The story of Benjamin Luca

Being a mother for the third time does not make much difference.  You will still be a new mother, navigating new hurdles, learning new things.

It is so amazing really.

Benjamin Luca is different in so many ways.  The choice of names given by the children themselves.

My own choice is still quite apt- Malachi meaning my messenger and my angel.

Starting with pregnancy, I was the most stable hormonally, I ate reasonably and a combination of healthy/unhealthy alternatives, I tired easily and felt nauseous for the first time ever.  I learnt to listen more to my body and my instinct.  I learnt that I can do things I do not normally approve of because later I will still have the opportunity to reset it all. I learnt how good it is to communicate and how it is now helping us move more harmoniously as a family.

Birth….it was wonderful as I practically ticked off all on my wish list for the birth.  That is no interventions what so ever.  A lovely midwife to assist. A husband I could count on. And best of all I caught my own baby.  Yet emotionally I had to give my all.  My projected fears intensified after the last hospital appt and I could not shake them off- which made this birth my longest.  The contractions were harder than any of the others and I had to use strength which I never needed before and my projection of breathing the baby out rather than pushing him made laughing stock of me as I had to push incredibly hard to truly bring him earth side.  The intensity of it made me feel like a caged animal at times- not sure how or where to go.  I could not find a position for the longest time ever and in the end stayed mostly on all fours.  While I still believe I had a lovely birth, I now understand more the mother who says it was horrible and painful and wouldn’t do it again or would take all the drugs available.  There in that moment I could see why so many mothers tell horror stories and project unknowingly further fears to other mothers to be.  Yet, it was not pain, it was growing pains because I was growing and learning and he is my messenger in all of this.  It was lovely in every sense and I wouldn’t trade it differently.  Yet my heart still aches for what I felt was meant to be and what actually meant to be.  I was also afraid I wouldn’t get through it.  I was so hungry, yet when I tried to snack I got so nauseous I could not dream of trying again.  So with waning strength I knew I had to birth him now and I pushed like I never pushed before and with a strength I found I caught him without any assistance and that was the most magical experience.  Suddenly I could collapse in my husband’s arms and cradle my baby boy whom I waited for so long.

Even the placenta which normally births on its own in my case, I needed to give it a helpful couple of pushes.  The tree of life was thick and big and amazing.

The day after birth – I discharged myself because my other babies where longing to see me and their baby brother.  I also found no use in staying there doing nothing – at least I could do nothing in my own home.  I felt weak (still hadn’t managed to eat) and so tired I admit I could have used a wheelchair to get out of there.  And today I am clear and focused.  I do not feel tired but I am still weak and tiring quickly.  Also all those muscles I used for birthing this little man are claiming there place in protesting on over usage.

And to add to the learning curve, I am experiencing sore nipples.  Ironic being a breastfeeding counsellor! Yet it’s another tool for me to use in my work.

I still feel sad and in need of processing what happened and why this particular sadness for being so different from what I anticipated.  Yet I still claim this was the most amazing experience and that the real regret is not negotiating for a photographer to be present.


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