Seth's Birth Story

Seth's birth story begins two years before he was actually born. Let's reel back to 2018, my year full of trials, grit, soul-break, and spiritual deepening. As I mentioned in my post, "Out of the Cold Ashes," I had packed my schedule full of jobs this year, had experienced the death of those close to me, and embarked on several spiritually deepening journeys. One of these journeys, was a sacred women's Water Ceremony in March, led by Misa to which I was invited to attend by my dear friend and birth date twin, Aviva (Beth Amalia). I will not articulate the ceremony in order to preserve its sacredness, but I will share the vision that I had during this ceremony. As I quieted myself and closed my eyes, I entered a dream like space. I stood on earth and as I looked down, it opened up like a pocket in the shape of a vagina. Inside was a baby lying on the bottom. With a surge prompting me, I scooped up the baby and held him in my arms. The number, "two years," resonated within me, and my eyes opened. After the ceremony had concluded, I spoke with Aviva, sharing my vision with her, and before I had finished, she shared that "two years" was coming to her mind. I acknowledged that that was the same duration that had entered my mind as well, and we wondered if this was when I would have a child, keeping our speech open that a lot could happen in two years, but also not to expect anything specific. Later that summer, I had another more detailed vision during my a mid-day nap. In this vision, I again accepted my baby, a son, from the womb of the earth. In this dream vision, I progressed down the orchard path to my son, now older who also asked why his dad left -with the implication that he had died. I answered that it was because he knew that we were "capable." The dream progressed in time to me being a flesh-padded, delightfully huggable grandmother -my son, now a father with two girls of his own. The girls with names to honor my family members were playing in the front yard grass while I sat in a rocking chair speaking unafraid to Veiled Death beside me. I was ready and unafraid of my life's timing, but Death decided to wait. To give me more time with my granddaughters. Treasuring these visions like Mary treasured Gabriel's message of her conception, I kept these visions close to my heart, sharing them with a select few, also in part also because I thought others would discredit my experience or chalk me up as overly eccentric. In 2019 I met my Soulmate, Chase. We married in May of 2020 and soon discovered that we were pregnant. Family members hoped that we would have a baby girl, or even better, twins since my husband was a twin! (The high chance of having twins I'm told is more influenced by the matriarchal bloodlines, by the way, which to our knowledge, twins don't run in my family's bloodlines.) After quieting and tapping into my womb however, I heard the VERY opinionated voice that this baby was NOT a girl and he was NOT sharing this womb with anyone! "Alrighty then," I thought to myself. "Definitely a boy. And definitely no twins. (Thank goodness)." Months pass and our hope that perhaps our baby would be born before Christmas, and then maybe on New Year's Eve also passed us by. I continued working at Cityspa as long as I could. If I had taken time off earlier, I knew I would become restless and irritable waiting for my baby to enter this world. I'm told by the other massage therapists at Cityspa, that my patience on Saturday which was usually gentle and abundant, seemed increasingly irritable and short. Sunday, I awoke at 3am with cramps braiding through my lower abdomen. Recalling last Monday when I falsely thought I was beginning to labor, I followed my midwives' suggestions, turning over and fell back asleep. An hour later, my cramps had increased in intensity that I could no longer sleep them off. I rocked back and forth from the screeching cat or cow yoga pose, to child's pose, hoping I could soothe them to fall asleep. With no avail, I followed the next midwife suggestion: a hot shower. As I transitioned, Chase woke up and I told him that I was having some cramps, but that we'd call this a yellow light. I didn't want to alarm him, and I didn't want to be like those first time moms who falsely thought they were going into labor. Not like last Monday. I walked out to the bathroom, meeting my brother returning from our friend's birthday party, and assured him that I fine and just using the bathroom. He fell asleep and to this day, I still don't know how I did not wake him. As I showered, the cramps intensified even more. I tried rocking and holding my body at different angles to alleviate the pain, to no avail. I remember reading in a birthing book the story of how one mother either felt or sounded like a horse or cow... My brain had trouble grasping