The birth of.
I didn't realize that I had joined the group that is part of the celebration before I received warm words and cutout monochrome paper flowers.
My first Mother's Day.
Even though I now have a "mother" tag, my own becoming one is unfolding. Needless to say, here I am saying it. Day after day, I peel off layers of my soul, adding soft flexibility to space and destabilizing time, refining patience and curiosity in the present moment.
Apart from the shaping of my inner relational landscape, I am getting used to the word "Mother" which carries connotations, expectations, and meanings. If I need to mark the beginning of my motherhood, the birthday of Oa can be a way to break the experience into a workable structure. After his birth, I wrote my memories of that day with all its intensity. Today I will share my story
It is a longer read and full of intimately close details, perhaps some are less relevant than others but I decided to share it unedited for the wider circle of readers as it feels right to keep it as it is.
Stay with me.
The birth of.
It was a long wait for me as I gave birth at term 41+6. The due date was on the 9th of March; however, in our calendars, on the 21st of March the day when it all started, we had a mysterious "Purple Celebration" written down. We don’t remember exactly what it was or how it got there, but we figured out that it was the first due date we calculated based on the length of my period.
If that was the case, Oa and I, decided that it was time to leave the womb just in time for the Purple Celebration and the past two weeks of waiting were simply a miscalculation that caused us worries. I enjoy the story of Purple Celebration, even if it is not true. I like to think that his arrival was already outside the predictable expectations, which aligns with my own path. For most of my life, I didn’t think I would have a child, and only in the last few years, when Aiven was born, was I ready and curious to step into it. Then I met Roelof, who opened my softer side and boosted my ability to relax and show and receive care. Things came together naturally, and in no time, we were pregnant. We knew that I was pregnant from week 4 and had an ultrasound that recorded a heartbeat. I was visiting the gynecologist to investigate whether I could become pregnant, as I had a history where my body wasn't doing what it needed to do. The doctor even said it wouldn't be possible, as the tests showed that the hormones that enable the process were low. We were supposed to check it again, and that’s why I had an appointment, but I already knew.
It was happening...
But this is the beginning of the story that I wanted to mention within the context of the birth because, already from the start, Aiven Oa was connecting us, definitely myself, with unpredictability, surprise, and unexpected turns of events.
Let me jump 9 months ahead and focus on the birthing—a day when Oa leaped into this world, leaving his cozy, perfectly balanced existence in the womb.
On Friday, the 21st of March, I was 41+5 days, which meant that another few days without changes and I would have to be induced at the hospital, as I would reach 42 weeks. The past days leading to the birth had me in a state of emotional rollercoaster, confronting challenges one by one and processing them with grace and Roelof's support. My impatient nature was rebelling against the course of events, and the powerlessness that accompanied the process was unbearable.
On Wednesday, the 19th, my parents arrived, and on Thursday, my brother came. There was a slight weight from their coming and anticipation, but I enjoyed their presence even though I didn’t feel like spending much time with them and wanted to cocoon with Roelof. On Friday morning, midwife came and did stripping for me, a massage-like treatment to activate the membranes and help kick-start the process. After that, I decided to give it a try to reflexology. I had heard good stories about it, and even if it wouldn't help to start contractions, at least I would have an hour of a relaxing experience. Roelof drove me there and said something like, "I would drive you anywhere," which touched me deeply.
For an hour, a lady massaged my feet, pushing various points and, as she said, directing energy flows. I was drifting and felt emotional, landing in the realization of the love I feel for Roelof and appreciation for our shared journey. I cried a little, and the session was over. Roelof bought us a purple orchid in the meantime. After the session, we drove back and met my parents with Fau to go for ice cream. I had hazelnut, which was disappointing, while Roelof had the usual pistachio. It was sunny, warm, and soft. I felt like going inside and not seeing many people. We had dinner at home with delicious ravioli, and I received a gentle loving massage from Roelof. That night, we went for a walk with Fau. The mood was unusually introverted, and possibly I was feeling disappointed. I was struggling with the past few days. Would I not be able to experience the spontaneity of birth? It made me a little sad as if the journey wasn't completing as I had anticipated. On the surface, I was projecting surrender to the situation, but deep down, I was unsettled.
