Zola's Story

I have a scrapbook that I started with Nahanni after reading 'A Cure for Death by Lightning'. In the book the woman pored over the thick tome created by her mother over the years, turning pages sticky with the sugar and flour and glue of years of family recipes, faded newspaper clippings and odd info. I decided to make one for her and at the front I inscribed it saying that she was my greatest adventure.

And now I find myself in a quiet house, Zola snuggled at my breast, Nahanni and her dad and my in-laws all at Granville Island. It's Zola's four week birthday today and I find it's my first chance to even think about writing something for her. The first week, that sweet, irreplaceable honeymoon week passed by in a blink, the second a blur of doing it all by myself, the third filled with appointments and auditions so that my head was permanently in a spin. As usual, I have the best of intentions and I want to make a slideshow of pictures, write her story...conquer the world again. Unfortunately, I can barely manage to make my bed - and that's with my ultra-efficient Filipina mother-in-law here.

So I am finally attempting to scratch out the details of Zola's story before the details disappear under the gauzy film of time.

Much like with Nahanni, it seemed that Zola's birth began days and days before she was born. As early as the Thursday and Friday of the week before she was born I was having so many of the signs that she was preparing to come. We had dinner at Dave and Marsha's on the weekend and I was laughing how I didn't think I'd make book club as I was going to have the baby any day, 'maybe even tomorrow' -- but as with Nahanni, it was all for show and would drag itself out for days. Unlike with N, this time I was not in any rush, didn't want to press the issue with sweeps and 'homework' (that was pretty ghastly stuff for both of us...). On Tuesday the 7th, I had a terrible, restless night, with back pain, intermittent contractions, insomnia and general discomfort and I was really thinking she would come on the Wednesday. By morning I was so exhausted and feeling so terribly I simply unlocked the door and sent a text to Circle Care that I was lying down and to just come in. I stayed in bed, sleeping heavily in the morning and restlessly in the afternoon and by 4 pm I felt turned around. No more contractions, no show...no nothing except for malaise, fatigue and discomfort. I felt like I had the flu and, as predicted, did not make it to Book Club (where, unbeknownst to me they had fit together an impromptu shower, which I duly missed). Thursday night I slept deeply through the whole night and woke feeling refreshed and strangely normal. It was bizarre and a little frustrating, this starting and stopping, but I figured I clearly was not going further. It was so long til she was due, I figured leave it alone, this baby doesn't want to come until it's due. I went grocery shopping, hung out with Nahanni, went to the Chocolate Factory and the park. The midwife called me and I huddled in a corner of the Chocolate Factory, breathing in that glorious sugary scent and explained to Irene that she ought not bother to come around, that nothing was happening and that I didn't want to do any sweeps or anything else. That was 4 pm, and we laughed and chalked it up to babies. Nahanni and I walked in the afternoon sun to the park, chatted with the dog walkers about being pregnant. We went home and made a great supper of homeade pizzas, loaded with cheese and veggies and I ate like a lumberjack. I felt quiet and content. We sat down to watch some TV and from 7 pm onwards I began to feel like maybe my water was leaking; albeit so slowly that I wasn't sure. It was just before 9 before I even casually said anything to Ez about my suspicion. At 9:01, about 3 minutes after I said it to him I felt a sharp *pop* like a little tendon bursting inside and I said 'Yep, that would be my water'. I called the midwife pager and calmly told her I was just giving her the head's up and that I'd call her in the morning if it progressed any further. I sat down to await the long haul -- and at 9:14 I had my first contraction, strong enough that I had to do a bit of ujaii breathing to get through it [Insert puzzled facial expression here].

9:27 Contraction #2. Stronger still, another breather.
9:31 #3. A grasp onto something contraction, accompanied by chills and adrenaline shakes.

Insert surprised and confused facial expression here.

