Eat, Drink and Be Content - My Birth Story

The gray area of when labor starts is rarely heralded by a neat "5 min apart, lasting 1 minute, for at least 1 hour", otherwise known as 511, but, shhh, don't tell my midwifery clients.  As a midwife, I can tell it in the puffed faces of my beautiful mothers, their mental desperation and physical distress at a state that is starting to feel timeless. As a mother, I recognize it in myself when I start to burn things in the kitchen, consistently, each meal is somehow derailed, for days.  My mind is incredibly present, but not.  It is the outward manifestation of the internal contradiction, in the the invariable discomforts of late pregnancy, I somehow find myself yearning for escape though the rhythmic pain of contractions.

I have just felt three contractions in a half hour.  They squeeze my middle, forcing me to sway my hips and breathe.  The baby even pauses its passes at my ribs, seeming to wonder at the new sensations too.  I call my husband at work, wanting him to be on alert in case he has to come quick.  The kitchen is inside out with half finished projects, coconut date balls need to be rolled and dipped in coconut, salsa needs to be chopped and bottled, there's milk cooling for yogurt, beans bubbling for tonight's enchiladas, and a sink full of the evidence.  It's at least an hour or two of work, and my labors rarely last that long.  My mind is swimming between before and after. Now, I'm a pregnant mother preparing her family for her postpartum rest. After, I'm on the other side of this great battle called labor.

I've been advised by many to listen to Surah Maryam (the Chapter of Mary) during labor.  It is what fits right now.  I plug in my phone to the speakers.  "Kaf Ha Ya Ain Sad" rings out of the dainty speakers and reverberates through my entire being on such a physical level, that I  grab the counters edge and sink down to the kitchen floor.  The soothing words and rhythm continue to wash over me melding the before and after of this fragile expectant mother.  I am reminded that if I die, I am a martyr, receiving the same spiritual status as a holy warrior.  I weep for a forgiveness I didn't know needed forgiving. It feels like the shedding of a self, one that needs to yield in order for a momentous event to occur.

My son overhears the weeping and asks, "Are you having contractions?"  Yes, I answer him, noting mentally, that no, I haven't felt them since I called my husband half an hour ago, but there is no other explanation for my unraveling in the kitchen, so I do what most mothers do and opt for expediency.  I hear him tell his sister that the baby is coming.  I am once again grounded by my sweet children.  The dates need to be pitted.  I hit 'translate' on the Qur'an app on my phone.  The ayah (verse) that is playing at that moment, that pops into my phone's screen, is like a Divine answer to my misgivings, "So eat and drink and be contented".  My heart swells with belief, and I am back on the staircase weeping.  Allah is al-Hayy, the Living, I am not alone in this undertaking.  The kitchen can wait, I finish listening to the surah before resuming my work.   I imagine that this is what a soldier feels like before battle, humbled ego, and steadied heart.

After having three labors, there are some individual patterns that can be etched out.  I can now say that not only does my water break before my labors, but that it does so at the beginning of the morning prayer.  It's an odd pattern, but I like it.

I'm lying in bed as my husband is rousing for fajr, when a contraction hits me so hard, I reach out for his arm.  And then with a great release, the soothing warmth of amniotic fluid gushes between my legs, a message from the other side, my babies habitat for the past nine months revealed.  Instantly,  I am shivering and moaning through contractions.  It's odd to be a midwife and a mother in labor.  The contrast between the head and the heart is somehow clearer.  I'm noting from a distant place, that I am in transition, right now.  I tell my husband to call the midwife, but tell her not to come, the heart is wanting privacy.  I am playing that mind game that mothers in labor play.  We tell ourselves that this is only the beginning in order to have mental stamina for the end, and in some ways, labor really is only the beginning.

The morning prayers are said, and we are descending the staircase so these moans of "Ooooopppppeeennn" do not wake the sleeping children.  By the time we make it to our living room, the birth room, I am nauseous and hot.  I want a wet washcloth, and a woman's knowing touch.  My beloved midwife lives less than a mile away.  "Call her", I tell my devoted husband who is fumbling with the birth tub pump.  She answers and says, I'm already on my way, did we think she was waiting for another call?  Oh midwives, the good ones capture that difficult place between knowing and unknowing with such skill and wit.

I am sending each contraction into circles of movement, from hips to cervix.  I can't imagine not circling my hips. "Ya Latif", O Gentle One, I mutter weaving this sentiment into these circles.  I am connected to my Muslim sisters from Afghanistan to Senegal, who have uttered this Divine name through their contractions for centuries.  They become my companions through these giant, urgent waves.  I can do this too.

The birth tub is inflated, but dry, as I am feeling the first urges to push.  There is no time to fill it.  I have never done this without the tub and I am nervous.   How do I push outside of the tub?   The answer soon becomes clear, you just do.  Twenty minutes later, my nine pound baby boy is born.  We have named him Ya Sin, a name without direct meaning, yet fraught with Divine mysteries and meanings.  It is what I felt throughout this pregnancy, and the earliest twinges of  labor, a knowing beneath the surface, that if trusted and sought, will open up worlds of understanding.  May Allah bless him, and all babies and mothers everywhere. Our children truly are here to teach us, from their conception, to adulthood.  I am grateful to learn.