We went to bed.
At 00:30, I woke up feeling contractions and, after a sequence of frequent rounds, woke up Roelof, saying that it was starting. We decided he should sleep and I would wake him up if it got worse or if I needed him for any other situation. I went downstairs, played music, made myself tea, and lit a candle. The contractions were continuous and lasted 1 minute with 7-8 minutes in between. As the night unfolded, the pain increased, as did the frequency. I don't remember much of that night; not much was happening, and time was broken into units of pain alternating with release.
At around 5, the frequency increased to 3 minutes between contractions, and it was time to call the midwives. I woke Roelof, and we called from bed. The midwife came and checked me, finding that despite a night full of regular contractions, my dilation was still 1 cm. She left us, saying they'd come back in 4 hours. I continued in the living room, sometimes moving around and changing positions. We put a TENS machine on me, a small device that sends electric impulses to ease the pain. It helped, alongside Roelof's support, who was pushing on my lower back during each contraction. I didn't eat and only drank water and orange juice; Roelof was helping me the whole time. As time passed, the contractions became stronger, sometimes occurring 1-2 minutes apart.
Our midwife came around 10:00 and checked again. To my disappointment, she found out that dilation was still 2 cm. She managed to break the water, though, and suggested that we come in 4 hours or so to check again. We decided to do that and wait. She left, and we stayed in a bubble where time was dancing in a new kind of way—existing very clearly while at the same time being on a completely different frequency than the time I knew. I don’t recall any thoughts coming to me in those hours; my mind seemed not to be producing anything at all. The midwife suggested taking a bath, and we decided to do it.
It took me a while to move my body upstairs, and every movement was filled with intensity. From the tatami to the couch, from the couch to the stairs, from the stairs to the toilet, and from there to the bath, I stopped to catch my breath during contractions. Finally, I was in the bath. Roelof was pouring water over me. It felt nice; I wanted more of it. However, my big belly, the narrow bath, and the irregularity of the water stream were working against my comfort. I am not sure how long I stayed there or how I got out; it seemed to take a while, but I was out.
I remember coming back to my senses occasionally and seeing Roelof eating sandwiches. He looked calm and available. It made me happy that he was taking care of himself; it felt like he was taking care of us. I couldn’t stand the smell of food, though; everything felt sharper than usual. For the most part, I had my eyes closed. I was in my own world, focusing on the contractions; my attention couldn’t get away from them.
These hours since the midwife's last visit were slow. Time once again showed me another face. I was getting tired, and the contractions were intensifying. Orange juice was keeping me company, but it was not enough to keep me energized.
Our midwife came, and once again, she indicated that there was no progression. We had two options: go to the hospital to help the process or stay home, which would probably mean hours and hours of contractions. In the meantime, my cervix, which was always thin, had started to thicken. I was also doubting whether I could spend another 10 hours like this and started to consider pain relief, so the hospital seemed like an option to get things moving. I was mostly afraid of the taxi ride. I couldn’t imagine how that would go. My midwife reassured me that it would be fine and that most of the time, contractions subside once I am outside, as it brings alertness. I agreed to go.
Roelof called Uber, and I remember snippets of that moment, but again I was focusing on the contractions, squeezing my little TENS machine and grasping for it as the source of possible relief. It took longer for the car to arrive, and I remember standing downstairs in the shadow of the corridor in my big black jacket, leaning against the wall and facing into the sunlight. I think it was sunny, but I am not sure. The car arrived, and Roelof packed me in. I asked to open the window. The air felt pleasant, and with its freshness, the noises of the street came in. "Amsterdam is alive," I thought.
Contractions persisted; there was no pause between them. Every tram rail and stone pavement felt like a real challenge, and the driver wasn’t particularly fast. Roads were blocked, and we had to go around. I remember Roelof trying to scream towards a man who was regulating traffic that we had a pregnant woman in the car, but the gentleman ignored us. At Museumplein, crowds of people were moving through the street; later, we discovered that it was a demonstration against racism. We had to wait and wait. On the dashboard of the car, I saw an interesting animation, a rendering of people who were close to the car; they were made into ghost-like figures surrounding us. I remember staring at it, mesmerized and confused by what I was seeing. I recall Roelof taking a video and me squeezing a smile through a contraction.
