Birth Through the Lens of a Partner

May 31st, the morning started just like any other before it. Not too long into it, we had a little scare thinking that Talia’s water had broken. We thought this was it, packed up our daughter and got her to a friend’s house, and scooted on over to the labor and delivery unit. After a little bit of waiting, and a couple of checks, we found out that it was not her water. Baby was thankfully perfectly fine, just not quite ready to come out yet. I remember this being a relief because I had really wanted our son to wait and be a June baby. I still don’t really remember why, or if I even had a reason to begin with, June just sounds like a good month. Anyways, we picked up some Chipotle on the way to get our daughter and continued having an otherwise ordinary day.

Fast forward to bedtime, our daughter and I were asleep when Talia’s water really did break. She shook me awake asking if I had heard a loud popping sound (I hadn’t, dreams are way louder.) I quickly got up and moved our daughter into her own bedroom and tried to keep my cool, we had quite a few scares before this one, so I was cautiously optimistic. Talia kept pacing back in forth in our room, leaning over the bed, and soon began moaning with each contraction. She moved to the bathroom to try to go pee and realized she was passing her bloody show. Sitting on the toilet, she began to cry, “I’m not ready for him to come.” I held her and promised everything was going to be okay. This was finally the big event we had been patiently waiting for, and I was terrified for her. Talia called one of her friends to come watch our daughter so we could hightail it back to labor and delivery for the second time that day. While we waited for her to get to our house, I remember Talia and I holding one another—rocking back and forth in our bedroom. As Talia was trying to keep her breathing and pain under control it was almost like we were dancing back and forth, focused on each other, and working through the pain and emotions as one. I remember touching my forehead to hers and repeatedly whispering how much I loved and admired her.

Talia’s friend made it to our house right before 11 o’clock, and we rushed out within the minute as Talia’s contractions were strong and frequent enough to make walking difficult. The only thing I could focus on during our short drive was telling Talia to keep her underwear on (she said she wanted to push and had made moves to take it off), to keep breathing, how amazing she was doing, and thinking to myself that we were definitely about to have our baby in my car. The best news is that the labor and delivery for us was less than a 5-minute drive away, bad news is because of COVID-19 and the hospital being on a military base, there were multiple gates and checkpoints to get through. We ran a few of those checkpoints and juked past one of the guards at the entrance of the hospital. If I remember right (I do), the guard at the front tried asking Talia to stop and she looked him dead in the eye and just screamed the most guttural scream I’ve ever heard before. It was impressive, scary, and downright hilarious to see him immediately back down. On the elevator ride up to labor and delivery, I glanced over to see Talia taking her underwear off and put her hand between her legs as if to catch our son right there. I remember trying to sound calm as I told her, “We are almost there, I promise” but had a hard time believing myself as I heard my voice shaking.

We finally made it up to the labor floor where a corpsman met us in the hallway to get vitals and COVID-19 questions out of the way while we were moving to the triage room. (Special thanks to the poor guard at the hospital entrance who radioed ahead for us.) We made it into the room at 11:18 PM, and immediately Talia moved with her body and got on all fours on the bed. To this day, I still don’t understand how she did it so fast. This is the point that I got shoved out of the way and stuffed into a little corner. The triage room just wasn’t big enough for me to be anywhere else while the staff worked around the tiny bed to see how far along Talia was and keep her and our baby as safe as possible. This was where I started to feel overwhelmed and more than a little worried. Talia’s screams were the loudest and most guttural sounds I’ve ever heard before, extremely animalistic yet awe-inspiring. I don’t think anybody other than Talia realized she was pushing, and one chaotic minute later, our son was born right there in the triage room at 11:19 pm to everybody’s astonishment. I can remember holding Talia’s head and telling her repeatedly that she was amazing, she did it, our son was healthy and wonderful. She was powerful, a complete force of nature, and everybody in that room just had to step back and let her body do its work.

We had a standard long night afterward, taking turns holding our baby and trying to somehow inject him with every ounce of love we could. I ended up leaving in the early morning to head home to take care of our daughter and show her some pictures of her new baby brother and that mommy was okay. This entire second pregnancy was so different from our first experience. In the beginning, I felt so prepared but quickly learned that I had no clue what was going on. Thankfully, I had Talia to help guide (sometimes push) me in the right direction. The human body is amazing in what it can do, and I will never stop being amazed at what my partner has been able to accomplish with her body.

• Written by Gage Morris

Where to from here?

Content Note: Postpartum Depression

“This is too hard; I can’t do it anymore.”

“They deserve a better mom than me.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I feel broken.”

“I’m not okay, I need help.”

These are just some of the things that I said over and over these past five months. All things that I knew were signs of postpartum depression, feelings, and thoughts I remember creeping into my mind after having Taavi. Back then, feelings and thoughts I buried because I told myself I didn’t have time to feel this way. I didn’t ask for help four and a half years ago and looking back, I wish I had.

1 in 7 birthing people may experience postpartum depression in the year after giving birth. It is important to understand this is the statistic for individuals that are diagnosed with PPD. That means the individuals that come forward asking for help, not the ones that suffer in silence. Take that in. And this does not even begin to portray the racial and social disparities the impacts of post-partum depression take on marginalized folks.

Two weeks after Ezra was born, I cried to Gage, “I’m not okay!” and he held me and said, “I know and I’m here. You are not alone. I love you.” Together we came up with a plan, I reached out to my mom and friends, and I have been in therapy ever since. I am one of the lucky ones… how many people do not have access to healthcare, and can’t just call up their midwife or provider? Or how many people do not feel SAFE calling their provider? How many people do not have a support system they can lean on? Like I said, I am one of the “lucky” ones.

I am telling you this because we do not talk about what happens to us after we have our babies. We do not talk about what can emotionally and mentally happen to us in the aftermath of creating life, and how we are left in the trenches to figure it out on our own. I am telling you this because if this has been or is your life right now, I SEE YOU. You are not broken. You have not failed. You are not alone. And it’s okay to not be ok and to ask for help. If this is you, know you have a safe space with me.

If this is you and you don’t know where to even start in asking for help—I know, I’ve been there too and I’m here if you want to talk. If you’re not ready to have this conversation just yet, I’ll be here whenever you’re ready. If you don’t know if this is you, that is okay too—I’m still here. Repeat after me: “I am braver than I realize, and there is no better parent for my baby(ies) than me.” PERIODT.