BENJAMIN OAK DA SILVA CASTRO
March 21, 2022 (first day of spring!)
4:42 a.m.
7 lbs. 4 oz., 21.5 inches
Born at home
I had a difficult time sitting down to write Benjamin’s birth story because I did not know where to start or how to include all of the details leading up to his birth. From the decisions I made right after James was born that led me on this HBAC (homebirth after cesarean) trajectory, to the gifted necklace I held in my hands days before delivery that was made of unique beads representing each of the women in my life who supported and loved me. I attempted a few times to include it all, but it just wasn’t coming together. So I wrote this birth story directly to Benjamin instead. It may be vague or too figurative in some ways, but it has captured it all for me. Just come and talk about the details with me in person. :) Benjamin’s actual birth isn’t a long complicated story. It was a true culmination of what I had learned from the previous three births and how that became a stepping stone to a deeper learning. I hope I can express the redemptive experience his birth was for me. It was unforgettable–which is very on theme for a Castro birth story.
My dear baby boy,
Your name is Benjamin Oak. I gave you the name Oak as a reminder of so many things—nature’s own “trees of life” that first connected your body to mine in the womb and that now nurtures you with mother’s milk through infancy, a reminder of the divine privilege and stewardship I hold as a gatekeeper to this world that is symbolized by one of the two trees in Eden, the image of a tree I drew with pastels that came to my mind as I healed and prepared for your birth, nature’s way of teaching me about the seasons in my own life and that your arrival would bring back spring and signs of living again, and the lesson I’ve learned that “in trees and [mothers] good timbers grow” for “good timber doesn’t grow with ease, the stronger the wind the stronger the trees.” My pregnancy with you made me trust in my roots, and not feel weakened by my scarred and weathered trunk. It made me more aware than ever before of the sacred nature of motherhood, pregnancy and childbirth. I could feel my strength and was keenly aware of yours. I know you will stand tall and steady one day, my Benjamin Oak, and I will look up to you. Here is your birth story:
It was Sunday, almost a week after your due date, and that evening we went to our good friends, the Merkley’s house for dinner. We had cheeseburgers with all of the best toppings, and I was so disappointed when I felt my appetite leave me and I couldn’t finish my food. It was such a shame. While we were there, I started to feel some sporadic contractions. After dinner I was chatting with Bianca in the kitchen when a contraction hit me hard enough that I had to breathe through it. I realized then that true labor had probably begun. This was it!
We went home and, while Papai put the kids to bed, I stayed downstairs to sit on my birthing ball and relax. Immediately after I sat down on the ball a huge contraction came and I couldn’t move. I tried to stand up and my whole lower body felt frozen in place. I knew then that if I stayed downstairs much longer then I probably wouldn’t make it upstairs to where everything was set up for the birth. I called Grandma who was in her room upstairs and asked for her help. I held onto her shoulders and shuffled/waddled my way up the stairs. Of course, after watching me and Grandma awkwardly form a conga line up the stairs, the big kids came running to us and asked if you were coming. I told them no, and to get back to bed. There was no way they’d go to sleep if I had told them the truth. I didn’t mind if they were there to witness your birth, but I had no idea how long labor would be. I told them I would let them know when it was time.
I got to my room, laid down in bed and texted my midwife, Gengi. It was around 8 p.m. I was reluctant to tell her this was “it” but I thought it would be a good idea to give her a heads up before it got too late. She said to text her if I felt a shift in my emotions. I felt fairly calm and like I could get some rest before things ramped up. A strange and funny thing happened—I was laying down, checking Instagram as one does these days, and a video came up of someone deep-cleaning a car. It was so soothing and satisfying and it kept my mind off of the contractions, so I went on to watch video after video of people deep-cleaning cars, rugs, etc. I haven’t watched one of those videos since, but apparently it was just what I needed during early labor.
At midnight the intensity of the contractions started to pick up and I started to panic. I felt fear wash over me. Oh no, I remember this pain, I thought to myself. There is no turning back now. This was the shift in my emotions Gengi was referring to. I sent her a text and she said she would start heading my way. Her ETA was about 2:45 a.m. because she lived far away. Papai began filling up the birthing tub, knowing I was going to need that soon enough to manage the pain. At some point James had crawled into our bed. I looked at his wild, blonde head of hair and his round, sleepy face. Soon he was no longer going to be my baby boy. It’s always shocking how quickly they seem to grow up when a new baby joins the family. I always grieve that change.
