I was never interested in reading birth stories. I used to be in several online mom groups where everyone poured over each others lengthy reports on whether or not birth plans were followed and if going all natural with no drugs was achieved. They remind me of the stories people tell before sharing a recipe on a blog, too long and too much detail – just tell me how to make The Best Ever Instant Pot Mac & Cheese. Did you have your baby or not? Are you both healthy? Ok good.

So I never wrote down any of my birth stories, even just to have for myself and my family to read. It wasn’t until my kids got to the age where they were able to understand what birthing was that I realized they needed to hear about the day they were born from ME.

Instead of a lengthy blog post with gross details that my kids will not want to hear about, I wrote a poem. This one is specifically about my first born. Please enjoy.

How Long Were You Waiting? 

The sun warmed the air and 
our summer skin,
your Daddy painted my toenails 
because I couldn’t reach.
We walked into the hospital hand in hand.

Wise nurses gently poked and prodded.
You chose us, yet for some reason
you were not ready to part with me.
My body was a balloon about to pop.
Pitocin forcefully squeezing you out of your slumber. 

The rapturous pain 
delivered me out of body,
my screams echoed through the halls.
During the lulls I apologized, 
worried I was scaring the other mothers.

I heard myself wailing.
The pain was there, in my body.
I was here, watching and waiting.
Neither my body nor you were cooperating.

The shrill cries lasted for hours.
I couldn’t think, your Daddy clutched my hand.
The nurses called the 
doctor in the middle of the night.

They rolled me into the 
freezing operating room.
My screams floated through the icy air, and 
I apologized to the other mothers again.

Another contraction with a scream.
Quiet. They moved me to the operating table.

Another contraction with a scream.
Quiet. Sat up, given instructions to stretch my spine.

Another contraction with a scream.
Quiet. Told to hold still for the needle.

“After the next one, you will only have three minutes.”
The nurse told the anesthesiologist.

Another contraction with a scream
so loud and guttural with tears and exhaustion,
I wanted them to stop already.

Everyone in the cold room holds their breath.
I’m whimpering, 
bent over,
squished belly,
waiting in fear
for the next contraction, 
but it never comes.

The needle was slowly
pouring warmth through the center of my body,
flowing out through my legs.

We needed to pluck you out like a seed from a pod.
Your warm, tranquilizing howls replaced 
my intense, transformative fury.

Your Daddy wheeled you away, 
hesitant to leave my side.
You finally belonged to him now too. 
Everyone took turns holding you, 
letting out their own soft, sniffles.
How long were you waiting?

You were not a surprise, you were in our plans.
We sometimes say that we were late,
that you were supposed to be born years ago.
I think you had been 
waiting for much longer than that. 

Sincerely Yours,
Jen

Me and my first born just a few days old.