When I learned I was pregnant with Oscar Apollo, I felt deep in my bones that this pregnancy and his birth would be both very sacred to me and very different than the births of his other siblings. I did not know what this meant, but now I have a better idea.
The first 16 weeks of my pregnancy were very uneventful, basically everything went as it “should.” I talked to my son every day and he responded. Oscar and I were in constant communication. I had started to feel him move and was getting excited and nervous for the new addition to our family. I was deep in the process of compiling the best birth team for my family’s needs. My husband and I were getting ready to tell the older kids that they would have a new sibling for Christmas. I went to our first ultrasound appointment, a routine event at best, on July 10, 2023 and Oscar did not have a heartbeat. This is when things started to unravel.
We spent the following three days at several medical appointments confirming that Oscar had indeed passed and trying to make sense of why. We found no answers.
I decided I wanted to birth my son at home. I have had other babies at home before and I wanted to meet, hold, kiss and hopefully photograph him. I know how sacred the birthing process is to me and that I wanted an empowered, safe, family-centered birth.
Thursday, July 13th unfolded like most Thursdays do for me – I watered my plants, made food, cleaned up messes, played with my kids. I went out to the swimming pool with my kids around 2 in the afternoon. I came inside at about 6 PM when I started to feel some early labor cramping. My bag of waters broke. As much as there were parts of me that wanted to hold on to being pregnant just a little longer, I knew it was time to surrender. I started to prepare my birthing space, my bedroom and bathroom. I wrote in my journal. It was a very sad, beautiful, heart wrenching, empowering, tender time. I asked that my daughter help me get things I needed like chucks pads and displaying birth affirmation cards that my sister gifted me for my birthday last year (taking out the ones that mention a healthy baby as those would be triggering for me).
I had a strong sensation that I needed to use the bathroom, so I sat on the toilet, my body ripped open, and Oscar was born at 7:55 PM. Until then, I had been very quiet during labor (which is not normal for me as I tend to roar my babies out). When he was born, I let out the most sorrowful cry I have ever uttered. It was not something I manufactured or thought about. This was primal. I could not breathe. My body physically mourned the loss of my son and everything I had been holding in came out in a very foreign/deep guttural wail – almost an animal howl. I was deeply mourning the loss of a future that I would never have with my son. Oscar and I were no longer one and he was safe inside me no more. It was a bittersweet moment.
After Oscar was born, my husband and I did what most parents do postpartum. We snuggled him and marveled at his beauty. We could not believe how well developed he was. Our birth photographer came. It was different though, because the magical hours after his birth are the only hours we will have to remember him by.
I am grateful that I had the chance to carry him and have this experience with him, though it was admittedly WAY too short. Life is a dichotomy and we are learning to hold space for seemingly contradictory experiences and emotions in tandem. Birthing my son was a beautiful experience. I will cherish it forever/never forget it. Remembering Oscar is deeply, profoundly sacred. He is not my first loss, but he is the loss that I have been the most intentional in processing and that has made all the difference.
After over four years of trying to conceive, only to lose Oscar Apollo, we decided it was time for further, more extensive medical intervention. I knew that scientifically, a person is more fertile the four months after a loss, but that was not enough for me to rely on. So, starting August of 2023, I went weekly to a naturopathic doctor who specializes in fertility. By October I was once again pregnant – something about getting stabbed weekly with 100 acupuncture needles and taking innumerable herbal remedies worked. I was going to have a summer baby – due really close to their older brother, Oscar’s birthday.
When I learned about Project Finding Your Rainbow, I contacted my birth photographer (the one who took Oscar’s birth photos and the one I had hired for my upcoming birth) and let her know about this opportunity and we made a plan/set a date and location for the photos. While I was initially excited to participate, as the date for the shoot neared, I started to dread it. I was big. I was stretched (physically/mentally/emotionally/spiritually) beyond the limits I thought possible. I had no belly button. I felt at least the size of Texas; I was sick; and was so, so tired. I did not have the time or energy to get coordinating family outfits together and was literally combing through the kiddos’ closets to make something “rainbow themed” and lacey work just hours before the shoot. I did not want to get kids ready for a photoshoot. It was hot, like at least 114 degrees hot. However, we had an appointment and my photographer was already en route. My photographer made sure to include thoughtful ways to include Oscar in our photos. In the middle of the shoot, the clouds opened and the sky poured rain. It was a welcomed respite from the oppressive summer heat.In spite of my terrible attitude, I am grateful to have these images to remember that very special/sacred time and experience of growing my newest rainbow baby inside me.
