Her Story (Part Two)

The Birth of Beatrice Elise Barnes 

I don't talk much about my birth choices... but before I tell the rest of the story of Beatrice's Birth I must inform you of my decisions. And they are simply that, my decisions. This is not a decision I feel is right for every woman. But it was right for me. My decision is not better than the decisions of other mothers. It was best for me. I do not judge the decisions made by any other mother, I ask that you do the same for me.

We chose to plan a home birth with Certified Professional Midwife, Leslie Payne and Doula, Laurie Flower. 

Here is a link to an excellent, albeit a little "new-agey", film, I agree with their final statement. "Accept your responsibility. Find YOUR truth." This is ALL I believe. We as mothers are responsible for seeking out our truth.

OK, I'm off of my soap box. Now onto the story of this precious girl's arrival.

At the end of the last post it was 6:00pm and we had just checked in with our dear friend and Doula, Laurie. I tried my hardest to rest, but quite frankly I had missed my window for resting while I was gallivanting around T.J.Maxx! I attempted to lie down, but found it was more comfortable to pile all six of our pillows into a tower on our bed and rest my head while sitting up.

Adam went downstairs around 6:45pm to make himself a bowl of grits and relax, apparently thinking things were about to slow down. Poor guy. At 7:00pm, right as Extreme Home Makeover was beginning, I believe I experienced my first Active Labor contraction. Sitting was no longer an option, and neither was ignoring these signals from my body. It was time to get to work. I jumped up and let my body move through the intensity, then called downstairs to Adam.

He came bounding up the stairs and I informed him it was time to call Laurie, Barbie, our dear friend and Assistant, and Mauresa. Things had changed and I needed my support.

Laurie said she was on her way, Barbie had just gotten off work (another praise!) and she would be over with a few of my food requests, and Mauresa would be there as soon as possible with the dinner we were to have eaten together in her home at 8:00pm.

I believe at this point Adam brought me one of my birth Cd's, (which I had just made a few days prior), filled with quiet worship music. I changed into my "birth outfit", consisting of my bikini top, a pink jersey dress and a pink headband, (inspired by my friend, Erica).

I must tell you that even though I could acknowledge that things had changed, I truly did not believe I was in Active Labor. I kept thinking that everything would end, that I was making a fool of myself by calling everyone over, and that I would just be changing out of my birth outfit later that evening.

After changing I continued to try and rest in between contractions. I will tell you that I began crying tears of joy. How is it that God could be so gracious. How could my child be coming at this moment? Her father is home, it was a rainy chilly night, everyone was available, my house was clean, everything was in order. I was not deserving of such joy. But she was coming. My bringer of joy was on her way.

Laurie arrived at 7:30pm, I remember her holding me and crying with me. What a miracle. My little girl was coming. She asked Adam to pray over me and over the birth and then it started - I entered "labor land". The following times have only been relayed to me by those in attendance. I literally felt like I was in a land of my own. And what a wonderful place it was!

Laurie worked through a few contractions with me upstairs, but as soon as Mauresa arrived with food, she insisted I head downstairs to eat! I ate Mauresa's delicious soup in the den on my birthing ball, while Laurie kept asking for "carbs" for me.

After eating some soup and bread, I starting working with the stairs - climbing up and down sideways while holding on to the banister, with deep squats on every step. After doing a few sets of singles we switched to two at a time working with the contractions. Laurie suggested we labor in Beatrice's nursery for a little while, using her glider to alleviate some lower back pressure. What a joy it was to be in my soft lit nursery bringing my little girl into the world. Barbie arrived and quickly prepared some wonderful warm compresses for me. I was able to rest my head and arms on the glider and rock back and forth on my knees while Barbie and Laurie applied the compresses. Adam prayed again and I felt surrounded by love and support.

I wanted to start working with my body again. We went out into the hall and this would be the point when my ballet background kicked in; I thought it might, and hoped it would, but I didn't know to what extent. I used a section of wall and did deep grande-plies in second, breathing deeply and working with each contraction. I loved this so much that they suggested I continue what I was doing, but in our shower. We have a wonderful shower with two shower heads, and the lower one can be aimed right on your back.

