birth story

It’ll be interesting to experience the potential wrath of scrutiny I’ll get from speaking my mind here, but I’m going to say it anyway: I think I’m supposed to have another baby.

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When opportunity knocks, you answer. And I have, each and every time, with open arms.

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Except that for the first time ever, the knocking ain’t happening on my door, so to speak. Which is interesting because I never thought I was the adoption type, until now.

I started reading a handful of articles yesterday about having babies as an older woman—adoptive or otherwise and I must admit it’s making me both nervous and excited. To be honest, I’m not even sure I’ll pass the home inspection test: I feel like the decision makers might enter my home with their sharpened pencils and clip boards and realize that we’re already at max capacity. Or maybe that we’re a little weird and the farthest thing from being wholesome christians. Or maybe they’ll sidestep some of their proviso’s in lieu of overwhelming love? Who knows.

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As of now, they aren’t exactly my concern. Pippin is– who has been talking vacation and vasectomy like it was going out of style. Rumor also has it he wants to downsize our 15 passenger Econoline and trade it for a wagon of sorts. This doesn’t look promising, but I’m not about to give up.

Taking it in,

So-Called Mom

For inquiring minds: Yes we did have a hotel birth. Video here:

One of the things I know moms are obsessed with is our birth stories.

While I love all five of my births in different ways, I have to admit that my luxury hotel birth may rank as the best of all times. luxury hotel birth

From the day we first posted our hotel birth story video, it has gotten olympic level criticism, and was even banned a few times—for violent content, of all things.

Despite the haters, I stand by my choice to birth Leopold at the corner suite of the Nines Hotel in Portland.

After the birth of my daughter Pascal, I had a miscarriage.

I was wrecked. (The tiny fetus is buried under the potted lemon tree in the kitchen, now bigger than I am and difficult to transport). When we conceived again, we decided to have our first home birth. I like firsts, and because this might be my final birth, I wanted the experience. luxury hotel birth

I worked out a simple plan with the midwife, but when Pippin and I decided it was time to buy a home, a huge wrench was thrown into the “simple” part. Withe the entire contents of our house packed into a moving van, our house closing delayed and my going into labor ten days before I was supposed to, there was no where to go to have the home birth.

Plan B turned into what began as a casual joke: Having the baby Downtown Portland at the Nines Hotel.

It was cheaper than the hospital and a lot more scenic than a birthing center. I will never forget walking into the lobby and waddling to the elevator before another contraction consumed my body. When the doors closed, I gripped the handrail and screamed bloody murder.

This room was magical, what I imagine the entrance to heaven to be like. Everything was teal and polished nickel and carerra marble. The curtains would’ve cost me a mortgage payment and the lamps could’ve easily doubled as Oscars, and I felt I deserved both.

As I stood there taking it all in, I forgot I was pregnant let alone in labor, until I had the strongest contraction I had yet. The midwife arrived and inflated the birthing tub. I climbed in and was immediately centered.

Away went the pain, away went the worry of being suddenly homeless—I had arrived and was ready to have this baby, my way.

Oh, I forgot to mention, Pippin’s plan was to film the entire experience (See post: Why We Film Us). But in Pippin style, it wasn’t just a portable camcorder; it was a three camera set up with sound and lights. Even at the time it seemed like overkill.

But now? Now I’m the luckiest mom around, because I can re-live this amazing birth as often as I’d like.

It brings up so many great memories, like when I snapped at Pippin as he tried to feed me ice chips with tongs. Or when I heard him call the front desk and request 20 towels at once. Or the $40 turkey sandwich and the wonderful “no questions asked” turn down service. It was, in a way, my very first birth—custom, beautiful and classy as fuck.

When Leopold was born, just two short hours after checking in, I remember the light pouring in all around me.

His skin matched the blue birthing pool, but was softer than the velvet settee next to me. He barely cried. Pippin opened a pink bottle of Veuve Cliquot and we drank champagne and laughed about our new baby’s birth information card that said his full name: Leopold Damier Bershee and Hospital: The Nines Hotel. I was in love with not only my new baby, but my adorable husband who had embraced my crazy vision in full. luxury hotel birth

My birth story has become one that I am proud to share.

It has been blogged about here and also here even broadcasted on the news— I never imagined it would be so controversial.

I share merely in the hopes that I encourage someone else to try something different because playing outside the normal boundary may surprise you with an experience you would never expect.

Just push,

So Called Mom