Post Note: We wanted to say a special thank you to our other stellar midwife Lael, who not only made the birth hours before leaving on vacation, but brought us a dozen eggs from her chicken to nourish us and continue the cycle.

What Gets the Baby In...A Birth Story

"What gets the baby in, gets the baby out"

-Ina May Gaskin - founder of modern American midwifery

"...sexuality is a whole.  The same hormones are involved in the different episodes of sexual life such as intercourse, childbirth, and lactation....The final phase of each sexual event is always an 'ejection reflex': sperm ejection reflex, foetus ejection reflex, milk ejection reflex. 

-Michel Odent from The Farmer and the Obstetrician

I was awoken at around 2 am by a phone call from Kim (you can read her awesome rendition of giving birth here)  Expecting her second baby any day, I was waiting for her phone call.  

"I couldn't sleep so I had sex.  After we were done, my contractions started coming every five minutes.  I swear, I wasn't trying to bring on labor!"  Kim laughingly told me. I listened through a couple of contractions then told her to change positions, maybe try a shower and call me in half an hour to see if things slowed down, or picked up, or what.  I was thinking that things would peter out after her hormones calmed down.  Oh, how I love to be proven wrong.

My somewhat rule is that if the dad calls you during labor, it's go time.  About twenty minutes later, the phone rang.  Mike's Irish lilt turning serious told me that things were picking up and it looked like labor.  I could hear Kim moaning through a contraction in the background. Wonderful!  I told him to call the doula, and that I would get myself and my things together and head over.   

As  I was approaching the lights and wonder that is crossing the Bay Bridge in the wee hours, the doula called.  My other somewhat rule (because can birth really have rules?) is that if the doula calls, I better step on it.  Britt informed me that Kim was indeed active and that they just wanted to make sure that I was on my way.  Yes, I was, ten minutes I said.  I went as fast as feels safe over a bridge and through city streets.  

It was a lovely night to be born, a chill, crisp March evening.  Entering Kim's birth space was truly magical.  Kim is an artist. She makes each and every thing she does an act of beauty, creation, and meaning.  From our first visit her birth space and how it looked was of utmost importance to her and her husband.  She came through.  The tub had been moved into their living space. Candles, with inspiring collages and quotes from Kim's myriad friends, filled the room with love and light.  Music, which I never would have pegged as birth music, but suited the moment perfectly livened the mood.  Kim was on the bed hands and knees.  I threw my things down to say hello and have a quick listen.  As soon as I did that Kim let out a deep, sonorous yet guttural sound signalling that the power of birth was moving through her. My midwife ears heard it and I peeked at her perineum, indeed it was bulging with a soul determined to take it's place in the family, and soon!  

Kim made it clear that she wanted in the tub.  She was so relaxed and in control, yet totally surrendered. She had a vision of her birth, and she was going to make it happen if at all possible.  We moved her into the tub with the head sooo low! It was the perfect ending to a whirlwind labor.  The contractions slowed a wee bit, just in time to wake big sister.  Kim moved to hands and knees in the water.  With a couple of pushes, her son's head was out, witnessed by all in attendance, including her two year old pajama footed daughter.  I reached down to help with the body and sweep him through to mama's waiting arms.

And just like that, it was done, a circle of love completed.  Truly Kim's birth was an illustration that birth is not separate from sexuality, that it draws from it, and intimately relies on it.   It was an honor to see, and a privilege to so clearly observe a truth about women's bodies and their hormones, we are indeed vessels of love. 

Reflections of a Midwife in Ramadan

"And comparing the expanse of the world into which a man enters on death is like comparing the spaciousness of the world to the womb; only it is wider and greater"
-Al-Ghazili in The Book of Patience and Thankfulness

It's always a blessing to witness a birth, but as with everything in Ramadan, this blessing becomes manifold. This has been the year of precious Ramadan babies. They've all come with ease and grace, and many lessons to teach their midwife. In the quote above al-Ghazali says that this birth is a simile for the birth we will experience when pulled from our graves. A mother is earth, her flesh a portal transformed for another life. In tears, sweat, and joy she surrenders to life's calling and purpose; a new soul to traverse the earth.

It is an impossible thing birth. Even as I watch mothers over and over again, I am always amazed that this is how human life begins. The act of birth is a great sign from God. What we would logically call impossible, in each moment of labor becomes more and more possible. At first we see a quarter size of the head, with each contraction we see more, but then it too disappears back into the womb. This is the two-steps-forward-one-step-back dance of the second stage. Allah's power manifests itself clearly now as each witness is silently contemplating the possibility of a human emerging from such a small space. Even the mother needs a 'you can do it' at this point. Once we've given up, only then do we move forward.

Soon the prince or princess is crowning, emerging from one consciousness to the next. The attendants watch in wonder as the miracle that is about to occur pauses. With the next contraction the head spirals into Earth's pull. A graceful exhale is warranted. The mother is in awe. The midwife is honored to be of the first to lay hands on the world's newest member. It must be done with intention and clear spirit, for these new beings are impressionable. The shoulders and body emerge and a slippery body is placed on a heaving mothers chest.

