practice, favorite) but that's a story for another time. Mark's voice was calm, he was relaxed and happy, which made me feel like it was all going to be alright. He was close to me, hands on, and confident. He pissed me off a couple times too...though in retrospect I wasn't necessarily being rational...he brought me a bowl when I said I thought I was going to be sick. Seems reasonable perhaps, to those who don't know me. I am irrationally afraid of throwing up, phobic even, and bringing me the bowl felt like a confirmation that it WAS going to happen. What he believed, I believed. When he was relaxed and confident I felt that...when he confirmed that I might get sick, that reality scared me. It's a testament to how vulnerable we are to the power of suggestion in labor. His hands ended up staying put, on my hips, until it was time for them to receive our baby. Oh, and he hid the bowl behind a pillow, giving me the ability to trust that I would be alright, which I was.
kind of respect that makes you see your own mother with new eyes, like a child. The kind of respect that can only be known when a man witnesses the mother of his own baby dig down deeper perhaps than he has ever had to dig, to a place that he has never seen in her, or experienced with her before. A place that even she never really knew was there. It's the place where she finds the strength to allow her body to do the unimaginable work of letting his baby move through her to be received here in this world. His presence felt like a mountain to me. The stability and contentment of being there, unmoving in her moments of need, and the strength he showed in the look in his eyes was enormous and humbling. It was especially beautiful when he held his daughter for the first time and it was so evident that that profound respect that was inspired by the strength and conviction of his wife, was immediately and continuously extended to his daughter.
RL and K
Intimacy is my word for this one. I'm glad I didn't attend this birth early in my career. It was slow, quiet, and personal. I needed a couple of decades of experience to be able to hold the space without being an overt presence in it. They labored so beautifully together, and though her needs did exceed what one person could probably provide, I often felt like I was just the hands on her back. The moments that stand out are nothing short of romantic. After a long night of laboring on their own, I remember them taking a nap in their bed, spooning, with a blanket of snow covering the world outside their window, candles lit on the sill. His closeness allowed her to sleep, comforted and protected in a safe harbor. Later, while actively laboring, trying to make myself as small as possible, just the hands on her back, he played the guitar and sang her the most beautiful love song...I wish I could share it with you, but it was obviously written for her and her alone.
S & M - Respect is the first word that comes to mind. Not the shallow, overused, watered down kind of respect that permeates our everyday lives. The kind of respect that makes you see your own mother with new eyes, like a child. The kind of respect that can only be known when a man witnesses the mother of his own baby dig down deeper perhaps than he has ever had to dig, to a place that he has never seen in her, or experienced with her before. A place that even she never really knew was there. It's the place where she finds the strength to allow her body to do the unimaginable work of letting his baby move through her to be received here in this world. His presence felt like a mountain to me. The stability and contentment of being there, unmoving in her moments of need, and the strength he showed in the look in his eyes was enormous and humbling. It was especially beautiful when he held his daughter for the first time and it was so evident that that profound respect that was inspired by the strength and conviction of his wife, was immediately and continuously extended to his daughter.
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