23 months ago, I did what millions of women have done since Eve. I had a baby. After 5 days of indescribable pain, no sleep and weight gain that seemed to transfer to my feet, I could no longer endure anymore. They touched and prodded my stretched and swollen pussy for the last time. Leaked amniotic juices, blood and meconium baffled all the female cast of midwives, nurses, students, doulas and a doctor.  Because here goes the miracle: I didn’t have a fever or developed a disease after the water broke. Pop! I heard it and felt my insides release the brown/reddish fluid. But something was wrong!

I was rushed to the emergency to see if the worst could be prevented.

I didn’t want to be here. Claustrophobic. Closed in like a rubix cube in between scores of walls in the hospital. Because we had a plan! The birth plan to ultimately give birth in water. Water always seemed to do the trick. Wash all the pain, bitterness and shame I suffered as a child. Yeah. #MeToo Water was familiar. Where i felt safe. But this time, water hurt.

And they kept coming in. Concerned that I hadn’t dilated. Getting to ten wasn’t going to be easy. They offered drugs. You know the kind to make it easy. But I told them, “no!” and held on as long as I could. Until I couldn’t anymore. Sleep called out my name and the pain yelled even louder.

Then I told them, “I don’t want to be here!” Yet again. We tried everything. Walking, listening to music, singing, dancing sort of, poetry and reiki then water again. And the fourth day came. With much reluctance, I took a chance and they filled me with the sleeping drug. I slept like I had never slept before. When I came to out of my stupor I felt brand new and then there was excruciating pain. I felt the need to push and breathe and push. The chorus of feminine energy (No boys allowed) flooded in and out the room anticipating her. One held my right hand and the other held the left. My lover held my right leg and someone else held my left and someone still held a mirror so I could see, but I was deep in it, breathing

And on the 5th day, with one last push and a breath, our miracle baby made her entrance!

And I yelled at the student nurse, “What are you doing? That hurts! I just gave birth, why are you pushing so hard?” And it must have scared her because I never saw her again.

Now, as I hold my little princess whom we affectionately call, “Babyluv, I think about all the journeys before her. I had her at almost 39, just a race against time. The clock was ticking so loud my ears hurt.

Sometimes when tragedies happen, the mind and body becomes frozen.  You just want to crawl in a ball and stay warm under the covers.  Hibernation, frustration, meditation, contemplating the situations. But remember, the battle is not yours; it’s the Lords…

A journey of struggle

A journey of boldness

A journey of Transformation.

A labor that leads to everlasting love.