Now

The blazing sunshine is melting the remains of last week's blizzard. It is suddenly March 1st. At home I'm sure the sap is running. And I have three children.

I feel a bit like the pebble drawn back in a little boy's slingshot. Last December, time stretched forward without me, held as I was in the tightening grip of an expectant little hand. Then all at once, he let go and here we are, flying forward at a dizzying, exhilarating speed.

But there was a moment of complete Now as time inverted on that day, December 8th. To place it in the flow, I'd say it was sometime around 3:45pm, though time is beside the point. It was above, beyond, outside of the clock. It was a place, or space, as much as a moment, and it was something I felt I'd known before but had forgotten. Like chocolate, I can't recreate the taste through memory alone, but I can recall that it was blissful. I suspect I knew it when I myself was born. I want to recall it when the moment comes for me to die.

But I need to back up. On December 8th I woke up around 6am to find my underpants wet. It wasn't urine; it smelled salty and clean like the ocean. My hard belly was not yet contracting, but I knew it wouldn't be long before our little dude would be riding the rhythmic waves toward our shore.

At 6:54am (according to my iPhone), I texted Ali & Maria: "Looks like my sack is leaking & I am having stronger braxton hicks to early contractions so I think i will be calling soon!" Ali back: "It's a great day to have a baby!! i'll be here!"

The sun peaked into the kitchen as we went about our routines. Shrek cereal (aka Mini-wheats) for Reeve, coffee for me and Jordy before Raisin Bran, honey cereal (Cheerios) for Duncan, fishie nugget lunches for school. By 8 o'clock, the waves were gathering every 15-20 minutes or so, nothing I couldn't breathe, shower, or walk the dog through. So I suited Wiley up to escort Jordy and the boys to the bus. Jordy would drop Duncan at Chai Tots, then Reeve at escuela. I would take Wiley to the park. We would meet back home by 10am.

The park was stunning. Clear crisp sunshine through bare trees. After Wiley did his business on the path above the baseball fields, I called our midwife Joan, whom I expected to be overjoyed at the civil hour of my call. She sounded exhausted; in the background–someone else's child. My heart sank. Though she didn't say so, it seemed she was with another laboring woman. She asked me to call again as the contractions got closer together. I resolved not to worry. As Jordy would say, Joan is someone you'd want in the trenches with you. She would work it out.

Wiley and I joined the other dog walkers in the Great Meadow. When the contractions came, I would pause and breathe, enjoying the feeling of enacting a great secret in public. Wiley lollopped about, sniffed new friends, rolled happily in the crispy grass. As we made an extra loop around the duck pond, I turned my face to the sun through the stark tree limbs, and remembered our yoga song: "May the longtime sun, shine upon you... and the pure light within you, guide your way on." I imagined gathering this sunlight to bring home with me for what lay ahead. They were getting closer. Time to head back.

9:45 - 30 secs. Jordy and I must have arrived home by then, as this was the first in his diligent log of contraction onset and duration. 10:04 - ditto. 10:14 - ditto. 10:27 - 50 sec. 10:39 - 1:10 sec. 10:46 - 40 sec. 10:50 - 30 sec. 10:56 - 1:12 sec...

Between contractions, we wandered about a little giddy, unsure what to do with ourselves, feeling a bit like we were playing hooky on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday. We went ahead and "bagged" our mattress. We discussed plans (A), (B), (C) and (D), depending on the timing of it all. I must have called Magdalena -- no text message on record. She would pick up Reeve at 12:30 as usual, then Duncan at 3, as usual. We texted our friend Cheri to ask if our kids could go to her house to play after school, depending. Should they be there at the moment of birth? Would my groaning worry them (even though Duncan had begun to explain to random third parties that, "My mom is going to sound like an animal at the zoo, because when you're having a baby, every time you yell it helps the baby come out")? Would Reeve need Mommy-ness?

