I am in the hospital waiting for my son to be born. The room has a soft blue haze: blue gown, blue scrubs, blue blankets around me. The lights are low and it’s gotten dark outside. Inside it must be cold because my husband is bundled, hood up and sweatshirt zipped.
But I don’t feel it.
I am sweating. Heat pulses in my veins as the preeclampsia meds circulate. I am hot but calm, sinking into a quiet place in myself as the tolerable contractions of the day give way to waves of pain this night.
They say I looked like a Buddha, propped upright, legs crossed, eyes closed, breathing deeply. At that point I didn’t care what I looked like, the shame had passed.
The shame of being naked in front of strangers.
The shame of wetting the bed.
The shame of being touched and prodded.
The fear had passed.
Fear of the pain.
Fear of the meds.
Fear of what others thought.
The shame and fear had passed and given way to resolve.
A resolve to work with my body.
A resolve to bring life in peace.
A resolve to birth this child.
As I sat, waiting for the next wave of pain to hit, the Lord clearly whispered:
“I know what it is to mother. I birthed all of creation. The ocean that you see out the window gushed out of me. The mountains behind you were formed in me. I am the Mother Hen who gathers her chicks.
I Am Creator.
You will have a strength that comes from a place you didn’t know existed. I will supply you strength, not just for today but for the days ahead. The strength you will discover flows from my mother’s heart. I know what it is to mother.”