This is of course when we realize that we have no idea what to do with Nahanni. We debate in muddled circles for 10 minutes, me trying to wrap my head around the whole thing while Ez loads up the car and (finally) packs his bag for the hospital. I call Tracy at 9:45 and she doesn't even say hello, she just says 'Are you having a baby!?'. Ez drives like a 90 year-old woman to the hospital, Nahanni, all tousle-headed and sleepy chats nervously in the back, making hilarious comments that cause me to chuckle even through my now 4-minutes apart contractions. Tracy meets us at Lion's Gate and makes the transition easy for us, holding Nahanni's little hand as they walk away from our room. She is wearing her blue pjs and her red housecoat and slippers and I want to cry as she walks away from me down the hall through the night. Her hair and its darling curls poking this way and that as she walks down the darkened hallway and through the doors away from me, soon to be a big sister.

Things progressed quickly from there. Once we found our way to L&D (no thanks to the orderly and his convoluted directions which had me doubled over, laughing and breathing through another contraction) it wasn't long before Irene arrived, chuckling about the reversal of fortune since the 4 o'clock conversation. By 11 pm things were moving fast and furious, with no relief in sight. I was able to breathe only through the first 15 minutes of contractions and then the whole thing became overwhelming. Suddenly my ujaii was out the window and the banshee leapt in. Where with Nahanni I had meditated and prepared, mostly breathing her in, with Zola I flew by the seat of my pants, screaming her into the world.

I'm not going to lie - I broke down and begged. I thought of my friends who had had epidurals ("I was laughing and playing scrabble!") and I thought 'Why am I doing this?' I knew that lurking somewhere in those corridors was a man with a needle and I wanted it. I never thought I would - with a home birth you know it isn't possible - but I crumpled under the intensity of the furious pace of this labour and tried to abandon all my principles about natural birth. So experienced, our Irene saw how much I was suffering and offered me sterile water injections "like a bee sting" she said to me. I spat out a yes in between gripping waves of pain and waited for the relief. I believe my exact quote after screaming molten mercury lit up my back was "I don't know what kind of f*cking bees have stung you!" but I will admit, it gave some relief to my back and allowed me to deal with the rest of the pain better. I knew from experience last time that I had done too much myself and this time I really leaned on Ez, allowing him to carry my weight while I concentrated on opening up to this baby. Quickly, so quickly I could feel what I knew was the baby pushing and I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I pushed with ever fibre of my being, I pushed knowing that the faster I could get that baby out the faster I would feel relief and in 10 minutes of super-human effort, she was born, wailing into my hands.

In the dimly lit room I held up this squalling child, so different from Nahanni and her limp-armed silence. Slick and glistening, a black whorl of hair, tiny as the day is long, I held her to me and felt the wash of relief from all corners. Suddenly I was returned, no longer a wild banshee, a screeching spasm of a woman, but a mother once again. I held her to me, breathing in the crazy smell of her birth, holding her warm and pulsing against my belly. It was like coming up for air after a very long rapid, a giant gulp, fresh and bright.

It was minutes - how many? - before we even looked to see what we had and I nearly cried I was so happy to say 'A girl! We have another girl!'. Our first thought were of Nahanni and how happy she would be to have a sister. We finally lay back while they cleaned everything up, we searched her little face, every tiny milimetre of it, just drinking her in. Before we knew it this room that had been filled with noise and sound and light and energy was again silent and dim. The birth playlists just shuffled on and on, mostly my favourites like Ra Ma Da Sa and the gorgeous chants that calmed the night. The little faux candles flickered in the quiet night as Ez slept on the pull-out beside me and I stared at my new daughter with all the awe of a first-time mother. I drank in the cotton-candy smell of her, the warmth of her new skin against my belly where only hours before she had swum inside me. I thanked the stars above that she was here and safe and beautiful. I swam in the ocean that opens up when you hold your own flesh and blood against you for the first time. I heard what became her name over and over again in my head (as it had done while I was in labour too) and drifted in and out of our first hours together.

And I realized what would be the caption for her in the scrapbook. Nahanni I had said was my greatest adventure. Venturing into parenthood the first time is such an exciting prospect, filled with the wonder only newness can bring. But with a second child, you know the pains and the pitfalls and the newness will never again be what it was with your first - it cannot. But to jump into that fray again, knowing it all, that is something else altogether.

So for you, darling Zola, with your impossible blue eyes and mop of hair, for you I write that while Nahanni was my greatest adventure - you, my sweet girl, were my greatest leap of faith.