The midwife can sit back now and watch from the corner. The room is still and seems to be full of angels, at least two more have just been called to duty. It took so long, yet went so fast. What we were once anticipating for months and months is now here in a matter of moments. The eyes of a child just born reveal all we need to know, aware, watchful, and knowing. As he takes in his surroundings, I wonder how we will take in our surroundings at the next phase of life. Will it be as astonishing and grand? Will there be joy or grief? What I now cannot fathom, a grave, bones, and a resurrection, will it all seem so obvious after the fact? Will I know who I am and will there be familiar souls to accompany me?

I'm not certain and apprehensive of the answers to these questions. But I do know that my perch in the birthing room again and again increases my certainty that creation is continually happening, and as uncertain as a new life after the grave may seem, each birth brings me closer to the fact that for the Creator, it is possible. It is just as possible as young mother stepping into a birth tub by herself, and emerging from it with another life. We dry them off and tuck them into bed. An ordinary miracle on a sunny Ramadan day.

What Luke Said

Home births don't always happen at home. On average around 10% of attempted home births end in the hospital. This is the story of one such birth and the feelings and raw emotion such a transfer can evoke. This acute disappointment and sense of failure is the domain of women who attempt natural birth and don't end up with one. They are the brave ones, the ones who risk, struggle, go out on a limb, and after their labor, in this case two days of it, end up in the place they had hoped to avoid. Unlike women who intend a hospital birth and well, end up with one, women who attempt a home birth and then end up in the hospital have the extra burden of processing what went 'wrong'. Another curve on the long road of motherhood.



Maceo was my client. She is an example of the intelligent and thoughtful women who choose out of hospital birth. A talented writer and warm presence, she brought joy to her pregnancy and was one of the rare women who enjoyed the pregnancy more and more as her belly swelled, all the way up to and past her due date! She will always have a special place in my heart as after my own baby was born, in her fifth month of pregnancy, she brought me delicious Cuban food and her cheery presence. We measured her belly on my couch with my two week old sleeping nearby. During her first night of contractions, I slid my sleeping daughter into the car, and drove the mile to Maceo's house, my daughter never waking the entire night. This type of shared motherhood is the glue of friendship and community. Thank you Maceo!



So without further ado, here is a re-posting from Maceo's own blog, Dripping River Water, which of course, you all must go subscribe to right now, as I'm sure there is much forthcoming mama wisdom from this source! And welcome to the sweetest Omar!

There is a table in the lobby. It is long and wooden positioned right below a big mirror. There people leave things they no longer want: old fax machines, magazines, sneakers, books. I am the resident manager and this leaving of things annoys me only when no one takes it. I am left to throw away these items. Things that could have easily been given as a donation, somewhere else, not in the lobby of my building. There was a pocket sized New Testament once. I picked it up. This is a book I couldn’t throw out, I couldn’t leave it on the sidewalk, I couldn’t give it to a random person. I had to keep it and for a year it lived between my Moroccan Arabic Phrasebook and El diccionario de sinonimos y antonimos bought in Venezuela when I was there in 1996.

My son is now 5 weeks old. He has lived his days between arms of those who love him. I have only been away from him minutes at a time, missing him and calling my mami to see how he is doing. Yesterday I went for a walk with my friend. I left my mami with 5 ozs of my milk. I gave her instructions and hoped that it wouldn’t be too hard for either of them. The sun was out. Its rays hit my toes. There was a chill in shady areas. I was afraid to catch a cold. I thought of myself confined in my bedroom pumping milk, sweating and sick, not able to see my son.

We went to Arizmendi. I was treated to pizza and a root beer sitting outside. I watched the beautiful people of Oakland pass by. I saw the mamas pushing the strollers or carrying their babies on their backs. I saw the dogs. The endless amount of dogs take over the sidewalk. I wondered if my skin would darken sitting outside of Arizmendi. I have been home for weeks looking out the living room windows at the trees and the birds. The root beer was good. It became my new favorite. There on the table was the cap. It had writing. In the inside it read, Luke 1:37. I thought the root beer bottling was more hipster than religious. Or maybe it was both.

For the past five weeks I have only written in my head. I write books and plays while I nurse my son in his sleep. I wish that the words would leave my mind and walk unto the page. Any page. Somewhere else. But the words don’t. They are locked away and I wonder if I will be able to write. Then I read stories of writers who have shared similar nights. Perhaps not nursing their sons but still in bed writing words on the walls with their pupils.

For the past five weeks I have begun learning what it is to be a mother. I have learned what it is to remain still, to be totally dependent. There is a scar above my bikini line. It is black and sometimes it is sore. All throughout my pregnancy I was pleased not to have any stretch marks. Instead I got a scar where they pulled my baby out. That scar reminds me of my imperfections and my failures.

