Issue 02
Content Notes: pregnancy and childbirth
Birth/Rebirth Ruby Henry That night we watched Moonstruck and ate Anchovy pizza and my body groaned and creaked with the weight of 40 extra pounds, 41 weeks in. At 11pm the contractions began. Full force. There was no counting the minutes or testing the water: he was coming. We called the midwife and she told us to rest, rest as long as we both could. I would drift into a lumbering, dreamless sleep for three minute stretches before being roused by the pain in my stomach. Sharp pain. Not an ache or a cramp like I expected, but a stabbing. I breathed and moaned and made scary, awkward, qualmless noises, my discomfort made tangible and expelled into my environment. I leaned into this cycle for the next five hours. At 3:49 he said I sounded different. More intense. He texted the midwife, and I said, no, call. Call now. My body was pushing independently. I could feel the baby’s head vibrating down and out, like rubber against rubber. The midwife arrived and kneeled next to me before setting up her equipment. I remember thinking how beautiful she looked. So calm, and strong, and trustworthy. I felt safe and cared for. For the next two hours, the labor progressed with no stalls or hiccups. I flipped from my back to my hands and knees, and the relief was instant. I pushed, and screamed, and rested. I was in awe of the pain and how loud I could be. My throat was sore for the next week from screaming, screaming against the pain. He massaged my wrists and brought water to my lips and waited and watched with me on the bed. I felt my water break. I felt the snap of my inner labia tearing at the seam against the pressure of the baby’s head. In one push, his head came out and he writhed, 48
