Vesper's Birth Story Part 1 - Letting go of the birth I had hoped for...

Part 1 of my birth story with Vesper Rae...

Hello lovely one

How is your heart feeling today?

Mine is feeling tender for many reasons. I hope if you are feeling similar that you can take a few moments right now to hold your heart and take a few loving breaths to soothe and settle your soul.

If you need to tend to your inner garden right now, don’t miss out on the chance to sink into last week’s Bluebell-inspired Yoga Nidra practice here. It will be heading into The Vault for paid supporters next week so if you are craving 25 minutes of replenishment then create yourself a little nest and cuddle in with me.

Before you read on I want to mention that I will be talking about birth hopes, about the prospect of surgery, about being in hospital and about unexpected pivots in pregnancy - and so if you are not feeling in the right space to read of these things then this piece might not be for you today.

I have toyed with whether I can write this — not because it is difficult to — but because I have never actually read a Caesarean Birth Story — not an elective one anyway — but nevertheless this birth is no less worthy of words than any other, and so, just over 16 months on, I feel called to begin to share these words.

I know you will hold them with love.

As I poured out the words I realised that, while on the surface this is a very simple story, there is also layer upon layer of tale to tell. So, I am going to share in two parts.

This is the birth story of Vesper, and the re-birthing story of myself.

You don’t necessarily expect a birth story to start with a grieving process… but when it came to Vesper Rae’s entrance into the world… I first had to hold my heart very gently as I said goodbye to birthing in the way I had hoped.

My dreams for the birth of my second baby were to be either at home, or in the birth centre. While I wasn’t rigidly attached to them… I did hold a real torch of hope.

This pregnancy was not easy, not that any pregnancy is really, but in comparison to my first it felt like a true slog despite being relatively straightforward in terms of my own, and my baby’s health.

Severe nausea consumed the first 20 weeks… and then the third trimester saw me pick up the worst respiratory virus I I have ever had, to the point that I coughed so hard — continuously for 2 months — and ended up putting my back out twice and bruising my ribs to the point where I could barely breathe without pain. Sleeping was already a distant memory — I should have probably guessed then that V was preparing me for getting very comfortable with the dark hours of night!

I spent my entire second pregnancy counting down the days until I was no longer pregnant, while simultaneously feeling behyond grateful to be carrying this little life within my womb.

The paradox of motherhood forever present.

As the weeks crept on and we reached the end of our inner journey together, I started to drop more and more into my body to prepare for our birth journey.

One of my last midwife appointments was at my home — we were 38 weeks at that point — and she was doing the checks that would mean we could choose to birth at home if we wished.

The week before we had visited the birth centre on a dark and stormy night. It was quiet and dark and felt like the perfect place to bring this little soul earth-side. I let myself get a bit excited, imagining what it would be like to give birth there in comparison to the hospital where Sophia had been born.

The midwife had checked my belly and said she was pretty sure that Vesper had her head down. We timed the journey in the car home. I placed a little piece of my heart in that picture and if I am honest I still get a little tug in my chest when I think of what we ‘could have’ had there.

A few days before my midwife appointment I had been experiencing hiccups a lot higher than previously… and the shape of my belly had changed. I had a suspicion that this little one was not head down — maybe she never had been — but I didn’t want to believe it.

As the midwife felt my belly on my sofa at home… I remember the sinking sensation as she said… ‘I think we need to check baby’s position as she could be breech.’

My heart plummeted, although a part of me of course knew.

The next day I went to the hospital alone and sat in the familiar waiting room. The last time I had been there was to check my placenta had moved as it was low at my 20 week scan. The elation when they confirmed that it had in fact moved and that it was highly likely I would be low risk and that the birth centre would be a great choice for us, felt distant to me now.

I stepped into the scan room and laid on the bed, waiting for the screen to show us our answer. Seconds later the sonographer confirmed that this little one was footling breech.

I know that breech babies are born vaginally, at home, and that it is entirely possible… however… I also knew that the years of narratives about birth being ‘unsafe’ were firmly embedded within me. Part of me feels ashamed of that… but mostly I feel such compassion for myself because it is not my ‘fault’ that this is the way society has depicted birth in my generation. I myself was even birthed by Caesarean.

I so desperately wanted to prove to myself that I could rewrite this narrative, but when I tuned in, I just didn’t feel safe. The fear of what ‘could’ happen to me, to my baby, and the potential of something happening to me and Sophia being left without a Mother, that all took over.

Part of me wants to apologise for this, justify it in some way. The other part knows that I have nothing to be sorry for. I made my choice.

In the same room I had been when Sophia was being monitored during my long labour with her.

I was told to go to Triage to wait to see a consultant to discuss plans.

I walked to the same place I had waited in when I was in labour with Sophia. The experience flashing back in my mind to when I was having contractions, breathing, labouring, waiting for my first baby.

As I sat there, for a few hours it turned out, I watched women in labour, I watched women coming in and breathing deep, their body bringing them waves of intensity getting them closer to having their baby in their arms.