Finally, we arrived at the hospital, wrong entry. Roelof helped the driver navigate. I stepped out of the car and saw our midwife with a wheelchair, but a contraction paralyzed me, and I could barely walk or sit. Somehow, I got in, and I remember my body twisted to one side, pushing into the chair. In the elevator, a stranger wished me good luck.
Long corridors and rooms pass by. It felt like a long time once again. We entered the room, and an older lady who we got to know as Sandra greeted us; she would be with us there. After some moments to settle, they explained about the room, and I undressed, wearing only Roelof's blue t-shirt. I remember asking what I should wear, and Sandra said, "Something you want to give birth in." That resonated with me. I am going to give birth; it is really happening.
Sandra noticed how dry my lips were and offered Vaseline. At that moment, it felt like an immense act of care. It touched me.
After a while, our medical midwife came and checked me; the opening was still 3-4 cm. After all those hours, not much was progressing. We decided on a strategy: start oxytocin, and I asked for an epidural. I was getting tired, and my body was asking for a break. That became the plan.
The anesthesiologist, Jan Willem, came 30 minutes later. He was a tall gentleman who didn’t introduce himself directly but commanded me to round my back.
The needle was in.
He wanted to leave silently, but I asked his name and noticed that I started to come to my senses, relax, and even make jokes. From that moment, I was more present and could connect with Roelof again. The contractions were still with me, as was the intensity, but something shifted in me—I became more involved rather than staying in the bubble. I even made some jokes and gossiped with Sandra that anesthesiologists are asocial.
After the epidural, they started a small dose of oxytocin and left us alone to wait for the effects. I remember someone brought dinner, I think something with spinach. I was happy to hear that Roelof could eat. I also remember he stayed further away because my sense of smell was so sharp that I couldn’t stand the aromas spreading in the room. I felt his care.
In the meantime, contractions continued, and the pain did not rush to subside. Our midwife, Lara, came to check my sensitivity with a pack of ice, and we discovered that the epidural didn't work. The right side was not affected, and only the pain on the left side of my belly seemed to lessen. I was feeling contractions as before; perhaps their peaks dissolved in the epidural remedy.
In about 40 minutes, I felt a strong urge to poop. Tension around my anus spread with painful waves to the lower back and abdominal area. It was very intense, but Lara said that it was probably the contractions under the influence of the epidural being felt more like tension. She still decided to check my opening, and to her surprise, she found that I was 10 cm open—full dilation in no time. I was ready to push. The energy changed, and the moment of birth was getting closer.
Of course, at the moment when I could push, contractions took their time to arrive. I remember the slightly awkward waiting of four people around my half-naked, exhausted, and quarter-sedated body. I think adrenaline was hitting me, slowing down the process. But contractions were coming; I think they boosted oxytocin to speed it up, though. I received instructions to push three times as hard as I could during one contraction. Three women and Roelof were cheering me on as hard as they could. It felt very supportive and helped me to push. It took me a few contractions to figure out how to push, and the process went quickly.
I heard Lara instructing me to listen very carefully as I was entering a ring of fire. When she'd instructed me to stop pushing, I needed to do it. They let me feel Aiven's head showing; the top was coming out of my vagina. I touched it, but I was in so much pain that I couldn’t connect to the profundity of the moment. The ring of fire lured me into total focus on the burning sensations. The whole pushing phase was unbelievably carnal. If the contractions in my experience had some mysterious nature to them, pushing was nothing like that. It was direct, brutal, and honest. I felt exactly what I was doing: pushing a baby out of my vagina. It was what it was, nothing less and nothing more.
At one of the contractions, I felt a sudden release of tension—a beautiful moment of calm. The head was out; it was incredible, a brief moment when I could weirdly relax. On the next and last contraction, I pushed, and Aiven’s whole body came out, and in no time, he was lying on my chest. I won't forget that sensation on my fingers; everything about him was unfamiliar: the temperature, texture, the folds of his arms, and the flexibility of his joints. I had never held anything like that.