the detail, but as I exhaled, I shared the sentiment of feeling like a mooing cow. I remembered this book also stating that making the most guttural, deep-throat, primal sound you could summon, helped. That releasing into your primal instincts helped. I began to release. As I mustered myself back into my bedroom, I began pulling out clothes and told Chase that I wanted to go to the birthing center. He snapped to attention. We turned on the lights, and he saw my waves of "sensation" as I called them. I refused to call them "painful" so that my body did not stiffen, and so that my mind registered it more harmoniously. Simply a new sensation that my body was experiencing for the first time. A very very Intense Sensation. My mother came upstairs to help me dress, watching as I dropped to the floor with another wave, holding my skirt for me when it subsided. She would follow us in her own car after securing the dog. I was allowed only two people to accompany me during my birthing since covid was in effect. I had chosen my mother and my husband, Chase. Chase helped me into our truck, another wave making me growl (or roar?) in our driveway. I was sure I would wake the neighbors. We took the interstate since it would be fastest. Between waves, I repeatedly affirmed how much I loved him and how grateful I was. I wanted him to know that I loved him, in order to compensate for the anticipated aggression as my "sensations" continued to amplify. At some point in the truck, I swear I felt my baby beginning to crown. Not that I could exactly bend down and check though. I was starting to get the hang of "roaring at the sensations." Between waves, after I had regained my breath so that my voice could be understood, I called the head midwife, Sarita. We talked and I calmly asked for them to meet us at the birthing center, because we were on the way now. She told me to call Hannah since she was only five minutes away from the birthing center. We hung up and I searched for Hannah's number in my phone. I contacted Sarita again and told her that I couldn't find it. She said that she had tried calling me already, but that her call went to voicemail. I checked. No record of a missed call. I texted Sarita, asking if she could send me her number. Surprisingly, my husband maintained the speed limit. That is, until we reached the Woolen Mills bridge and he says my moaning went "Super Saiyan 3." I heard the engine rev as he pressed his foot down on the gas petal. We pulled into the Winding River Birthing Center, in its dark, locked hospitality sometime close to 6am. We had arrived before any of the midwives. Chase was frustrated and frantic. My mother pulled in shortly after I had dialed Sarita's number again, passing it to Chase as another wave came. He tells me that initially Sarita's voice was calm and soothing, and as soon as she heard me in the background, her voice changed and she stated that Hannah would be there shortly. Mom and Chase were finding soft materials in the truck in case the baby came while we were waiting -I think we found his sweatshirt -and I swear my water broke during this period. My mother praying in tongues as the waves came faster and faster. Then Hannah arrived. Hastily, she unlocked the front doors and turned on the hall and birthing room lights. She told Chase to find towels as she and my mother helped me down from the truck and up the front steps admits the waves. As soon as my hand hit the post beside the steps, my body halted. Hannah tried to soothe me, coaxing that we didn't want to have the baby outside in the cold and to keep walking inside. Another wave came. Apparently I cussed at some point on these front steps -probably during a wave- but I don't remember when anymore. I remember Hannah reaching down, feeling as though she was trying to keep the baby for coming just a moment, just so that we could get inside... And I remember the anger that rose inside me, my Inner Self screaming "How dare you try to stop this baby!" But my mouth said nothing. I breathed and could feel my body. All I could muster to Hannah was "check." She lifted my skirt as another wave came immediately after the prior, and caught my baby. He immediately cried out. Mom shouted for Chase and I faintly saw him skid around in the hallway ahead, turning around back to us and our baby. My body suddenly famished of energy, and the umbilical cord feeling a bit short with Hannah holding our son as close as she could to me, we waddled inside to the nearest bedroom where, forsaking all modesty, I flung off all my clothes, easing into the bed, and they laid Seth on my chest. My energy was gone. I was determined not to move again unless I had to. Chase crawled up into bed with me and our son. We did it. At 6 lbs. 13 oz., our wild son was born outside on the front porch at 6:05 am. Our Wildman. We did it.