11:29 - 1 min. 11:36 - 1:30. I remember putting my head on the dining room table and the kitchen counter, variously, as Jordy placed his hands firmly on my hips and exerted counter pressure. We got into an almost pleasant routine. 11:40 - 1 min (long tail). Jordy and I made lunch. I think he had a sandwich. I had leftover lasagna made by Duncan's friend Ava's mom Sunny. 11:48 - 1min. 11:55 - 1:10mins (more intense). 12:00 - 30 sec. 12:11 - 1:20mins. 12:15 - 1:05m. I was strangely fascinated to see what each one would be like, as each one was unique. At the hospital, a paper ticker would have graphed the contractions, but I could have drawn each one with greater accuracy -- the particular curves and spikes, the relative altitude of intensity. It turned out to be such a relief throughout this labor to focus inward to observe my "progress" rather than having intrusive internal "exams" and measurements (other than Joan's regular fetal heart rate checks) from technicians and devices.

Downstairs was beginning to feel like nothing but hardwood floors, metal chairs, and doorbells. I needed to retreat in my cocoon so I climbed the stairs with the feeling that I wouldn't descend them again until I had met our baby.

I found comfort on the birthing ball in the den. Knees on the floor, I draped my body over it, rolling. I played my iTunes birthing playlist softly on the computer. Sometime in here my cellphone rang: It was the plumber. Months earlier I had left him a message to call next time he was in the neighborhood to help with a loose sink leg in the bathroom. Of course it would be now! We let the call go, but then the house phone rang so Jordy took it. "Hey, Andrew... Actually, she's in labor... (What's that?) In labor -- we're about to have the baby. (WHAT! GET OUTTA HEYAH! GO HAVE FUN!)" This was our motto thereafter.

I moved to the bedroom for a while, riding the birthing ball on top of the bed while I stared out the window. Our neighbor's sweet gum tree had lost all but a few crimson leaves that blew in the bright air amidst the last of the hanging sweet gum balls ("soot gremlins," as Reeve calls them in reference to TOTORO when he collects them on the street). They held my gaze steady through a number of contractions as Jordy lovingly countered each one with a firm grip on my hips behind, then noted the contraction for the record. It was so quiet. Just a late fall day at home.

12:20 - 1:02mins. 12:26 - 1:20m. At 12:28 Maria texted: "Just in karate until 1:30p." Me back: "Great! Do you want to head over here between 3-4?" "Yes." 12:31 - 1:20m. 12:37 - 1:15pm. Somewhere in here, Joan called. She was on the sidewalk out front.

Joan and Jamie tiptoed in. Joan sat with me in the den, listening as much as watching, while Jamie set up their impressive kit -- from gauze to oxygen tank -- in our bedroom. Jordy presented the log to Joan, who smiled kindly. "I guess we don't need to keep this any more?" he surmised. She shook her head. The last entry was 12:42 - 1:20mins. Jordy brought coffee upstairs for Joan and Jamie; they had been with the other laboring woman since 5am, though she had not yet delivered. Joan had called in another midwife to stay with her, as the labor was very slow to sputtering, a VBAC. Not easy. Expected it to be long. Thought we would be done in plenty of time for her to go back. As Jordy and I tried to plan when to bring the boys home in relation to Baby's arrival, Joan said she guessed our baby could be here by 3-4 o'clock. Jordy couldn't believe it would be so soon. I tuned out the predictions, not wanting the pressure of estimated arrival times one way or the other. Always I felt aware that this would be my last labor and it felt so good to let it be what it would be.

Sometime between 1 and 2pm I decided to get in the bathtub. Jordy helped draw the water and we arranged the pillow I'd bought for the occasion. The aromatherapy candle went unlit but gave a subtle spicy smell. The rushes were getting stronger now, and my need to rest in between was greater. The warm water helped. When they came on, I lifted myself and put my head on a towel over the tub's side. They were growing more acute. Ali arrived, a gentle smile and warm eyes greeting me at the door. She whispered, "How you doing?" She took Jordy's place for sometime by my side -- don't know how long, can't really remember what we talked about. I just remember how quiet and gentle and comforting her presence was.

Then Jordy returned and I wanted to get out. He helped me put on the blue bathrobe that Gary Lehmann gave Kristin for Mother's Day before Katie was born. I wrapped my arms around Jordy's neck as a rush came on in the bathroom and hung from him, swaying, while he wrapped his arms around my lower back to give support. This felt very good. Throughout Jordy whispered words of encouragement -- that I was doing such a great job, that he would be here soon. Through the crack in the door I saw Joan come up the stairs. She poked her head in to ask if that one felt "pushy" -- my vocalization sounded different to her. That was Joan's Jedi moment. Yes, it was the first inkling of an urge to push. She monitored the fetal heart rate again as she did throughout. Steady at 115-120bpm, as he was throughout the whole pregnancy.

