When I married my ex-husband, I was working as a housekeeper for a midwife. I shared with her that I was excited to start our family. She lent me a copy of Spiritual Midwifery. I drank in the stories of trusting one’s body and healthy babies. I grinned at the smiling faces in the book’s pictures. I read the medical section and everything made such sense. I embraced the idea of having minimal involvement in my pregnancies and giving birth at home.
What Spiritual Midwifery implanted in my non-conscious mind is that everything is better when the love is right. With that drumming through my awareness while I wasn’t aware of it, my ex and I got unintentionally pregnant. The love was not yet right.
We both freaked out and made the decision to terminate quickly. I only needed a medicine to accomplish the stop, so for us the real feel was what was in our hearts. I can’t speak to his real experience, but I know he made me feel that he was angry it had happened and it was all my fault. He asked me if I was irresponsible enough to unintentionally get pregnant, how could he trust me to be responsible enough to raise his child? I decided he was probably right. Also, I knew him making me feel that way meant that the love wasn’t right. I don’t want my children to ever be considered mistakes or their presence resented. In my heart, I knew it was better to stop than have a life time of suffering. I let go of this opportunity thinking, with love, of my future children.
Just over a year later, it happened again. I learned I was pregnant. I was ready to try. There was so much I just swallowed and was willing to accept: his self centered nature, our perpetually unfinished home, our financial stress; willing to accept it all and jump into the unknown to start our family. He wasn’t. He said it would ruin his life. So, I knew, again, the love wasn’t right. Again, I stopped this chance at a life. I don’t regret either of them. My ex-husband and I never got the love right. We eventually divorced, years later, sharing no children.
My current husband and I had been best friends for years by the time I got divorced. I spent some time single, kicked in the gut from having been shoved out of my first marriage, and realized not only did I love him as my best friend, I could feel what he excited in me.
I surprised him. My husband never expected me to invite him to romance, even after my divorce. I opened the door and we fell into love so easily I knew, finally, the love was right.
I’m over 30. I am at a point in my life where I am seriously focused on having children. I’m only getting older and I want to get the physical challenges out of the way while I’m as spry as possible. We had a beautiful first spring as lovers, but by the summer, I knew I was ready. When I brought the subject up to my husband (who was only my boyfriend at the time) he didn’t miss a beat, he played it cool and warm and told me he “could do that.” We invited the universe into the bedroom and I surprised him again by getting pregnant right away.
I remembered Spiritual Midwifery and knew I wanted to give birth at home. We lived in a single wide mobile home. It was ancient, it was small, but it was all ours and it was clean enough to get going. I loved our home. I loved almost all of being pregnant. Being nauseated for weeks on end is something I’d like to avoid in the next round, but it’s not enough of a deterrent to keep us from number two.
I am not foolish. I am grateful to all the tapestry that is our universe that the midwives I had the privilege of working with live in my town and take my insurance. It could have been a challenge to get to have a home birth, but for us, it was easy. My midwife and her team were true angels. They took time to get to know me and my husband. We are all of similar schools of thought. They believe in the science and mystery as much as I do. I learned and grew and grew my baby. I stayed out of doctors’ offices and clinics. I felt confident in our assessment of the health of the situation.
My husband and I got married on Halloween. I was round! I loved it. He loved it. We had such a great time together. He cooked and I ate healthy, delicious meals. We talked late into the night about what fun lay before us when our baby was actually born. We didn’t learn the sex of our baby, just for fun.
My due date swiftly sprang upon us after feeling like we were waiting forever. I miss our home. I’m having a hard time writing this because every bit of it was in our home.
My big belly making me have to stretch to wash the dishes, and wear an apron. Us squeezing past each other in the bathroom and squeezing each other for fun on the way. My dog barreling down the hallway to our bedroom, shaking the whole house with her enthusiasm. Sitting on our couch and looking forward to replacing it with a better one. Our coffee table. Our kitchen table, where I spent hours journaling and planning and eating with baby in mind. My whole pregnancy is memory steeped our home that is gone now. I hope one day it doesn’t hurt so much so I can enjoy remembering more; I hope this happens before I forget too much.
That’s enough for today.