Nesting

       Two nights ago I turned to Gabriel as we were reading in bed and said: “I’m starting to get anxious. I feel like we have nothing prepared! We have space here, but nothing is set up for the baby, our room is still in shambles, the guest bedroom doesn’t even have a bed yet…we haven’t even set up the crib!” As my negative list grew longer, a small smile grew wider on Gabriel’s face. “Why are you laughing at me!?” I very emotionally accused. 

“I’m not laughing at you! I promise. Honey, do you see what this is?” I shook my head no. “Nesting! You’re nesting!” He smiled, kissed me and promised that tomorrow we would do some work on the house. And we did. My Aunt Debby had generously offered to buy us any crib we picked out.  Our choice had been delivered to us last week, but sat untouched in the corner of the living room. Yesterday we bravely ripped open the cardboard packages containing the Ikea Hensvik crib, promising each other that we wouldn’t get angry or flustered no matter how confusing the set up instructions were. To our surprise and delight the picture-only instructions weren’t too confusing! We could identify all the parts and decipher which tool the little gingerbread people were using, and within an hour our sweet little crib was standing. We were both giddy. 

My due date is in less than two months, and I can’t stop thinking and talking about our little man. I can almost always tell when he’s going to move, before he does and his constant company has brought me such comfort. I feel like I know him already. It’s harder for Gabriel to connect the idea of my pregnancy to the reality of a little human being given to us, but that’s normal for fathers, I hear. It’s mostly factual to him, which I can understand—he doesn’t have little feet digging into his ribs at three a.m.! I cannot wait for him to meet his son. 

Because being raped led straight to the hospital for me, hospitals are not empowering or safe places. They represent powerlessness, humiliation, fear and loneliness. I don’t want even a whisper of those negative emotions to touch the birth of my son. I don’t think they have to. When we lived in Nashville we thought a hospital birth was inevitable. We didn’t really have our own home, and only knew of one trusted midwifery practice that worked out of a hospital. I was not excited about the prospect of vaginal examinations in cold labor rooms or hospital gowns exposing my bum to the world of strangers filtering in and out. For many mothers, being in a medical setting feels safer to them, but for me it means no control. Labor is hard enough with out all of that baggage. 

Gabriel and I have decided that because we now have a space to call our own, we will have our baby right here in our home. I know the idea of a home birth sounds dirty, scary and dangerous to most people, but for me that’s how going to a hospital would feel. I trust our home. I feel safe with Gabriel. I know my body is capable of bringing this little babe into the world. I have faith that with some proper guidance and help, we can turn our family of two into a family of three without further trauma. 

       Before we moved to Columbus I did some researching and asking around for trusted midwives and I was given a few names. I called them all, explained the entirety of our situation and set up consultations with some of them. After meeting with one midwife in particular Gabriel and I both felt really jazzed. She met us in our home, on our own turf and sat with us for two hours discussing our pregnancy and our ideal birthing experience, along with her practices. We fired question after question and when we ran out of ideas, she handed us a sheet of paper with more questions we might want to consider. She offered to lend me her book When Survivors Give Birth as another way of emotionally preparing for birth. Her confidence and humility gave us a new sense of security. We knew as soon as we closed the door behind her that we trusted her to be with us for the birth. We waited till the next day to call her, so she knew we gave it a proper amount of thinking. 

       Having our son at home and un-medicated is an exciting and overwhelming thought sometimes. But just the idea of having a baby at all right now is overwhelming—but it’s not like I can just cross my legs until the timing is right. In two months this little boy will be ready to meet us, whether we are prepared or not. Getting the house in order is just a start. I’ve been reading a host of books, including Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin, (contrary to how it may sound, it’s not about witchcraft—just a bunch of positive natural birth stories). I’ve been praying, journaling and talking with anyone who will listen about the amazing things my body will do. Of course it will hurt, but I’m honestly more afraid of the mental and emotional pain that labor can potentially throw my way. I’ll be more prepared to handle those obstacles at home.

       Every time I walk down the hallway I pause in the doorway of the nursery and look at our son’s room—empty but for a small white crib. We don’t have a lot, but we have enough. I love this boy already and I haven’t even seen his face.