It must have been between 2 and 3pm now, and I wanted to go back to the den on the ball. The sun was behind us now and the room was bathed in gentle blue light. On my knees, gazing out at the wide blue sky, helped by the music, memories poured through me. As Annie Lenox sang, "What do you see, on the horizon? Why do the white gulls call?...And all will turn, to silver glass. A light on the water. All souls pass into the west..." I was brought back to Venice beach with baby Duncan, Jordy and mom on her 65th birthday, awestruck at the sunset over the Pacific before us, hearts heavy missing Gary. Sometime later: "Little darling, it's been a long hard lonely winter... Here comes the sun..." brought me back to the days after Reeve's birth, cozy early spring, toddler Duncan waving his hands with his Dad as they made "suns" rising over newborn son Reeve, that explosive first spring in New York after our long first winter without the California sun. I cried quietly at the improbable magnificence of being here.

Up to this point, the intensity had grown gradually, reaching a peak in the bathtub that was sustained now with each contraction. At some point, Jordy had to attend to something in the hallway; without his hands on my hips, I felt a flicker of panic. I called to him. He rushed to my haunches and it felt manageable again. When I felt my brow and shoulders tense, I imagined directing my breath into those places and could feel them let go. I drew on the images I'd stored up -- the full moon of December 1, the round open pendant of my necklace -- to imagine my cervix opening with each contraction. I talked to Baby, reassured him that there was nothing to fear, that we were all here to ease his passage and would greet him on the other side.

And that's when we reached escape velocity. It felt as if I rode a wave up and up and... Just didn't come down. There was no active pain, just a sense of my body, our bodies, in a firm hold, attaining orbit on our rubber birthing ball. Everything was round and open and quiet. Floating in space.

A midwife once referred to the moment before pushing as "the rock and the hard place," the scariest place Mama will go to on her journey, especially when she's given birth before and knows the fierceness that lies ahead. In my previous labors I had the irrational but tempting desire to stay right here, pregnant forever. This was the moment I specifically prepared for the third time around, the place I most wanted to go without fear...

Eyes open I saw bare trees dancing in an infinite blue sky. Eyes closed I saw colorful points of light suspended in darkness. It was so peaceful I thought the actual birth might never happen -- that I had prepared too well and had gone someplace so far beyond that we could never make our way back.

And it was just then that I felt a fullness in the birth canal and knew Baby's arrival was imminent.

I asked Jordy to ask Ali to call Magdalena. It was suddenly clear to me that I wanted the big boys with us. Jordy supported me standing again. Knowing now where the birth would happen, Joan and Jamie managed to transport the whole operation from our bedroom into the den, slipping a shower curtain under Jordy's and my feet with us hardly noticing. Wiley had stayed at my side all day, so I asked Joan if he could stay. Whatever we wanted. So Wiley kept his post on the couch.

I swayed with Jordy to the music, making infinity signs with my hips. He kept his hands always supporting my back as I rested my head on his chest, which felt so good. Over Jordy's shoulder, I noticed Maria in the corner with the video camera -- when did she slip in the room, that ninja girl? My groans rumbled from a deeper place in my body as Baby's head filled my lower body. I remember saying to Jordy, "I just want to open and let him go now."

Moments later, that's what happened, so quickly that I almost didn't get my underpants off in time. First came the SPLASH as my water broke and hit the shower curtain. We all laughed - amniotic fluid soaked Jordy's jeans! I asked for the boys and someone (Ali?) told me they were on their way, but I knew now I couldn't wait. Baby started to come down. Like a good quarterback Joan knelt down, ready to catch while Jordy remained standing to hold me up. Ali stood silently in the doorway. Maria was tucked in her corner. Joan encouraged me to slow down so as not to tear, but between my roars I said there was no way I could possibly slow this train now. I reached down between pushes and felt his warm hard head between my legs. Can you imagine? I still cannot. Incredible. Another push or two and out came his head. Joan carefully supported him. "Cord is clear." (Could he see my happy toes yet? At 37 weeks I had them painted bright red to be a cheerful welcome sign for him!) One more groan and out he slithered. 4:08pm, December 8, 2009. "You can reach down and hold your baby now," Joan said lifting him to my arms. The song playing at the moment of his birth was, by ridiculous chance, our prenatal yoga love song! May the longtime sun, shine upon you, and the pure light within you, guide your way on...

