All moms deserve more support after birth. Cuarentena showed me there is a better way
This article was originally published at the Lost Angeles BY JULISSA JAMES.
This story is part of Parents Are Cool!, the third issue of Image, which explores the myriad ways in which L.A. parents practice the craft of care. See the full package here.
The following interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
I had Isla in my bathtub, at home. Birth is the most gnarliest thing of life.
It was very dark. We had tea light candles lit. We had essential oils going in the diffuser. My husband, Franco, had made a labor playlist (I remember Sade). I had my grandmother’s picture in there, basically made like a little altar.
I’m in this super deep meditation, because this is the only way I’m going to get through this. Ninety-seven percent of the time my eyes are closed. I’m just focused on my breathing to manage the pain. I vomit because that’s how strong the pain is coming on. During this meditation, I had this vision of an ancestor that I had never met previously, but I knew they were related on my mom’s side, specifically to my grandmother. He had the same complexion as me, but he had golden hair and golden eyes. I just remember him staring at me in a way that was reassuring, like, “I’m here. You’re being watched over.” He was in all white and had a white hat on.
No one tells you that when you’re in labor your hands shake so much. My midwife, Debbie Allen, was like, “Just reach down, her head is right there,” and I’m like, “I can’t reach down, I’m shaking too much!” So she checked, and she’s like, “Your water hasn’t broken yet. Do you want me to break your water or do you want to reposition by sitting on the toilet and seeing if that will break it?”
I think my actual words to her were, “Just fucking break it.”