I entered the shower around 9:00pm and adored it! They brought my music in, lit candles and kept refilling my water bottle again and again. I was never alone, yet I was granted the utmost privacy. I always had a supporter right outside of the shower, they rotated, Laurie, Barbie, Adam, Laurie, Barbie, Adam. They read scripture over me, prayed for me and Beatrice, brought me frozen peppermint compresses (heaven!) and surprised me with a book full of prayers and notes from friends. In between contractions I was able to talk and laugh, and during I was fully engaged in the work of my body. I believe it was at this point that I began to talk to my body and to Beatrice. Don't laugh, but in this deep guttural voice I started saying things such as "down", "open", "good girl, Beatrice", "come on little girl", and so much more. I began using my entire body, not just my legs, but my arms and hands to stretch and almost dance. It helped immensely to keep my body loose and to keep me from tightening anything. I also found my animal moan at this point. I loved hearing it echo on the shower tile, I loved how it reverberated inside me, it felt so wonderful. It reminded me of vocal/acting relaxation exercises.

Leslie, my spectacular midwife was called at some point and arrived around 10:30pm while I was still in the shower. Apparently I was in the shower for a whole 2 hours. I depleted the house of its hot water supply, and still remained in the shower. I vomited up all of my extra large lunch from that afternoon, (again, it felt so wonderful), and still I remained in the shower, I absolutely loved it! Leslie, didn't mind my singing or my shower dancing or my other-worldly birth chants, she just watched me carefully and asked to hear Bea's heartbeat every once and a while. Oh, the heartbeat! Every time she would put the doptone up to my belly and I could hear my little one's strong heartbeat it was as if I was filled with a brand new dose of energy.

Around 11:00pm, they informed me that the den and the birthing tub were ready. They had Adam climb in the shower with me to share a couple of moments with me before we transitioned to the next phase. It was like a dream. He massaged me with organic lavender body wash and told me what a magnificent job I was doing. What a gift.

I remember getting out of the shower and someone wrapping me in a towel. I remember Adam trying to help me down the stairs, but I must have been in the middle of a contraction, because I wanted no assistance.

Then it happened. I walked into my dream come true. For months I had dreamed of this moment, and it was here. I had written a "wish list" for my birth during my fabulous Childbirth Education Classes but never did I imagine it could look so beautiful. There were candles everywhere, the windows were down and the sound of pouring rain and a cold soothing breeze were slipping in, there was a roaring fire in the fireplace (my one request everyone thought was crazy, but it was PERFECT for this cool night), my carefully chosen music filled the air, and surrounding the huge birthing tub were the best support team anyone could ask for. I burst into tears. I couldn't believe that this was the night God had ordained for the birth of my child. This was the night he would temper judgment with mercy.

I climbed into the tub, and after an hour in a cold shower, it felt incredible! I felt so light and buoyant. Everything I had heard about laboring in the water was accurate. I loved it. It did change the feel of labor completely, but with coaching and encouragement I was able to feel the transition and change with it. I continued to move, moan, dance and speak in my low birthing voice. Not once did I feel ridiculous or silly. Everything felt so right. I could feel my body working to deliver my baby, and I wanted to help as much as I could.

At around 1:30am they suggested I get out of the tub and try to use the restroom. I complied, but as I was climbing out a contraction came on, and I had to MOVE! I apparently took off around the house circling and circling the main floor; shaking out my limbs and marching to keep anything from tightening. I must have seen the blinds were all open, and I was appalled! Barbie scrambled to close all of the curtains and out of the corner of my eye I saw her fly across the dining room. I later found out she had tripped over Laurie's suitcase! What dear friends I have. After the contraction came to an end I attempted to use the restroom, but to no avail. Adam told me that they needed me to rest and relax at this point (apparently I was working too hard). They tried to have me lie down, but I despised that position, instead we moved to the den doorway, and while I hung on the door frame, Laurie and Barbie swung my hips from side to side as I moaned, "surrender". (I wish everyone could hear my husband's impression of me at this point.) The doorway failed to let me do what my body wanted, so I grabbed Adam and hung from his neck while continuing the same rocking. This felt so great, and truly helped relieve my lower back pressure.

I climbed back into the tub, and again, things changed. After throwing up again, (my poor helpers - I vaguely remember them scrambling to find something for me to vomit into), there was a moment where I lost my confidence. But with one look into the eyes of my amazing support, and one request that they assure me I could do this, I was back on track. I began chanting my new mantra, of, "I can do this. My body can do this."Adam climbed into the tub with me and in between contractions they had me recline into his arms to rest. Again, it couldn't have been more beautiful.

At 2:40am I had a contraction different than all the ones before and at the end I felt my body pushing. What?! You must remember I had thought earlier that I was only fooling myself, and somehow I still couldn't believe it was true. It felt like only minutes had passed. In astonishment I told Leslie I felt like I needed to push. I knew she was going to tell me I was crazy, so I asked if she needed to check me or something. She told me that there was no need. I had known what my body needed till now, and that Bea's heartbeat was wonderful, so I needed to do what I needed to do.