I wonder sometimes why I couldn’t give birth at home. Sometimes I have a hard time completing things. The end is always so hard. I go through my over fifty hours of labor at home and four days in the hospital. I try to figure out what exactly went wrong. I know everything is God’s will but somehow I feel at a loss. I wonder if somewhere in back of my mind I was too scared to finish the job. I couldn’t give birth naturally in a birthing tub, in my kitchen because it meant I actually had to complete something. I needed help. Like heavy drugs to soothe me, to make me relax, to actually fall asleep. I went to the hospital, a place I still don’t want to give birth in again. They helped me. I had sweet nurses who gave me more pillows and filled my water bottle. I knew that with a touch of button someone would be at my side. So the whole time I had to not be upset. I had to take everything in stride because I had my baby in my arms. And if I got frustrated at the nurses constantly coming in and asking me the same questions, at them grabbing my breasts without asking me anything to see if my milk was coming out, at my son being picked up all hours of the night to be weighed, I would have made it worse for myself and I would have been ungrateful. I still have to write about that. All of that. But I am afraid that it will make me cry.

On my bedside table there is a tube of Barq’s root beer lip balm. I don’t like that root beer but I like the taste on my lips. I put it on last night before getting into bed. Then I remembered. Luke 1:37. I went to the living room to the shelf where the pocket size New testament lived. I took it into bed. My husband perplexed. I have not read the Qur’an in weeks and here I was with the Bible. I opened it to Luke right away. There I read: “For with God nothing will be impossible.”

Sighs and smiles.

the end.

Birth Story - Baby Abdurahman

By Faraz_Ilu

This moving birth story is from a mother, Umm Abdullah, who had a C-section for her first, and a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) in a birth center for her second. Umm Abdullah was incredibly educated and persistent in her decision making around her VBAC birth and it was thrill to be able to aid her on this healing journey.It was a joyous day for all when little Abdurahman arrived! She was blessed to have the resources available to her to achieve the VBAC, unfortunately, many in this country are not so lucky and are forced to have repeat Cesarean surgeries. Recently, though the tides have been changing and there has been a lot of attention given to allowing more VBACs in America. Newsweek recently documented the changing attitudes about VBACs and the National Institute for Health has just convened a conference all about VBACs. You can read the results of that conference here and a NYT summary here. And now, the birth story....

Ar-Rahman's Gift

by Umm Abdullah

My second son, Abdurahman, was a gift from Ar-Rahman, as was his birth.

My first son, Abdullah, was born via c-section. Despite an un-medicated labor in which I even refused the IV, and an hour and a half of pushing, Allah willed that he come into this world with the help of surgical intervention. Alhamdulillah, he was a healthy and beautiful baby with a purple, cone-shaped head, and he latched-on to the breast vigorously despite the one hour interlude from the time of his birth until I could hold him in my arms. I brought him home with a sense of gratefulness to Allah for blessing me with His gift, yet I could not shake the sense of dissapointment that I had in not being able to birth naturally. I started to research VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) in those early post-partum days.

Almost exactly two years later my husband and I were blessed with another pregnancy. I knew that this time I would do things differently. I researched and searched, and realized that the best way to give myself a chance at a successful VBAC was to avoid the hospital. In the hospital, interventions are used routinely, and often times not out of real medical necessity. These unnecessary interventions interfere with the natural birth process and lead to unnatural results. Plus many women who gave birth in non-hospital settings, such as birth centers and at home, wrote of such amazing, positive birth experiences. I contacted a midwife named Shannon, a Muslima alhamdulillah, who works in a birth center, and my husband and I decided to meet her and tour the center. From the moment I met her I knew that I wanted her to be the one to help me deliver my baby, biithnillah. She is my sister in Islam and I was blessed to have her there for me from the start of my pregnancy, alhamdulillah.

One morning three weeks before my due date I was laying in bed reading stories of natural births when I felt a lot of pressure and more 'contractions' than the day before. I called Shannon and the rest of the day I noticed more and more pressure and contractions. Sure enough, by evening time I began contracting rhythmically and they were becoming more painful. I mustered up the energy to do a light cleaning of the house, packed my bag, and my husband and I drove to my in-law's house. We stayed there all night. My contractions were getting more intense but I took my midwife's advice to lay down on my side and try to get as much sleep as I could. This is the best piece of advice I can give to a woman in early labor: Don't get excited, sleep as much as you can! Towards fajr time it was very difficult for me to get any rest but I let my husband sleep some more because I knew he would need the rest. I took a shower which was very soothing. Some family members came in the morning and took my older son out and my husband and I headed to the birth center. We arrived there around 11 am and upon checking me Shannon said I was already almost eight centimeters dilated, Allahu Akbar - that was wonderful news!

