Deep in my marrow, I knew it would change everything. It had to.
I labored 2.5 days. Traversed through physical, emotional, spiritual issues I thought I had moved through 1000 times before. I burned sage and I prayed. I played Outkast and I danced. I made offerings and I cried. I called on my Ancestors and I listened. I crawled up to the helm of God’s dress and I pulled and pulled until an opening was revealed.
Through the opening and beyond, this mama walked across water and blood to go get my baby. (I passed so many mamas who have been and will be- along the way.)
Reaching down into the river of both time and myself to touch Oyetunde for the first time, I reached down to catch all of the dreams, fears, doubts, and longings I’d never whispered to anyone before.
He was born just before dawn, and though my labor was an epic quest and rite, in the final stage I did not push. I did not need to.
The work had been done. I got quiet enough so I could hear the breath and pulse of God. I followed that sound toward my baby’s heart. In tune, I breathed the fullest breathes of my life until we both made it to the other side.
My mind was full, and not crowded. My body had ripened soft, yet not been swallowed whole in the consuming process of giving birth.
My heart was cracked open, but not broken.
I had done the hardest thing I had ever done.
Today, my son turns two years old.
Because of him and the power, freedom, and healing of his birth, I know anything is possible.