Thursday, June 27 was my last day teaching summer school. After classes were out, I ran errands, spent time with my children – specifically my four-year-old, cleaned house and made dinner. I went to pick up my second child from work. While waiting for her to come out, I reached out to my birth team. We had a meeting to get on the same page about my upcoming birth scheduled for the following Monday evening (about four days later). I was confirming the meeting, but also I felt a need to let them know that I had been experiencing prodromal labor for the past two weeks and that over the past 48 hours I had experienced some contractions that required my stopping what I was doing to breathe through. I was still quite certain that I was going to be pregnant for the next three to four weeks – my most recent babies had all been born past the 40 week mark and I was only barely at 37 weeks. That being said, my past three babies were also all born the day after my last day of teaching/my first day of “maternity leave” and I had just taught my last day. My midwife let me know that they were ready for me when baby was ready to come and my doula let me know that this wasn’t science. I went home and put my kids to bed and a few hours later I went to pick my husband up from work. On the way home, he was discussing our plans for the weekend mostly a lot of him working overtime – and I felt a need to let him know that we may not be doing those things because we might b be having a baby…things were progressing for me and I really was not confident we would make it to Monday without a newbie. I told him I wanted him to paint my belly that night. Once we were home, my husband showered and I encouraged him to sleep a few hours and then paint my belly. I changed into my birth dress, cleaned the house, and busied myself with chores – trying to determine whether I was in labor or not. I could not sleep, and if I were indeed in labor and we were indeed having a baby, I did not want to have a messy kitchen or random furniture out of place when I emerged from my bedroom cave with a new babe.
Probably around 3 AM, I resigned myself to the fact that we were not going to get my belly painted, at least not that night. Though I still was not completely certain I was REALLY in labor, I decided that I probably needed to try to get some rest before things got too intense. I went to bed. I was having semi-consistent contractions for about a minute at a time every four(ish) minutes. Once I was in bed, I let my husband know he was in charge of monitoring my contractions, because I just needed to focus on resting and being in laborland. My husband was in contact with my birth team and was monitoring my contractions. I was fully committed to resting and laboring. At some point in time (I don’t know when), I moved from my bed to the floor at the base of my bed.
My birth team started arriving around 6 AM. My midwife and photographer really mostly left me alone as I had told them I like to labor on my own for the most part. I do remember feeling lost and very much unsure as to whether I was really in labor or not. I had experienced prodromal labor nightly for so long. My midwife came in the room and I asked her if I was really in labor (I felt bad dragging everyone out of bed for something I was unsure about) and though I didn’t really believe her, she confirmed that I was. My husband had been so supportive and attentive (though I probably seemed less than grateful for his efforts at the time), but what I really needed was a female guide to help me find my path. I found that in my doula. Once my doula arrived (at about 6:40 AM) I felt I could surrender to the process. She poked her head in my bedroom, smiled and said “Hi” and I was so happy I may have cried. I had been lost in the bigness of birth and felt so strongly that with her, this was something I could do. So, I did it. Things got more intense from this point on. My doula got on the floor and just breathed through the contractions with me. Soon, they were pretty much on top of each other. Time passed and my entire birth team had made their way into my bedroom.
I asked if they would wake my kiddos up so they could be there for the birth. At 7:40 AM, with the morning sun streaming through my window and surrounded by the the very most important people in my life, my bag of waters broke, my body opened up and our sweet baby emerged. I birthed my baby girl, Marigold “Goldie,” on all fours at the foot of my bed (a first for me). As my midwife started to examine my baby girl, there were various red flags that compiled together were concerning enough that my midwife suggested we may need to go to the hospital to get them checked out. Ultimately, we decided to head to the hospital. We did not have much time at home with this tiny, very new human before heading to the hospital (and then staying for the next two weeks). So, reflecting on the time we had at home is extra special to me.
I am so grateful that we were able to participate in Project Finding Your Rainbow. The magic of honoring both of my two beautiful children – my loss, Oscar, and my new baby, Goldie is so profound. Some of the reasons we gave Marigold her name are because of the Marigold bridge that connects the land of the living with the land of the dead in Latin traditions. In other traditions, it is a rainbow bridge that connects the land of the living with the land of the dead. It just felt like a name that completed the circle of this journey. Further, we liked that Goldie referenced the sun and our son, Oscar’s middle name is Apollo – named after the Greek sun god. These two really have a magnificent connection through this rainbow skirt and the almost year journey between their two births and it has been an honor to get to participate in the rainbow skirt sisterhood. It’s a club that no person wants to be a part of, but one that only those of us who are a part of can fully, deeply appreciate the intrinsic significance of.
Photos taken by Tejanita Bush of Nurtured Empowerment.
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