I cried. My shoulders shook and tears poured. I knew then I wouldn’t get to experience those sensations, that power, that pain, but also that sense of opening up from the inside as my baby made its journey to the world.

The grief came in waves. Rising… falling… my mind rationalising and then my heart swelling with emotion again.

I was actually grateful for being in the hospital alone at that time because if I had been with my husband I don’t think I would have had the space to really cry for what wasn’t going to be. Holding back the grief was not an option.

After speaking to the consultant — who as expected was very factual and not overly compassionate — I was given a date for an ECV to turn her from the outside. I already knew that I wasn’t going to take that option but having the date booked in seemed to appease the consultant.

A part of me felt like I ‘should’ have the ECV because if I didn’t I was simply giving up on my wishes for a natural birth.

But… this is where I leaned into communication between me and my baby.

I sat with her, tuned in with her, so comfortably nestled in my womb with her head close to my heart, and I knew that forcing her to turn would not be the gentle and compassionate way I wanted to be with her. I knew it could be potentially traumatic for both of us… and there was no guarantee she would stay that way.

No. I trusted her. I trusted she knew the way she needed to be.

I had to follow that whisper from within.

I left the hospital with an appointment to come in for an appointment with the consultant to discuss the Caesarian Birth and that was it.

This, it turned out, was exactly 14 days before we would meet Vesper.

A very ‘bottom heavy’ bump picture taken on the day we found out she was feet first!

The next day my husband and I returned to the hospital to meet with the consultant. In the meantime I had visited all the resources I could to learn how we could try and turn her naturally but I knew in my heart that she wasn’t going to move at that point. For some that might sound like I was giving up, but actually it was just one of the many lessons Vesper has taught me about surrendering to an unknown and alternative path.

Allowing the feelings

On some level, there was a little relief in the predictability of it. One of my main concerns through pregnancy was how to organise care for Sophia when I went into labour. She had never slept a night without us and I really wasn’t sure how she would cope (I needn’t have worried - she was an absolute star) but at least knowing that I would get a date and time meant I could organise for her to be looked after without any urgency attached to it.

The predominant feeling though, was deep, deep disappointment that I wasn’t going to get the birth I had dreamed of - or even get to see where the unknown took me.

I walked through emotions of sadness, fear, shame and blame, anger and frustration. But ultimately I had to meet myself with pure love.

I had to hold myself very, very tenderly in the coming days, as we waited for the email to arrive to tell us when our Caesarian birth would be.

The email dropped into my inbox on 20th December and I was given an afternoon slot on 28/12/22. I kept thinking how strange it was to already know what date her birthday would be. So then we simply had to wait for those 8 days to pass.

We had a lovely gentle Christmas - our last as a three - but if I am honest it was a blur of being in the liminal space.

I had many worries. I was terrified how I would respond to the entire process. During my first labour my epidural hadn’t worked properly and so I was scared that somehow my body wouldn’t respond to the spinal block and they would have to put me under general anasthetic.

But despite my worries I knew that this was something I simply had to get through, that there was no option but to dig so deep into my inner resources and take it one breath at a time. I had trust.

On the 27th December I spent the day with my husband and my daughter. I read my her stories that evening knowing it would be the last time I would do it before everything changed.

I still get a lump in my throat when I think of this. The ‘us’ before Vesper.

The little being who had made me a Mother was about to become a big sister. She was 3 and 3 months old - she had no idea of course what was about to shake her world although we had done our best to prepare her. But how could we truly prepare her? We didn’t know what was coming ourselves.

That night I wrote Sophia a letter, I still haven’t read it back but it is tucked away in a notebook where I have jotted down all her milestones. I wanted to write her one last thing before my aura was cracked open and the energy of Vesper entered our lives.

I went to sleep for the last time as a pregnant woman. The last night I would feel those movements from the inside. The last time as a Mama of one.

Fear and anxiety were close by, but hope and excitement held me through it.

A strange sense of trust - in myself and in my daughter. We were going to do this… together.

It would be our journey, our story, and I was ready…

….

Thank you for witnessing my journey in this birth portal, I will be sharing the second part of our story soon.

As always, I welcome your comments and words in the comments or in my inbox.

Until next time…

With so much love,

Lauren

xxx

It was a joy and an honour to be invited to share some words in collaboration with

Sarah Robertson

for her This Creative Life series. If you haven’t already seen it, you can read it here.

Recent offerings you might have missed…

• The Bluebell Journey Yoga Nidra - this will be available for another week before going behind the paywall.

• A softening of my edges - a piece to invite softness into our lives.

Hello to anyone who is new here… I am Lauren, a Mother of two daughters, a Writer, Coach, Soulful Business Mentor, Website & Branding Creator, Human Design Guide, Sacred Space Holder and multi dimensional human being. You can find out more about my work here. Please do subscribe to join the journey, and if you enjoy this, and you do have the means, I would be so grateful if you chose to support my creations for £5 a month…