We settled into a birthing suite (I picked the blue one). My doula arrived at the same time we did, and for the next few hours my husband and my doula did an amazing job of helping me through my contractions with massage, moral and physical support, and lots of liquids and yummy snacks. Every contraction was getting stronger and I was using breath awareness along with visualization to help me through. I thought about Maryam (alayha salaam) and how she did it all alone. Allah, aza wa jel, helped her and I knew He would help me too. He, subhanahu wa t'ala, would not give me more than I can bear (that's a promise from Him!). It was so wonderful to eat and drink as I pleased (which you are not allowed to do in the hospital), to try different positions without being strapped to beeping machines or with something poking you in the arm, and to have complete privacy. The only man that was there was my husband and it was a very intimate and comfortable environment, a requirement for natural labor. Standing up and holding on to a birth ball on the bed was my position of choice. Every time I would squat another contraction would come and this position allowed me to have some control over the contractions. My midwives were checking the baby's heart rate intermittently with a stethoscope and testing my urine hourly, and I felt that was in such good hands, alhamdulillah.

My contractions were becoming extremely intense and I knew I was in the transition phase. The intensity of the contractions made me feel overwhelmed, and the midwives recommended I try the birthing tub for relaxation. As the water to fill the tub was flowing my water burst and I knew the baby was coming. I called out to Shannon and she placed a birthing stool under me. I held on to the sides of the stool and began to push. Nervously I asked whether I should be pushing even when there is no contraction and Shannon told me to do whatever felt right for me. That was a sort of mantra during the labor and it was such a wonderful and intuitive piece of advice, advice that I would never have gotten in the hospital. I pushed as I felt was right and before long the baby's head was almost out. In fact, I only pushed for ten minutes before he was born. The last push was intense but when Abdurahman came out and was given to me I felt sheer elation (along with relief). His little body felt so sweet against my chest.

Not once during my labor or delivery did I think about another cesarean. Allah, ta'ala, took that concept out of my mind completely, alhamdulillah. I was surrounded by caring, warm people whom I knew and who sincerely wanted the best for me and my baby. Undoubtedly it was hard work, but in the end I was blessed with an experience that I would never forget or want to change. Subhan'Allah, what a blessing from Ar-Rahman.

Birth Story - Rahma

rain's romantic pour #316 by ashley rose


This birth story comes to us from a lovely mother of two. This is the story of her first home birth.

How did I subconsciously soak in the meaning of her name ever since she rested in my womb? Rahma. My whole pregnancy was spent in the type of inner turmoil that comes only with self discovery. She taught me to finally have some true compassion for myself. Rahma. She continued to teach me to overcome my fears, to reclaim myself, to strive for my dreams and to stand strong for what I truly believed in. Rahma.

I had no idea that in the last trimester of my pregnancy, she would teach me that a beautiful birth means an empowered mother. That the only way she wanted to enter this world was if I felt ‘at home’ enough to submit myself to one of the greatest tests of perseverance, birth. And that in return, I would experience spiritual ecstasy. Ahmad, my husband, realized the value of my personal choice and despite his doubt and fears, supportively agreed to have a home birth. Soon, I even heard him convincing family members of its success rate!

We hooked up with ‘Birth Awakenings’, the midwifery group that a couple of friends swore by. Dana, Deborah and Julie became a part of our lives when we most needed them. The cold, stark, specimen-like ‘pre-natal appointment’ as I had known with my first daughter’s pregnancy became an afternoon cup of tea at home. They carried out the heart beat and urine checks, discussed my fears, played with my oldest daughter and let her listen to the baby’s heart beat with their Doppler. Their prescriptions were nettle tea and protein shakes. They helped me to realize that the weight of inner turmoil might tip the scales against the success of a home birth; they urged me to establish harmony within prior to the birth.

Ramadan came and shone forth with its beauty as we sighted the moon with a few families. I fasted. In the evenings we took turns with our oldest while praying taraweeh.Then the surprise came that Ammi and Abba were flying in. Yet again, I was forced to stand strong yet maintain gentleness. I really wanted to have the baby before they arrived as we weren’t sure if they were comfortable with our plans to birth at home. I prayed and prayed to have the baby prior to their arrival date and took castor oil in the hopes of stimulating my labor - despite the caution of my midwives. We were a week away from their arrival and two days from the due date. I woke up every midnight interrupted by the stormy rain and whistling wind outside coupled with the false contractions within. As much as I hoped tonight would be the night, the contractions were as calm as the bright sunny day the next morning.

Now two days from my due date, we found ourselves greeting Ammi and Abba at the door. It was not as I expected. All that tension which I had dreaded was replaced with easy, light hearted warmth, and time spent together at home. There was almost no discussion regarding the birth except a motherly concern about whether the check lists were implemented and support for the big day. How Merciful is Allah? I slept that night and woke up as usual around midnight, but this time the contractions were slightly stronger and then the instinct that this was it. I woke Ahmad up to give him a warning and he reminded me that Dana, our midwife, had said to go back to sleep to conserve energy for when the real thing begins. I bore the slightly uncomfortable intermittent pain as he hugged me snug. Before I knew it I had fallen asleep. A few hours later I woke up again and told him that they’re getting stronger. He got busy getting the pool ready. The sound of the gushing water reminded me about the contractions coming full force now. He lit our favorite incense to welcome the angels as they awaited the coming of our baby. He timed the contractions and realized that they were getting close so I called the midwife.