Tucker cried vigorously in my arms, instantly turning bright pink. His body was so beautiful and big -- we didn't need to scale to tell us he was bigger than his two brothers at birth. He blinked up at us, the soft twilight falling in the den still brighter than the world from which he had just arrived. Aunt Robin would later say it best -- he looked "familiar," but very much his own person. His crinkled brow gave him an air of seriousness, an age beyond his seconds of life. Joan wrapped his back with a receiving blanket my mother used to wrap me forty years ago. Jordy sat beside us and we embraced each other. I've never felt so close to another human being.

Moments later Duncan and Reeve arrived with Magdalena, who later told me they heard his first cry as they walked in the door downstairs. They had stopped off at Connecticut Muffin for a hot chocolate to await further instructions, then packed it up and came home as soon as they got word. Reeve came straight to our side. Duncan took in the situation, then joined us. It was a happy jumble of kids and baby and first efforts to breastfeed and dog. Ali and Magdalena then took the boys down to watch "Totoro" while I prepared to pass the after-birth. Duncan returned to see the placenta, which he had read about in a storybook about birth. Joan lifted the amniotic sack with her hands -- "This was the little tent where your brother lived for nine months." He was very interested in the strong rubbery umbilical cord.

My guardian angels delivered apples and pears sliced on a platter. Vitamin Water arrived by straw to my mouth. Night fell as we weighed him -- 8 pounds, 8 ounces -- and Joan checked all his parts. He smelled so good, earthy traces of vernix on his head. Joan put on his first diaper and a pair of zebra socks Aunt Robin had given Duncan as a baby. Jordy took him while Joan and Jamie gave me a few stitches in the bedroom and gave me a shower. Then, after a few instructions and plans for a follow-up visit, their gear all seemed to fly back into their bags, they opened their umbrellas, and like Mary Poppins, they disappeared with the wind. (I later learned they returned to their other laboring mom, who delivered the next morning at 5am.)

The guardian angels fed the big boys downstairs while Jordy and I made phone calls to family. Later Maria gave the boys a bath; I remember them all laughing -- what was she saying to them? In P.J.s with wet heads, we five gathered again on the couch in the den where Mama and Papa toasted with a Chimay Red beer (thank you, Leeanna Varga) while the big boys cooed over their new baby. At bedtime, Jordy took Tucker again so I could read the boys stories and we sang our goodnight songs. Another day in the life.

Once they were asleep I went to the kitchen where Ali and Maria had warmed the last of Sunny's lasagna for me. By 9 o'clock we said our goodbyes and they too flew away. When I went up to bed I found Maria had left a pitcher of water and a plate of fruit on my night stand. That night I drank and ate it all. I was so ecstatic I couldn't sleep a wink.

Today is April 28th, nearly five months later and two months since I began to record this story. Baby Tucker is napping in the crib. The cherry blossoms have nearly all fallen, the daffodils are long gone, and the leaves have returned to the sweet gum tree, gracing the sidewalk with shade as the sun gathers strength. Tucker smiles and giggles. On April 3 at 10 o'clock pm he flipped himself from back to tummy, a trick he now performs the instant you lay him anywhere. This week he discovered the jumpy seat where he can practice bipedalism and propel himself to thrilling heights. At his four-month appointment he shocked the pediatrician by "tripoding," sitting up -- a six-month milestone; we credit Duncan Green, Tucker's personal trainer. Reeve brings Tucker his little stuffed puppy dog "Douglas," which Tucker can now reach for and grab, and reads him "Dora" books. The babysitters affectionately call the Baby of Unusual Size "Baby Gordo" (chubby baby). The winter is a happy blur of snowstorms, visits from loved ones, trips to Arizona and New Hampshire, and Reeve's 3rd birthday party. Tucker and I find our way back to that timeless place when we sit quietly and nurse, but more often the lights of the universe stream past us in bright ribbons. We are back in Time. But everything is changed. Pieces of myself long broken are mended. I am grateful beyond measure for this little guy. Our family unit feels complete, as if the last passenger got on board and we are off...