Pushing naturally isn't really pushing. It's more like falling. There is nothing you can do to stop it. Your body just does it. I hate to compare it to this, but it's truly like vomiting. Your body has such power that you can't resist it. It is impossible to fight against it, and you simply need to relinquish your control and let your body do what it needs to. With every contraction I had 3 or 4 rushes of pushing. I could literally feel her descending. It was magnificent. The pressure was insane and the stretching sensation unlike any other, but all together amazing.

1 or 2 contractions into pushing I felt my water break. What a feeling. It was as if a giant balloon had just burst inside of me. After 5 or 6 contractions I asked Leslie to help me understand where she was in the descent. She described how she was working her way underneath the pubic bone. It felt so right. After 5 or 6 more contractions it was truly time.

With my husband holding and supporting me from behind they coached me into a position where I could use my whole body. With the next contraction she began to crown. The next contraction brought her a little farther. The next contraction even farther. Leslie told me to feel the top of her head and I couldn't believe it. It was such a small portion, what a miracle the overlapping of an infant's skull is. Over the next few contractions the rest of her head began to emerge until I could put my entire hand over the top of her head. AMAZING!! I think that so many talk about this point feeling like a "ring of fire", and a burning sensation. But I truly could only call it stretching, crazy stretching.

Then, at 3:38am, Monday the 27th of September, a day before her due date, there in the birthing tub, it happened. With the next contraction and the 4 rushes that accompanied it I pushed, pushed, pushed and then SHE BURST FORTH!!! All of her! It was if she exploded into this world! No head, and then waiting for the next contraction for her body, no, my precious little one came flying into Leslie's arms.

I couldn't believe it. Here was the child we had labored in prayer for. I couldn't believe it. Here was the child that grew in my womb, that was bringing joy into such darkness. I couldn't believe it.

She was immediately placed in my arms and when I looked up, every eye was full of tears. My husband, her father, was sobbing tears of joy as he held us both. Here she was. I swear I could hear the angels singing, and my mother joining in the chorus! She was so beautiful. My daughter. My Beatrice Elise.

Praise to the Lord
Who o'er all things so wonderfully reigneth
Shelters thee under His wings
Yea, so gladly sustaineth
Hast thou not seen how thy desires e'er have been
Granted in what He ordaineth

1 Samuel 1:26-27 "And she said, “Oh, my lord! As you live, my lord, I am the woman who was standing here in your presence, praying to the Lord. For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him."

A Letter from my Father

My Daddy sent me this letter yesterday... I am posting it in hopes that it might encourage you today.

May you, my dear friends, be free to enjoy and love as Christ did.

I love you daddy. Thank you for being such a beautiful example of parenting to both Adam and I.

My Dearest Lauren,

As I was reading today's chapters in my 'reading through the Bible in a year' plan (remember when Mom used to do that?), I was assigned, among other chapters, I Samuel, Chapter 1.

I know you have referenced this story and these passages numerous times over the last few months and I imagine you have pondered them deeply in your heart as well. They speak of many things, don't they? That God really cares for us. That sometimes His answers are not 'No', but rather 'in My time, dear child'. That He really does delight in bringing us joy. That He truly hears our prayers...It's remarkable how the trajectory of life sometimes takes off in unexpected and strange directions. Even more astonishing (to me anyway) is how quickly it all seems to pass.  'Poof'- like Brigadoon - it vanishes.  Just like that. Where did it go, I wonder?

God has been pleased to bless you and Adam, yet another time, with Beatrice. I think you know I couldn't be happier for you both! It's been a while to be sure, but I remember quite fondly the days of playing peek-a-boo and reading books and changing dirty diapers. Such thoughts bring me smiles...many of them. I look forward to reliving some of those moments with Beatrice.

And I also want you to know that I understand how bittersweet this is for you. I've told you at least once (I believe) how Mom was brought to tears at the sight of a young grandmother holding her grandbaby as she and I waited together in a lobby at Virginia Baptist Hospital. She knew, even though I was still believing for a miracle, that she was witnessing with her eyes one of the few blessings of life that would never be hers to enjoy. It truly broke her heart.

But because I knew your mother better than anybody else in the world, I knew exactly what she was thinking as the tears started to roll down her still beautiful but sadly taut and emaciated face. She sized things up quickly (as she was always able to do). Mom didn't take any more or less time then than she ever took when faced with a situation that was not to her liking. Disappointments to your mother, like most other things, were in short order run through her remarkably tight theological grid. Your mother, although imperfectly, truly attempted to allow her theology (how things REALLY are according to Scripture) to inform her actions and attitudes.