Dana told me to hang in there and that she would be there shortly. I went to stand under the hot shower since that had really helped me with my first birth. Ahmad played my labor cd and went to inform Ammi. As I quietly sought some strength from listening about my Prophet (peace be upon him), my mother entered the room. She hadn’t been there at this stage with Aisha’s birth and I realized for the first time how much it meant to have a line of support from her. She said in a broken voice “Be patient, it’ll all come together soon”. It meant so much to have my mother’s duas and to know that she had just finished reading Surah Baqarah prior to coming in to meet me.

My labor cd continued as I sat on the chair making dua for everyone that I could think of. Dana sat at eye level with me as the intensity of the contractions peaked and then Ahmad brought in Aisha. My gaze fell upon her and I wept. There she was, my big girl, who I had nourished in my womb just yesterday. I recalled the gratitude I had felt at her birth. And here I was welcoming another. Of course you can do this, I thought. Don’t you remember what it felt like when Aisha made her way out? It helped me move along and soon I was close enough to pushing. Dana signaled for me to gain some relief from soaking in the pool. The relieving power of water, what an immense blessing! Ahmad pulled out the Wird al-Latif and sat at eye level in front of me as our lips moved together in the chanting of those empowering duas, interrupted every now and then by the intensity of the contractions - a reminder about the need for intense submission to my Lord. After hardship surely comes ease! Indeed, hardship is surely followed by ease! I reminded myself about these ayahs which a friend had recommended to read during the labor.

Recharged a bit by the relief in the water, I was now up-right on the birthing stool requesting help from gravity. I never remembered feeling the urge to push with Aisha’s birth so this was all new to me. The contractions were peaking without any breaks now and I just wanted to get this baby out. But the midwives kept insisting to push when the body signals for it, not when I wanted to. And I’m thinking, what?! What’s the difference? Then Deborah, the other midwife, said, “Lubna, just submit to the will of Allah! Listen hard, work with your body! We don’t want you to tear.” That’s all it took. I realized that I had to stop focusing on the pain of the contractions, but rather just completely give up my body to its natural course as designated by Allah. I understood, that I had to know my limits, and with perseverance, to go beyond them. Feeling completely overwhelmed by the intensity, I kept telling myself to focus on the baby that wants to make its way out. Tempted to push even when it wasn’t the right time, Dana knew right away and said, “Just a little big longer, honey”.

Then I heard it, the rain outside. “Open the windows!” I declared in my weakened voice. They opened the one right in front of me. I became teary and bathed in the tranquility that the sound of the rain evoked. This rain that has just been with Allah, brings with it such mercy as it brings to life the earth.

Just like my Rahma. “Ok, the head is out, pussshhhhhhh!!” Dana announced. I grunted with all my strength, and gave one hard push that sent a sharp burning sensation through me. And then that same relief I had felt with the coming of Aisha, followed. After hardship surely comes ease! Indeed, hardship is surely followed by ease! “Ya Allah, protect my baby from shaytan,” I begged. Then she made a slight whimper as they announced, “A beautiful girl with a full head of hair!” I wept and declared, “My baby! My baby! My Rahma!” Ahmad, my companion in life, shared the joy, teary eyed.

Soon I realized that Ammi and Aisha had come in and were leaning over the baby. “Daikha Aisha tumharee chohtee behan!” Ammi cried and told her, “Baby Rahma’s hair is wet, Ammu!” Aisha smiled in amazement and approval. Then Abba ran in weeping and hugged me tight and gave me a bunch of kisses out of relief saying, “Shukr hay, sub kuch teekh ho gaya!!” Then it was just time to sit back as I nursed and enjoyed all the immense blessings that stood right before me. Aisha Aapi, Babajaan Baju, Ammi, Abba and now, my Rahma. How Merciful can Allah be?

Birth Story - Baby Khadija

Birth Night by Onur YILDIRUM

The following is a birth story from a mother who had had two previous hospital births, this was her first home birth. Sara is a new mother with a full home schooling schedule,which doesn't leave her much time to write out her story! Therefore, we have decided to collaborate on this birth story, which is written from my perspective with encouragement and permission from Sara. Sara’s impressions about the differences between her hospital birth and her home birth are below in italics.

Having a home birth was such a beautiful experience for me. Before my home birth I had two hospital births. Having a home birth for me was relaxing. I didn’t have to deal with all the needle poking that you do in a hospital. I was able to have everything natural, no drug interferences. Being at home I can be free to do what I want, to be comfortable. In labor, I was able to get into any position that was comfortable for me. There is a special bond that you feel with your baby when you have it at home. This bond I didn’t feel with my other two. I feel this extreme attachment to my baby. My husband experienced the same feeling as well. I felt secure in my house, not having any disturbances, being able to eat my own food and to have my family with me.

On Thursday night Sara called. She said her contractions were every 15 minutes continually throughout the day. This was her third baby, first home birth. And of course, this labor was shaping up to be completely unlike the first two.

“Take a nice, warm bath. Relax, unwind, and then try to get some rest,” I told her. “You could have your baby on jummah” I said, “or on Sunday. It’s best to just ignore these types of contractions. They often happen the more babies a woman has. They could go on for days, or you could have your baby tonight. We never know, but it’s wise to conserve your energy for whenever the hard labor arises.” Sara sounded reassured and so we hung up. I slept a full eight hours. In the morning I called Sara to check in.

