Welcome, Capa: The Home Birth Story of Our Son During the First Snow
Apollo Fields | Lifestyle Photography | Home Birth with Gaia Midwives | Northport, NY
Welcome, Capa: The Home Birth Story of Our Son During the First Snow of the Year
I watched the moonlit blizzard from my living room window, trying desperately to get a couple hours of sleep before the midwives arrived. My lungs felt shriveled and dry, unable to expand my chest with each breath. Just then a pair of headlights slowed to a stop in front of our house, illuminating the whirling snowfall in its high beams. As I walked upstairs to put on my ski jacket and pants, I told Heather as she came out of the darkened bathroom, “the midwives are here.”
That’s the first moment that it felt real. That Heather and I were about to have a baby. I met our first midwife, Ashley, halfway down the driveway as I shoveled out a pathway. As she went inside to tend to Heather in early labor, my chest became tighter and tighter with every load of snow I heaved into the street. I’d like to say that I was out in the cold clearing my mind but to be honest I was just doing what I had to.
I had to clear a path for the midwives, their assistants, and our doula to safely reach our front door. I had to sit on the floor, watching as Heather writhed in pain laying on blankets on the living room rug. I had to let her interlace her fingers on the back of my neck, clench and thrust my head into her collarbone when she went to stand during transition. I had to sit by her side as she screamed and pushed Capa out of her and into a warm pool on December 17 next to the Christmas tree.
The entire labor, front-to-back lasted around 24 hours. The early hours of the day were dark and uncertain, but once daylight emerged the comfort of a warm home in winter shone through the frosted windows. Our second midwife, Michele, arrived in the early morning, and we began to hash out a game plan as I fried a few eggs over toasted bagels. Over the next few hours I napped, Ashley left, and Michelle guided Heather through the ebbs and flows of her contractions.
Around 2 PM Michele did something I would never expect. She left. She knew that Heather was a couple hours away from transitioning and jokingly said, “the way he went in is the way he’s gonna come out,” on her way out the door. Then Heather and I just laid there. On blankets on the living room floor like we were camping in a tent. We stared at one other and just sank into the moment. We were right there, and all Heather’s body needed was a little push. And then we kissed.
The next couple hours things ratcheted up rather quickly. Heather requested the entirety of DAMN. by Kendrick Lamar to be played from front-to-back. And then told me to turn it up. Heather began to go inward, working through the layers of pain in her mind, reverberating them across various octaves with her vocal chords. She seemed to be going deeper and deeper into her thoughts with every contraction. Our doula, Nancy, could not have arrived at a better time. She began coaching me to comfort Heather as Michele gave the cue to begin filling the tub.
The last centimeter of dilation violently yanked Heather’s body and mind over and over again. I cried as I watched her suffering. I know how strong she is and that made it even worse. At the same time I could also hear a tinge of positivity—a purpose behind her every bellow and moan—like she knew that every ounce of her pain was productive.
When Heather made it to the tub, she ‘ooed’ her way into the warm water. She felt the weight of Capa lighten as she kneeled, settling her forearms onto the tub’s inflatable walls. I sat a couple of feet in front of her face, again, watching as she pushed through the pain. I admired the fact that she faced wave after wave and kept showing up to face the pain head on. I passed her glasses of water as she chugged them down and frequently replaced the cold towel she pressed against her forehead.
Right about then our friend and photographer, Cait, slinked in through the front door almost unnoticed. She rotated around the room, past Nancy, Michele, and her midwife assistant, Farah, adjusting settings as the shutter on her camera fluttered. I kept my eyes on Heather. Every scream seemed to increase in volume and intensity as Michele and Nancy coached her to exhale down through her pelvis. I sat watching, astonished at her strength. “You can break your own water if you want, Heather, it’s kind of in the way—but I will not do that unless you want me to,” Michele said softly. Heather then gathered a breath, reached down, broke her own effing water, and pushed Capa into the world.
The first look on her face was surprise, like she couldn’t believe she did it. She says she didn’t need to see his face, immediately pulling him up to her chest, because she knew what he looked like. She held him the way a child holds a pet when they’re upset, clenching them with an almost desperate love. Given all that we’ve been through, the first word that came to Heather’s mind when we later talked about her birth experience was—healing.
We waited 17 minutes before clamping the umbilical cord to make sure that Capa got all the nutrients he could from the placenta. I ceremoniously cut the cord and after a few minutes of cathartic reflection, Heather stood up, got wrapped in a towel, and casually walked upstairs (I was so caught in the moment that I didn’t realize how badass this was). We climbed into bed together, staring at Capa as I opened a beer in celebration. Michelle followed shortly after to look over Heather and stitched up a second-degree tear.
We cried as we took pictures, and Cait snapped a few before heading out. We laid there in silence as we heard Michele, Farah, and Nancy shuffling downstairs, cleaning and packing up. After a few last measurements, the midwives left and Nancy came up with some oatmeal and tea. With the wind whistling against the windows, we cuddled together, a warm family on a cold winter night.