The birthing tub was filled with warm water, the room was lit only by candlelight and I had my labor playlist playing softly in the background. Papai took James into Grandma’s room to sleep. From that moment until I held you in my arms, my eyes were mostly closed. I had officially entered “Labor Land.” The next thing I knew I felt a gentle hand rubbing my foot. Gengi had arrived. She spoke softly and worked quietly around me as she laid out her supplies around the room. Her assistant midwife, Jenna was with her. They helped me into the birthing tub and the warm water dulled the pain and instantly relaxed my muscles for a moment. The pain from the contractions was intense and I tried my best to breathe through them. The midwives helped me move into different positions, rubbed and pressed on my lower back and hips through the contractions and whispered affirmations. There were no cervical checks, no unwanted interventions, no “policies'' or demands—just support. I felt encircled and buoyed up by the Divine feminine. Papai knelt next to the tub, held my hand and pressed a cold washcloth against my forehead. Although they were all quietly cheering me on, I felt like I was fighting against the pain and losing. The contractions kept coming, closer and closer together and I dreaded each one. Gengi suggested I get onto my knees and lay my arms over the side of the tub. My hips ached so badly. I really wanted to move but I couldn't. I didn’t think I could take one more contraction. I felt the urge to push, so I would, but it didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere. Suddenly I was hit by a wave of nausea, warned everyone that I felt like I was going to throw up and then I did so into a bowl Gengi had quickly handed to Papai. I knew that was a good sign. I was in transition! Gengi put a few drops of flower essence into my mouth. It made the awful taste of vomit dissipate and invigorated me. Just minutes after, I felt my waters break and that was another sign this labor was coming to an end. If it hadn’t been such a struggle for me to manage the pain, I wouldn’t have believed labor was almost over. I continued to push, quite vocally and with an intense desire to get my baby out. My other two babies that were born vaginally came out very quickly—just 2 or 3 pushes—so I expected that to be the same or faster with you. But it seemed like you were taking your sweet time. Pushing was still relatively fast, but I had never felt a baby's head crowning for more than a few pushes and it was very painful and frustrating. Later, Gengi told me that one of your shoulders was stuck and she had to help it out. Finally, one last push and you were out. Gengi placed you in my arms, she rubbed your back vigorously and I watched your body and spirit unite as you took your first breath.
There is nothing like the flood of relief when my baby is finally in my arms. Papai happened to start filming right before the last push and he caught all of it on camera. Watching it over again, the instant jump from being on the edge of despair to total elation is palpable. Papai said he felt it, too. He said it felt like triumph—a victory over all that had come before. It was all worth it. I stared at you as I held you with me in the birthing tub for a while, with the placenta floating beside us in a bowl (our regular popcorn bowl, that I now called “the placenta bowl”). When it was time to get out, my midwives helped me and you out and wrapped us in warm towels. They walked us over and laid us down into my bed. It was absolutely glorious to be in my own bed. Even though I was shaking uncontrollably—probably because of the post-labor shakes and the change in temperature coming out of the water—I felt so happy and comfortable. I was riding that post-labor high. We then proceeded to cut the cord (I can’t remember who cut it! Maybe me?), Gengi stamped the placenta onto a large piece of paper to keep as a print, and then she held it up and explained the different parts. (That placenta is still in our freezer, waiting to be planted under an oak tree for you wherever our new home will be.) Then, for the next couple of hours, I laid in bed holding you on my chest with our beloved Papai beside us. We chatted with Gengi and Jenna while they cleaned up the room. We watched the sunrise through the tall maple trees outside the windows. It reminded me of a line from a song in my labor playlist, “all will be well in the morning.” All was well. One by one, each of the children woke up and wandered up to our room to find a delightful surprise waiting for them. When all of my chickadees were piled into our bed at last, Gengi weighed and measured you while I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Gengi and Jenna got the room into better shape than before the birth, made sure I was well and comfortable, left herbal tinctures and homeopathic remedies next to my bed for recovery, and loved on you and me just a little bit more before they left. Every day for the next few days and then weekly, Gengi came back and sat at the foot of my bed to take care of us. She is an angel and I will treasure her forever and ever.
I do believe it matters to God how children come into this world and I did everything I could to hold reverence for your journey to life on earth.
