My birth story is not the most amazing or awe-inspiring story, it is not the most heartbreaking. Mine and Sugarbabys story is simply our own. Not everything went perfect and theres always a billion things where things could go better, but I followed what I felt we needed to do, and we persevered.
I had found out I was pregnant a few weeks after I moved out of my ex’s home back to my mothers so I could get back on my feet and make a life for myself. Pregnancy for me was not hard. It was not easy, either, it simply was what it was. For a month or two I stayed on a mattress on the floor downstairs because everytime I would move I would throw-up. Eventually I was forced out of the house to pay my last respects to a darling aunt and slowly but surely, in the following months, my daily nausea went away. In the last months, there would be random spells where I found it hard to breathe, like my chest was tightening and it would not stop unless I slept. My midwives did not know what that was about, but were more concerned that if I couldn’t handle that from apparently being out of shape, that I wouldnt be able to push through labor and delivery. First off, my midwives had their bought of awesomeness, second off, what the hell type of logic is that? Regardless.
In the first couple of months I had decided that because I knew how I dealt with pain, that a waterbirth would be the best for me. No hospital around me provided nor would let me bring my own tub in for that, and a birthcenter was too far away for me to go. So I had decided that I would most likely, if I could afford it and it was plausible, have a homebirth early on. But nothing was ever set it stone simply because I was 23 and still living in my mothers home. Everything felt unsure. Most people I told were dead against it; I had a friend beg me to go to the hospital when it was time. Other people supported me simply because they knew what I decided was my own choice and I am stubborn. very few people were 100% supportive.
As the time got nearer, I could feel fear and anxiety bubble up in myself when I thought about automatically going to the hospital for a birth. It simply was not meant for me. I did not have the money for a midwife at home nor did I want one, I simply could not see having an intimate birthing experience in my home with more people than me and Sugarbabys father. I researched everything I could think of. I pestered the most supportive friend I had with every question I could where she may have the answer. But even then, I knew I could not know even half of everything. I could not know how to look out for ALL the complications at home. But I resolved to trust myself, my instincts, my child. About a week before my water broke, my mother had reminded me to pack a hospital bag. “If I need to go to the hospital, I will grab what I need before we go in.” No, she insisted, you ARE going to the hospital, so you need to pack a bag now. my mother was not convinced until after that 15 minutes of going back and forth, that a homebrith was a serious option for me. Afterwards, though, she helped me set everything up that I needed for when the time came.
Fast-forward to election day, November 6th, 2012, when the Presidential results are pouring in. I am sitting on the edge of my bed when I just feel different. Well shit, I thought, this is it. So as I run down to the bathroom, I stark leaking, gushing, and there I sit on the toilet. First, I call Yellowman, The Sun God, The Golden Boy – Sugarbabys father — “Hey, yeah, I’m sitting here and it won’t stop, so I will see you in a little bit.” He lived about 45 minutes away and hell, I’d never been through this before so I didn’t know how long I should wait before telling him it was go time. I hadn’t had any contractions, or hell even noticeable Braxton Hicks (ever in the pregnancy) before that point, but if any of the movies would prove to be true, they wouldn’t be that far along afterwards, right? Oh god how wrong I was.
Sugarbabys Arrival, Part II