She cried as she watched the young grandmother caress and embrace her grandbaby. But she regained her composure. Not because she feared how she might look to the strangers and onlookers about, but rather because she already had processed her feelings - theologically. Some, and I sadly fear many, would say that people don't really do that. But they do, Lauren. And God's Word tells us to, as you well know. Your mother did it.

Mom believed that we didn't DESERVE anything, except that is, the condemnation that our sin and rebellion brought upon us. And so, even through her tears, even in the midst of her pain, she subordinated her emotions and feelings to the Sovereign Creator in whose presence she knew she would shortly be. For above all things she knew that she had been 'translated from darkness into the Kingdom of His marvelous light.' And measured against this unspeakable blessing, save being in His very presence herself, every other desire or want or hope or wish or expectation simply paled.

Regardless of what her culture insisted, irrespective of what her emotions and feelings were creating inside of her, despite what her Christian friends with poorer theological training might say...she KNEW that her God was good and that His goodness was not to be measured by (just) the pleasant and favorable things He brought to her. I know for a fact that being a grandmother (especially to your children!) would have been one of the supreme honors of her life. But I also know for a fact that she didn't feel as though she deserved it.

Thus, she was not left the option to pout, whine, whimper or throw a 'pity party'. To do so would have been an extreme display of ingratitude for her. For she knew that she had already, in fact, been handed the greatest blessing of all  -- Christ in her, the hope of glory! She believed that the habit of presuming upon God's goodness would truly break the heart of her Lord who, through His death, had already made her a joint-heir of His kingdom! And so it was against the truthful statements found within the pages of Holy Writ that she decided to weigh all of her expectations and wants and desires and even the disappointments of this life. She knew her Bible well enough to know 'that the present sufferings of this world didn't compare to the glory of what was awaiting her.'

Furthermore, if her theology wouldn't allow her to feel sorry for herself, neither did it allow her to dwell on misfortune. To choose to linger too long on the questions of 'WHY?' (sin of commission) or to not earnestly enough seek to get beyond the providential ordering of our lives (sin of omission) is to imply of the One Who loves us supremely that He, in fact, must not. For if He did love us, we are tempted to ask, why would He allow such things to happen?

For your mother, such questions and attitudes were...well, yes...theologically inappropriate. Scripture taught her that her Heavenly Father is not arbitrary. NOTHING, she believed, could happen to her unless it was for her own good as well as His glory. She knew all too well that those who spend too much time asking 'WHY?' have that much less time and energy to look and watch and anticipate the good which He providentially ordained would spring forth. Or worse yet, preoccupation with one's own misfortune results in an inability to feel or notice or enter into our neighbor's pain.

Trusting God when things go as we would have them is a rather simple thing, don't you think? It's when things don't go our way that our character is tested and our understanding of God is heightened.

What your mother grasped so well, again according to Scripture, was that our peace and happiness is found neither in having what we want, nor getting what we think we deserve. Happiness and joy are found in obedience and trust. There is a marked difference between the two perspectives. For, as the Good Book states, 'His ways are not our ways'.

And then, of course, there is the 'flip side' of embracing good theology. And this, I think, is where Mom really benefited. Good theology begets good theology. If your mother truly believed that she didn't DESERVE anything good, then she was free to fully ENJOY everything.  That was her secret, my dearest Lauren. Nobody knew that better than me.

I pray that you'll feel your mother's 'freedom' during the last eight weeks of your pregnancy. I pray also that you'll realize how to best honor her. I think she would tell you not to dwell on the fact that she won't be here (physically) with us and Beatrice, and to rather pray that God would use this experience to somehow give you a profound ability to see, feel and minister to the pain and hurt of your fellow man. I think she would say to focus on (and verbalize back to God) the innumerable blessings of your life and not on the profound but singular disappointment of not having her present. I think she would warn you that to many women who have never even known their real mother (or whose relationship with them was abusive) you might appear rather spoiled, self-absorbed and ungrateful. I think she would remind you to be sure to count your blessings in light of the millions of women whose lifelong dream of having a baby will never come true.

Your mother believed with every fiber of her being that God was not obligated to grant her anything good. And she embraced fully the sovereignty of God in all things. That was her secret to ENJOYing 'all things richly.' And it is something that she desperately wanted all of her children (and husband) to embrace.

Let's honor her, my dearest.

Daddy