“I had the best nights’ sleep I’ve had in months!” she exclaimed. I asked her if it was the shower. Sara explained that after her shower she laid down on the bed, not expecting to sleep. Her husband was reading the burda and she lay quietly, turning inward, and listening. Soon, it’s notes and cadences lulled her into a blissful, uninterrupted sleep. She didn’t even wake to readjust her pillows, something she had been doing for months! What baraka our Prophet (peace be upon him) has!

A sunny Friday came and went, and that night I called to check back in with Sara. She sounded discouraged, not like her normal cheerful presence. When I enquired about her state, she said she was frustrated and had had the same on again off again contractions all day. She just didn’t know what this was, it was so different than her other labors. We talked at length about never being in control of the process of labor, and that each labor is different just like each child is different. Although I think that the most reassuring advice to Sara was that, all of this was not for naught. That something was happening with every contraction or cramp she was feeling. It was maybe not measurable progress, but a sign that her hormones and their receptors were working just fine and that her uterus certainly knew how to contract, a sure reminder of the perfection of the process.

Now, I had the best night’s sleep! The trilling of my phone did not punctuate my sleep! I was sure it would because I had something I really wanted to do the following day. We had planned a nice hike for the day. Alhamdulillah we were able to go and it was beautiful, long, and muddy.

At 7:56 Saturday night, my phone rang. Before I picked it up I knew that this was it. “Shannon, my water just broke!” Sara said. We celebrated over the phone. Now this was like her other labors, she was on seemingly familiar territory. Eat, sleep, and be happy I advised. Call when you need me or when something changes.

3:45 a.m. Sunday morning Sarah calls to tell me her contractions are now 4-5 minutes apart and that she is calling her doula over. She doesn’t need me yet she says. I listen through a contraction or two, she sounds like a professional, no tension or anxiety, just pure acceptance. It sounds like it’s on the early side of labor as well, so I stumble back to bed, proud, and reassured by Sara’s new calmness.

5:00 a.m. Sarah’s doula phones me. She sounds excited and explains that Sara’s contractions are now 2-3 minutes apart lasting for a minute! That was so fast. I throw on my birth clothes and jump in the car. It’s beginning to drizzle and Sara lives 20 miles down the highway from me. I don’t want to speed, but her labor has already flown through it’s ‘stages’, and the calls keep coming.

“She’s singing through her contractions now.”

“She’s feeling pushy at the peak”

“Drive careful, but are you almost here?”

It’s always better not to speed, to arrive in one piece, but it’s so hard when the adrenaline is rushing and you really, really don’t want to miss the birth. I had already phoned the midwife who is assisting me and told her to leave as soon as possible. I am making urgent du’a that it all goes well, and that I’m present for the birth. Sara’s exit had never looked so good to me.

I had her husband come and meet me. I brought up one bag which has an emergency delivery kit, just the basics you need to deliver a baby, which in reality, is not that much. What a contrast Sara’s birthing space was. It was an oasis of calm to my rushed frenetic pace. I took a deep breath and exhaled to attune myself to her birthing energy. I said hello, gave her a hug, and asked if she felt like pushing. She said that she did and so I told her to go for it… after I got my gloves on and listened to the baby's heart rate!

Alas, there was no need for the rush after all. The night became day. We opened the blinds, snacked on bagels and dates from Medina, and drank Zam Zam. Meanwhile, Sara went through second stage, all two and a half hours of it. For all of that pushing, not once did Sara utter a complaint, not once did she ask when it would be over, not once did she grumble even. She took each contraction as it came, she took our suggestions with grace and compliance, and when the miraculous moment of birth came, she was fully present to receive her little bundle. All of those days of contractions did make a difference after all, maybe not in the length or speed of the labor (or maybe so!), but in Sara’s willingness and preparation to take each contraction as it came, and not to anticipate anything. By the time the hard part of labor found her, she was ready.

It was a joyous birth, still and hopeful. Sara’s older daughters were milling about downstairs. And the rain was just beginning to pick up. Little Khadija had arrived and brought with her the rains. Which was just fine with her family, because all they wanted to do was stay indoors and adore her anyhow. Welcome little Khadija!!

Birth Story - Muhammad Idris Cong Tu

Our first birth story comes from a dear friend. It's an excellent story. I like how she clearly experiences the sensations of the contractions and really opens herself up to them. Not to say that contractions don't hurt, but resisting them only increases the pain. This story is a good example of surrendering to the contractions as they are. You can read more about her here. Stay tuned for an upcoming interview about her work entitled, "Sunna of Birth. Enjoy!

Peace & Blessings,

I was blessed to have a beautiful home/water birth on September 18, 2009.

