Iowa.

Iowa.

This post has nothing to do with Iowa, which I (sort of) affectionately refer to as "one of those vowel states," and it only has a tiny bit to do with a song called "Iowa" by Dar Williams, that was in my head Tuesday night as I raced (73 mph!) up to Orange County for Sarah's birth. The part where Dar sings about driving across the state 10 miles above the limit with no seatbelt, and she'd do it again. Although I wore my seatbelt and have a personal hang up about going any faster than 8 miles above the limit, as if it makes me less desirable to a cop or something. But, the do it again part is totally fitting. And come on, it's Dar's ultimate woman-help song. "I've never had a way with women, but the hills of Iowa make me wish that I did."

Sarah called me at 6 pm ish to tell me that her water dramatically broke. She said that I should be on standby while she called her midwife. Remember that I'm about an hour and a half away from her. At 6:45, she called again to tell me to eat dinner and put Ollie to bed (his usual bed time is 7/7:30). I was out the door by 8, and arrived at their house in record time at 9:15. I opened the door to see Scott and Sarah standing there while Sarah dealt with a contraction. This is all normal enough, but add into the mix that her parents were both standing there trying to corral their dog that they had brought over, a yipping little tiny thing called Bootsie. It stressed ME out, man, and I wasn't the one with the concracting uterus.

As soon as that contraction ended, we left the barking dog behind and headed towards the hospital, which was in Laguna Niguel or maybe Laguna Beach. I don't know which one. It was dark and rainy.

We got to the hospital room at 10:00 pm. The midwife, who otherwise was very great, decided to ask Sarah some pointless questions during a contraction, so I stepped up to Be The Doula, to (politely) (and quietly) remind the midwife that Sarah was having a contraction? And could we wait with the questions?

I had been having doubts over the last month or so about my purpose as their doula, if I was really necessary, and if I'd just get in the way. This was going to be Sarah's third birth, she was a fantastic doula at my birth, and also her husband was a proven birth partner. I figured a first-time birthing couple would be easier on my confidence. I had been imagining Scott and Sarah having these quiet late night conversations about them not wanting to hurt my feelings by uninviting me. After that moment with telling the midwife to hush, I realized that I had done at least one doula thing right, so as long as I didn't somehow stop the birth, I'd be okay.

The beautiful Bryn was born at 10:45 pm. Her mother roared her out with such powerful strength and beauty, and also an element of calmness and grace. Bryn pretty much slept through it, emerging so peacefully and beautifully into her new world. And if you have ever doubted how amazing Sarah is, let me add that Bryn was 11 lbs 2 oz.

Being with a birthing mother has changed me in a way that my own birth didn't -- and couldn't. It's a totally different ballgame to be the one on the periphery witnessing the miracle. I feel like this was a rite of passage into womankind, that this experience that was supposed to foster empowerment in someone else (Sarah) ended up doing the total opposite. Now I'm strong, inspired, and roar-y, all because a woman birthed a baby on the floor in front of me.

I left the hospital just before midnight. The storm chased the windshield the whole way home and I cried for having known such a moment.