It’s been ten years since my first child was cut into this world by Cesarean. I spent months after the surgery crying. It seemed there would be no end to the tears. Again and again I went over the experience, taking it apart in my mind in an attempt to understand it, to conquer my fears and broken sense of self.
Since my most profound healing: the exquisite natural birth of my daughter Dalia, the pain rarely surfaces. It’s been replaced with a beautiful ten-year old boy. But, every once in a while, a new layer unveils itself and I find myself in tears again. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s like the incision; it’s always there, a thick band crossing my core.
Today the tears came as I watched a short interview with Dr. Fredrick Leboyer, a French obstetrician who revolutionized birth with the epic claim that newborns babies are cognizant. Before him, it was though that babies cried not because they were in distress but because they needed to expand their lungs; that they could not see or hear properly; that they were not aware, that they did not feel.
While today, it seems incredible that we were ever so oblivious, Leboyer did not stop with newborns, he says that babies in utero are also aware. They understand and feel what the mother understands and feels and they respond to what the mother asks.
In the video, Dr. Leboyer, gives the secret to getting a woman’s cervix to open. He says “Now I am going to tell you a very beautiful story. Very difficult. It cannot be understood but it’s a fact. During labor it happens at times that the opening of the cervix stops, meaning to say labor is not progressing anymore. . . . It is for the woman to talk to the child and tell the child “’Now come out; pull yourself together. Be brave. Leave me.’ And the child understands when there is no language yet. So it is a communication from heart to heart which bypasses language.”
I wonder, has anyone else tried this? Could it really be so simple? Could it be that the ranting and raving, the walking and squatting, the Pitocin and herbs and the Cesarean were unnecessary? I said a thousand things during labor but never once did I try talking to my partner in the dance: my son.
Dr Frederick Leboyer
There is no way out of the experience except through it, because it is not really your experience at all but the baby’s.Your body is the child’s instrument of birth. -Penelope Leach
About Roanna Rosewood
For as long as I can remember, I wanted one thing: a baby. The eldest of five children, I got plenty of hands-on experience. I knew how to change diapers, rock little ones to sleep and feed babies. But nobody told me about birth. I assumed it to be no more than the unfortunate means-to-a-baby. It wasn’t until I was in full-on labor that I glimpsed the power of birth. Almost as quickly as I did, they rushed in to “save me,” to relieve the pain and cut my baby from my body.
When it was over, I had a beautiful baby boy but had lost a part of myself.
I began to crave birth.
I battled for my birth right for four years. I endured two Cesareans, fought three doctors, two midwives and endless inner demons before achieving a home birth.
It was the single most pleasurable moment of my life.
Let me say that again: giving birth was the single most pleasurable moment of my life. And I live a pretty pleasurable life. I’ve galloped on horseback through high mountain deserts, been sailing around the Caribbean and diving with dolphins and giant sea turtles. I’ve purchased perfume in exotic markets in Cairo and ridden a mechanical bull in a Colorado bar. I laugh, cry, knit and dance with the most-wonderful of girlfriends a woman could have. My closet is full of fabulous clothes and sexy boots. But none of these things has brought me as much exquisite pleasure as giving birth to my daughter.
I have accomplished “important” things. I am the mother of the three incredible children. I’ve worked and volunteered for non-profit organizations, mentored and taught children and women and traveled to Northern Uganda to assist survivors of war give birth. I own businesses, invest in real estate and have had the privilege and responsibility of employing hundreds of people. But none of these accomplishments has been as empowering or life-changing as giving birth to my daughter.
Twenty years ago, while watching blood drip down my own freshly-sliced wrists, I chose to put the razorblade down, embrace life and face my fears. To this end, I’ve parasailed off of Alaskan mountains, fire-walked on hot coals and watched my life flash before my eyes as my lungs filled with water. But none of these moments terrified me as much as giving birth to my daughter.
I’ve experimented with psychedelic drugs and met an angel in a tunnel of blue light. I’ve explored ancient Myan ruins and the depths of a pyramid. I’ve chanted with priests, davened with rabbis, danced with Sufis, sat with Buddhist monks, sweated with shamans, studied with psychics and accepted a gift from a kahuna. But none of these experiences brought me as close to The Divine as giving birth to my daughter.
I live a juicy, passionate and engaged life. But I am not content. My heart pulses a message much more important than my own small existence: Women are strong. It proclaims. Birth is our rite, our connection to The Divine. Living this, speaking it and writing it is my purpose: an endless war-chant coursing through my veins and pouring through my fingertips to you.
Yes!
With the birth of my second baby almost 4months ago, I was talking to him for weeks before he emerged. I told him it was safe, I was ready, and he would be supported in his journey here. But I understood and learned to respect his wisdom, his timing. He didn’t budge when we tried walking and colonics and acupuncture. But as I spoke to him inside me, I heard him tell me that he just wasn’t quite ready. He was waiting for the perfect moment. And he did. If he had come at any other moment, our birth would have turned out so differently.
So, I believe that we should speak to our unborn babies, but also that we must listen to them.
When I was in labor and transitioning, it was my firstborn who put her head between my legs and spoke to her brother, “Brother you can come out now, come on Brother…”
I think he came flying out, all 10+ pounds of him, just moments later!
I love that Grace welcomed your son like that. The connection between siblings is so sweet. Jonah and Dalia were much the same. And you’re right, we do need to listen to the unborn. I wasn’t very good at that. They didn’t often seem “real” to me until I had them in my arms. Maybe that’s not true. Maybe its that the system wouldn’t let me wait for Avram to choose his time. Its wonderful that you had that connection .