This was a very special day for my family because it was the last Friday in our holy month, Ramadaan, and just two days before our day of celebration, Eid ul-Fitr. The last 10 days of Ramadaan are very sacred for us and Fridays are also special because they are the holy day of the week when we attend the Mosque and pray with our community. My friend Shoshanna baked Challah bread for us on that day also, on the day of my daughter's birth in 2007 she brought me fresh squeezed grapefruit juice while I was in labor, and on our son's birthday she brought us the special bread and shared that it was also the Jewish holiday, Rosh Hoshanna, which is the day of the "Birth of the World" and the bread symbolized the world. Praise our Creator, what a blessed and perfect day to give birth and to be born!

On Thursday evening a bit of my mucous plug released when I used the restroom. I texted Racha & Maura to give them a heads up...and than my Husband, Daughter, and I went on a short evening walk. I didn't necessarily expect too much, as I've learned as a Doula and Midwife Apprentice never to expect anything in birth, except the unexpected. When we returned I took a shower, relaxed, and put my daughter down to sleep. Because it was Ramadaan, and my husband was fasting during the days, he had a lot of energy at night, and we used this time to bond and do extra praying and reading of our spiritual text, the Qu'ran. That night we were up at 4am when I began feeling contractions. I joined my husband for the pre-fast meal and we waited until 5:30 to pray the dawn prayer. I was anxious to get some rest realizing that my contractions were only going to get stronger, especially because in the one-and-a-half hour I was up I had at least 5 to 7 strong contractions.

When we finally went to bed after 5:30am, I lay down, only to realize within 30minutes that I wouldn't be able to sleep because the contractions were already pretty strong. Between 6am and 8am I labored alone in our family room so I wouldn't wake my husband and toddler. By 8am I realized I should call Racha and let her know that my labor was pretty intense already. As a Doula & Midwife Apprentice I never wanted to call my midwives in the middle of the night, which is usually how we are called, I guess its a little courtesy, but by 8am I couldn't really wait any longer! I'm glad I called Racha because she suggested I wake up my husband and have him set up the birthtub. I really wanted to let him sleep until 10am because I knew once he woke we would be in full labor mode, good thing I listened to Racha, because by 10:12 am our baby boy was already born!

When I woke up my husband, my daughter also woke up, and when I told her the baby was coming she replied grumpily, "Don't come out baby, stay in there!," because she still wanted to sleep. Daoud went straight to work setting up the tub in the corner of our kitchen, it was really beautiful because we have some nice house plants and spiritual art in that corner of the kitchen, he also made a tent by staple-gunning some pretty sheets into the ceiling around the tent creating walls and a little room for me. I decided he was the best husband in the world and I tried to tell him, but was having a contraction and told him to "Go away, please," instead! During the hour or so it took my husband to set up my sacred birth space my contractions became very intense, lasting a minute-and-half to two minutes and coming on at least every 2-3 minutes. I labored on my hands and knees feeling a sharp opening of the last bit of dilating of my cervix and shaking with contractions, as Sumaiya, my two year old, played "horsey" on my back...

By 9:30am I managed to text Maura and Racha, "I think you should come soon", and I made my way to the tub getting in to the hot water. Daoud put on a recording of Surah Maryam, the chapter in the Qu'ran where Maryam gives birth to the Prophet Isa (Jesus). Its a beautiful Surah, my favorite in the Qu'ran, and I listen to it and read it often during my pregnancies because of the blessings it holds especially for Mothers and babies. As I relaxed in the tub, letting my body go to the support of the water as the last few contractions made powerful waves through me.

Racha and Maura arrived by 9:48am, and during the time my husband went to the front of our building to open the door and return with them, I followed my body in its urges to bear down with my contractions. When they came into our home I was already beginning to push. They came into my birth tent quietly, bringing some green water for me to sip on. I couldn't believe I was already pushing and didn't feel like I was ready since everything happened so fast! Racha had to help me get my underwear off because the baby was coming down pretty fast once the midwives got there and I felt I was just gonna go for it. With the next push Racha said she could see the head, it felt very close and I somehow communicated that she should let Daoud know that the baby would be here any minute. Daoud and Sumaiya came in, and Sumaiya really wanted to get in the tub with me when she saw that the baby was already coming out, she stripped off her clothes, but Daoud managed to keep her out of the water! With the next push the baby was crowning, Racha asked Daoud if he wanted to catch, and even though he did, I said no, because I wanted to catch him because I felt very relaxed and focused and in a really connected rhythm with the baby. I always feel that a mother should be able to be the first to receive her child when possible, to welcome her baby with her own hands! Within two contractions the baby crowned and his head was out, still in the water-bag, which midwives call being born in the Caul, and many say it is a very sacred event. I had to gather myself and blow because the energy and pressure was so strong and I didn't want to do it all at once. I grounded myself and gathered energy for the next contraction, blowing and breathing because I knew he would be fully into the world with the next contraction and push. I could feel his body fully rotate within me and followed the contraction and his bodies movement to push him out and kinda ride the last wave.

Our little Muhammad, named after our Prophet (Peace & Blessings be upon Him), was born at 10:12am, just 6 hours after I felt the first contractions of active labor. Most importantly, I thank Allah for the blessed gift of our new son, Muhammad, AllahuAkbar! AllahuAkbar! AllahuAkbar!