Charlotte Lucia’s Birth Story

Charlotte – French, for petite

Lucia - Roman, for light…after Great Oma

Grover - for Us!

I stare at you while trying to write & only tears come, the best ones.

I can’t believe I’m writing this, but our birth story was uneventful, unlike all our others & that’s exactly what we wanted.

I had talked to you days earlier, saying you pick if you want your own day or a vaginal birth, & that you are welcome to come earlier & Mama will try her best. If you wanted to be born on Grandma’s birthday, the C-section would be the safest route.

I said goodbye to the kids the night before & they wouldn’t let me go. That was so so hard, as they understood Mommy had to get cut open but they were not to be scared & they would see me soon.

I took a bath with my mother’s blessing salts, making sure to save just enough for the six-week mark. I meditated, snapped some last minute pictures, & wrote words to say to you. It all felt so final.

In the morning I could not wake up. I started texting everyone, but then really suddenly just wanted to spend one more day fully with you (which is what I would be getting). I couldn’t eat but had tea & a bunch of mints. I decided to do one last yoga, to move & thank my body. 

I spoke with your daddy on the way to the hospital, too nauseous to look at my phone. We arrived, greeted by a dear friend who has been with us on this journey. I got dressed & read my birth affirmations. I couldn’t even listen to music. I was so ready to meet you, babe. My doula came in & gave me a hand massage, relaxing me, bringing me back to the moment where we would meet our baby. 

Now I’m recounting it all, not wanting to miss a single thing.

Your little bird-like squaks & smiles, your peace. All the things I can’t wait to do with you & how all the things all at once don’t matter because I’ve got you, just as I felt with all my other babes, trying to explain to them that this feeling of love & admiration & soaking in how little they are has always been the same.

I think about how taking in this last baby puts more pressure on it all somehow, knowing this has to last me forever. It does & it will. Nothing beats this. And yet our life together does. I think about how I can do this forever, how it never gets old, cuddling you.

(I’m currently way too emotional to be writing to you.)

I walked myself independently into that OR room, each step thinking:

My anxiety doesn’t define me.

I am stronger than I think.

My feelings are allowed to be here.

I am in control.

I have survived this before and I’ll survive it again.

I am enough for my babies.

I sat on the table and didn’t flinch when the spinal went in. It all felt so symbolic. Phillip with his arm on my shoulder. I could feel it & knew he was there. He’s always been with me, from the start, but this time he really was. It was all the encouragement I needed.

We were actually on time, but the doctors weren’t. I guess it’s strange to be on time in the hospital. The most bizarre moment for me came when they said they were cutting at 12:37 & I should meet you, baby, by 12:47. You were out at 12:44.

I had a brief thought about all the scar tissue they would need to cut through & how that may take longer, a great releasing, opening me up. An old wound that would actually heal me all back together again.

(The time you were born has meaning. The angel number 1244 “reveals a time of personal development & understanding. If you are seeing this number, your guardian angels want you to spend time reflecting on your true purpose in life & what you need to do to move forward on your journey.”)

I felt such pressure on my chest. I apologized. I was scared. I couldn’t breathe. This time it wasn’t my heart stopping but the moment taking my breath away. I remember when they pulled you out, how I sincerely felt like a weight was lifted physically & metaphorically. It felt so right.

They flung you over the drape, just for a second, as you were still attached to the placenta (my OB is a bit of a goofball, like me). Phillip was excited to know that babies aren’t as fragile as he thought if doctors can flip them around. All I could see was your little fist, “I’m here Mama, I’m triumphant.” I heard your sweet little cry & the student captured that for us.

The doctor who helped us with Kaia also held you, our baby girl, lifting your hand out of the way to reveal . . . girl! I was completely shocked. And I shocked myself with how quickly I was not upset but in such awe, as always.

I remember discussing names with Phillip (Charles is a Grover family name) while they stitched me up. How special it was to see & talk to Phillip during this experience & most of all to be holding my girl, who would not cry. This worried me, but you were pleasantly pink. You were just so content to be here. I stressed so hard, how I wanted skin- to-skin, & I got it right there in the OR, my needs met! 

I could see flashbacks of holding Kaia, & now to hold Charlotte, how liberating it all felt that this was us & our journey.

I remember apologizing to Phillip that I hadn’t given him a boy, & to my son that I couldn’t give him a brother. Briefly the loss of Jude came to my forefront. But I did give you a brother . . .

This journey has been transformative, growing me & us. It’s all spun in these moments. And then seeing my babies with our new baby, & her petite light shining all over us, I realized it’s actually pure bliss.

It has been exceptionally warm for February in Canada, and I know Charlotte brought the light, though we brought her home in a light snow. I sing to you, “Here comes the sun, little Charlotte” and remember how I used to sing to Case, “We are all okay, because I’ve got you, babe” to the tune of “Dashing through the Snow.” Then it dawned on me that I had stopped singing. Now I am singing again.

I got all the things I wanted: skin-to-skin contact, being shown the baby over the drape, chill physicians joking & giving me comfort, hearing & recording the first cry, keeping the gender a surprise, getting all the pain meds I needed, & just being together as a family. Phillip loved how slick it was to just go in & get a baby, no drama, & this felt like something I could give him & us.

As I shot off texts, my hospital wifi was sketchy at best & would not send the photos when I sent IT’S A . . . . So I came across a bit of a butthead, as I had plans of not telling family what you were & the only way they could find out was by changing your diaper. My best friends knew which fingers I held up in a photo for boy or girl, as I painted them blue and pink. And lastly, I told many that “Charlie was here,” continuing the wait for the gender reveal, as that could be a boy or girl!

The kids absolutely adore you, Charlotte Lucia, running downstairs and asking, “Is Baby Charlotte still here?” Yes, I say, we get to keep her, and wow, she’s soo tiny! Case feeds you with syringes, like a bird, & must cuddle you every morning. Maelie dresses you for the day, Ayda puts your shoes on in case you go outside. The kids love calling you Charlotte, as it is like royalty or a princess, they say.

An Empowered Birth, that is what I had. I’m a bit sore & battered, but what Mama isn’t. It doesn’t have to be a vaginal birth to be empowering. I reclaimed my C-sections. Maybe we would have had more babies if it hadn’t been so hard, as C-sections can also limit the number of kids you can have. And yet, we have more than we ever thought possible.

So to my dearest Charlotte Lucia . . . You were born today. On this peaceful and glorious day. And out of the window I catch a glimpse of the sparrow in the maple tree, at the exact moment that it flies away, off into the great big world…with such purpose!