Dear Colin,

You're nine months old now - a tall, strapping lad with so much love it bursts out of you. You have an amazing way of crawling with your right foot supporting you (almost standing you up) as your left swoops around to propel you forward; and your four upper and lower teeth are beautiful (though they hurt when you bite!).

It's time I told your birth story. It's a beautiful story to me - very dramatic, loving and so worry-free. I was prepared, but not in a cerebral sort of way. My heart was ready for you to be born in the same way I was ready to be born 37 years ago. I wonder if you understand these sorts of words - my essence, my soul, my being was ready to give birth to you. I waited for you with peace and comfort and ease, just like Gianna's pregnancy and birth.

So your papa set up the birthing tub at week 38 and Gianna and I enjoyed having a Jacuzzi in our living room. (I wonder if you'll ever have that experience with Gianna and me when you get older.) I remember nursing her in it, enjoying smoothies, slipping around on the plastic.

I went on walks and listened to affirmations about your birth. Only rarely did doubt come in - could this birth be the opposite of the first? Otherwise, I knew it would be perfect. Like a pregnant deer - she never thinks "oh, God, what will I do if labor drags on? What if...? What if...?" On our walks together, Gianna was safe at home and I could concentrate on you - imagining you flowing out of me. I knew I could breathe you out - stay connected with you as you moved down my birth canal. I relaxed.

The most inspiring piece of writing I read turned out to be Lisa's birth blessing she wrote for us. She said I was a goddess and that you were so lucky to have us as parents. Right! Other people knew, too!

You took me by surprise. The birth was more intense than I imagined. There wasn't time to hang out and drift around in a hypnotic state. It took 4 hours for you to make your way out into the world. Hypnobirthing was amazing, though. That tool (plus the water) helped us make the birth so full of ease and love.

Your papa was such a great coach. He was brave and supportive and my personal assistant throughout. At one point I told him to "get out of my face," and he understood. He massaged me perfectly - just light fingertips on my shoulders. I know it would have been different without his undivided attention and support.

Anyway, Colin, the best part was when you came out. I was squatting in the water, breathing you down. How can something be so magical and so disturbing at once? It's an indescribable feeling - like it couldn't possibly be normal - like I could die yet I was so incredibly aware of being alive. And sitting next to you now, watching you sleep and hearing Gianna playing outside with Papa, I wish I could relive your births over and over again. That primitive, animal experience is unforgettable. I made you! It's nothing less than a miracle.

I was relaxed - and I caught you. I pulled you up out of the water and held you. You seemed to me to be crying a lot and it was unnerving to me. "Why is he crying so much?" I asked Julie. "It's totally normal," she explained. She and Stefan said you didn't really cry that much, but I had it that you were upset about something - that I needed to console you somehow. All I could do was be present to you and nurse you. Like Gianna, you took to nursing right away. There was nothing wrong.

After birth is when the hard part really starts for me. It's like training for a marathon, breaking all the records and then finding it really challenging to walk to the car afterward. I just wanted to hold you - not deal with my body that was saying, "um - yowee! That was intense!" So, for me, birthing our placenta was tough. It felt extremely uncomfortable and my relaxation expertise was challenged.

Julie, our midwife, was aware that you might have been cold - I wasn't paying enough attention to that, so I'm glad she was. I birthed our placenta and thought, "I'm never doing this again." In spite of that, the mood was still so mellow and calm.

Julie guessed that you were smaller than Gianna at birth - about 7 pounds. So when she weighed you and you were 8 pounds, 12 ounces, we all were amazed. I like to say you were all muscle.

Your Papa and Gianna buried the placenta in the backyard on Silverwood Drive. Now it has a lawn on top of it. I wonder where you'll grow up - here with our placenta or somewhere else. Maybe our new home will have someone else's placenta in that ground.

Gianna remembers the cut up cotton diapers I used to soak up blood over the weeks after your birth. We called them Mommy Diapers.

Recently, I revisited the miracle of birthing you. I was nursing you and looked into your eyes. Your pupils got smaller when you looked up at me and I remembered how complicated you are, physiologically. The mechanics were complete before you were conceived - unbelievable!

There are so many details of your birth that I love thinking about - Julie being so clear in her purpose and honoring my request for independence; Teresa being there but not really being there to videotape (she was invisible and lovingly present); Gianna waking up to meet you; Caine coming around to console your crying (as he always does).

We named you a week later. Gianna and I were in the tub while you were napping and we were looking at the alphabet bath puzzle. We got to D for dinosaur and I remembered our family friend, Colin Patterson, who was a famous paleontologist. After we named you, Mom and Dad gave us the dinosaur bone Colin P. had given the family.

Your birth was a perfect reflection of our relationship, and I'm glad we got off to such a great start. Thanks for allowing that, Colin.

Photos | Caity | Colin | Gianna | Stefan | Links

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