancy. On this night, he was 'helping' get ready for the arrival of our son. On the way to the grocery store he took offense to a joke I made on his behalf and this put him in a bitter mood, and so 20-minutes later, while standing in the cereal aisle of Whole Foods in NE Portland, Oregon, he dismissed my admission that I was now in labor. After paying for the groceries, he refused to help carry the bag, as I was experiencing contractions. As we continued on our walk home, I was apparently too slow. When I sat to rest and let a contraction pass, he decided to leave me in the park, at 8:30 pm, in the midst of Winter. He wanted a quesadilla. Once I finally made it home, I found him eating said food item and watching television, in my apartment.

I called the midwife and informed her of the happenings and they told me to call back when contractions were such-and-such apart. I also called my friend and acting birth partner/doula to let her know to be ready. Throughout the night I slept intermittently on the couch, while the movie 'Stardust' played on repeat. As I moaned throughout the night, my son's father demanded that I shut the f*ck up because he was trying to sleep. Apparently he doesn't handle other people's pain very well.

Around 4:00 am on Sunday December 27th I awoke and felt the contractions were more intense, but was unsure if it was true or just that I had just waken up. I decided to fold the laundry in the dryer, and then to take a shower to try and ease some of the contraction pain. I asked my son's father to call the midwife to let her know that things were going well and he whined that he didn't want to and couldn't I call. After a glare I simply walked upstairs to the hot shower.

While in the shower I experienced what is termed the 'transitional moment' or something similar, where basically I said to myself, quite literally, "L, what the hell are you doing in here? Do you want this baby in your damn shower?" I jumped out and wrapped a towel around myself, and then yelled to the to-be dad (smoking out front) that the midwife needed to come now. She was to pick us up and take us to the birthing center, just a few miles away, since I didn't own a car. Again he attempted to complain, but at this point I threatened his life. He made the call.

I dressed and returned downstairs, where now the intensity of the contractions were actually becoming something to focus on getting through and I was breaking into a sweat through each one. I kneeled on the floor and used a padded ottoman to rest over and put my head into a private darkness during the proceeding contractions.

Some time later one of my three midwives appeared and drive us to the birthing center, where I found my other two midwives readying the room we previously chosen, 'The Lily Room' at Alma in SE Portland, Oregon. There was a big tub in the room which I asked them to fill with hot water- this being my go-to for times of physical and/or mental pain and discomfort. I paced back and forth as the tub was prepared and my son's father got a break from being the one in charge of the woman-in-labor.

When the tub was ready, I stripped down to my sports bra and laid back in the water. My friend/birth doula stroked my hair; my midwives pushed juice and water; and my son's father relaxed in the back corner. This last statement is funny, but not meant to be facetious. At this point, this was ok for him. Honestly he's horrible when he is stressed and doesn't know what to do, so now he had midwives and a doula to do the caring things and to give him directions. They encouraged him to relay messages to his paternal grandparents and to manage the phone calls from the maternal side, who was attempting to fly to the West Coast from the East Coast in time for the delivery of the baby.

I also want to extrapolate a bit on why I chose to have him there, in case there are other mothers in this similar predicament. As I stated, I didn't know my son's father for much more than a month when I/we became pregnant. We didn't get along well, and we didn't talk or see each other for most of the pregnancy. I didn't need him there or necessarily want him there for any of my own benefit. But I didn't/don't want to be the barrier that prohibits my son from having a relationship with his father. I thought that if my son's father was there, to see the birth of his son, and find his part in that crucial moment in our son's life, that he would feel connected to our son. Whether or not they have a relationship, and what is consists of, will ultimately be decided by the two of them. But I will not be a hindrance to that process and will try to maintain an objective, yet protective, eye over the proceedings until my son is old enough to make these decisions.

During this active labor I was fairly quiet and was actually falling asleep in the tub, with the boiling hot water and the hair rubbing, who wouldn't? As fecal matter and blood clots were coming out into the water, one of the midwives kept the water clean using a strainer. And at one point I remember a midwife saying that probably the water broke because we could see a different texture in the water, like oil in water.

By 9:30ish am, I started to push. I remember that no one told me to push; it was just an impulse. I even apologized for the midwives because I had gone ahead and pushed without permission. But they encouraged me to continue and do as my body instructed. Each push emitted a wave of relief through my body, and I know that I was in complete comfort in my surroundings. I did stay aware not to get overzealous and potentially tear myself, so I focused on pushing strong but progressively, and visualized the experience for the baby coming down the canal.

During this part, the intensity of the stretching, the burning sensation near the clitoris/upper part of my vagina was the worst thing for me. I felt like I had fallen hard on the bar of my bicycle, where you feel almost nauseous and you just want to squeeze your legs together and lay on your side. I imagine this sensation is the same for men who get knocked hard in the balls. I ventured to put my hand down there, to try and ease the pain, but the feeling of what was happening was a bit overwhelming so I just complained loudly about the burning sensation.

Finally his head came out and I forced myself to let him linger a moment as I braced myself for another strong, but slow push, as the shoulders are often where the tear occurs. The midwives assured me he was ok, as we were still in the tub and he was under water. I pushed the final push and he floated, tear-free, out in the water and my stomach deflated. It was 10:16 am on December 27th 2009.

They immediately placed him on my chest and covered him with a towel, allowing the umbilical cord to finish pumping that vital blood and nurturance. A little pat got him to yell out and open his lungs for their first breath. His father cut the cord. And the midwives instructed me to prepare to push the placenta out. But I have not one once of strength and I felt I was trying but nothing was happening. I started to become very dizzy, sweat, and felt that I was going to faint soon. With soft, forceful pushes and pulls from the hands of the knowledgeable midwives, the placenta exited.

I was still feeling sick and was extremely pale. My son was wrapped and handed to his father, who had undressed to his underwear and was sitting on the edge of the tub. The team helped carry me to the bed, where for the next several minutes I was in/out of consciousness. One of my midwives asked if they could make me a smoothie with pieces of my placenta in it and I agreed. (This was super tasty and I did not taste anything beyond apple juice and blueberries.) However, I was still not getting better. My head midwife/RN nurse asked to place a sugar IV- the idea being that this was occurring because of low blood sugar, due to lack of sustenance for many hours.

Meanwhile my son had been latched to my breasts and was nursing easily, but I was completely out of it and do not remember much of that beginning nursing experience. When the IV still didn't seem to make a difference, the head midwife began to feel on my stomach and eventually pushed out a large bloodclot. As soon as this came out, I felt instantaneously better.

I spent the next two days in the unreal paradise of the birthing center. 24-hour doulas attended to me, ordered take out, arranged insurance-covered massages, and helped me relax with my baby. I did receive a few visitors, but mostly just direct family members. I never wanted to leave the warmth and beauty of the birthing center, but I had to return to home and the real world.

On our first day home, it snowed, which rarely happens in Portland, and it happened to be the only time it did snow that whole winter. My mom (who had arrived the evening of the birth) graciously went to get new-mommy things I didn't know about, like nipple creams and nursing bras/shirts/nighties. I began to cry uncontrollably for close to an hour, and then spent, went to sleep with my new baby.

The rest of it is his/our life story I supposed. So I'll stop there. I hope that this was within the realm and expectations of the project. I highly recommend a birthing center with midwives. We are made to have babies and our bodies will do most of the work if we just relax and enjoy the ride. However, if you are at-risk, obviously you need to do what is best for your health and that of your baby. Everyone's experience, from conception to birth throughout life, is individual and unique and should be respected. Thank you.