In some moments, a loud, confident cry filled the room, so sharp and so clear. I held him tightly with both hands, trying to see him. The immediacy of the jump from hours of pain and tension to this divine moment was overwhelming. My body was shaking from shock and adrenaline that helped me to push. Very quickly, the moment to cut the umbilical cord arrived, and I was given scissors and directed to smile at the camera. I said something like, "Well Aiven, now this is your call." I’m not sure anymore, but I was present with my thoughts again.
Lara and the intern were busy with my placenta while I had a crying, grayish-blue Aiven on top of me and Roelof by my side. The surreality of the situation was obvious. Shortly after, I gave birth to the placenta, which looked like a gorgeous, red, juicy piece of meat that had accompanied Aiven for 9 months. It was made of the same cells as he is—a remarkable wonder of nature. I saw the pocket Aiven was in, an empty transparent bag that had protected him so well.
After the placenta, they stitched me up, which was not straightforward, and another specialist was needed. A kind lady, a pelvic floor gynecologist, came. While they were figuring out how to sew me back together, I was with Aiven, resting. I don't remember if he was crying the whole time or not. He was searching for my nipple, and Sandra tried to help him find it. I don’t know how long all of the stitching took or what was happening exactly. I remember Roelof looking a bit overwhelmed and tired, too. I think we were both slightly confused and not fully aware of what had happened.
Time passed, and I was done. The lady who came to stitch me reassured me that all was done very well; she looked trustworthy. There was a change of shift happening, and I think Sandra left us first. We asked to put Aiven on Roelof's chest. I saw the two of them in a quiet room that was cooling down after the intensity of the events. Roelof's body was tense from not knowing how to hold Aiven, a body attempting to relax but not quite knowing how. Aiven was calmly resting on his chest in surrender, relaxed and trusting.
A new caregiver entered and asked what we would like to eat. We ordered yogurt, and after some time, she came back with champagne and some snacks. I fed Roelof yogurt and vla with muesli while he was holding Aiven. It was a beautiful moment, our family together—Roelof holding Aiven and staying close to me. It touched me.
And so we were sitting there in a room where time stopped, and it felt like my movements were wrapped in a cotton layer. Tiredness was kicking in. I remember I wanted to pee, but no one was there to help me. We waited and waited, but it took a while for someone to come. I wanted to move, even though I had no idea how I was going to walk again, and peeing was scary. A new caregiver took me to the toilet and left me there. It went better than I thought, even though my pelvic floor was off; it felt unfamiliar. The lady helped me shower, and that felt very pleasant. I changed my clothing and was ready to go.
At first, we could stay at the hospital until morning, but later we found out that we needed to leave. We were both getting sleepy and tired, but there was no one to let us out, so we waited again. At around 4, we could go. They loaded me up with all the bags and the maxi cosi with Aiven in a wheelchair and let us go. Roelof drove me through the empty hospital, another surreal moment, to the taxi. Little Aiven, a few hours old in a gray woolen onesie, was disappearing in the chair.
The taxi arrived, and we assembled the chair and started moving. I remember stabbing pain on every tram rail and stone road. Next to the Dam, it was particularly intense.
We arrived home; I don’t remember the staircase or even how we went to bed. At 5, we were home, lying next to Aiven in his bed—Roelof on the right, Aiven Oa on the left. Here we were, 29 hours later, back where we started but changed forever.
The next day at 6 AM, the postnatal care arrived—an eccentric old lady with a cloud of gray hair and thin limbs. She woke us up, opening a new chapter. But that’s another story.
I had a remarkable experience; it had everything in it—fast, slow, and no time. Throughout the whole process, Roelof was my solidity, a strong pillar that supported me in everything that was happening. I felt loved and cared for. I can say that not only was Aiven born that night, but also something was born in me towards Roelof. Our family had started. I felt it the next morning when I woke up. Tears filled my eyes. Little Aiven Oa was growing on me, and my Roelof was next to me sleeping—the three of us, in our nest under the roof. Safe, protected, happy, and surrounded by omnipresent love filling every corner of the space.
The birthing experience was nothing like I imagined. I had romanticized it and had been naive about things. It taught me a new dimension of physicality, beyond anything I had experienced. I feel grateful for the honesty and realness of everything that has happened. I saw Roelof in that realness, and I held my son in that realness. I know now that this is the space where we live—the only space I want to be in.