Waiting. You’d think I’d be prepared for the continued waiting, considering it’s been 1,094 days of waiting in our journey of trying to get Miss Josephine here. Turns out waiting is still really hard even when we are possibly just days away from meeting our miracle. The last month of pregnancy is truly a marathon. There is nothing so exhausting requiring so much endurance and patience like the last month of pregnancy. It is uncomfortable. It is emotional. It is every day wondering what if it’s today. It’s sometimes feeling like you’re a watched animal in a cage because you’ve got a Dr. concerned about going past your due date and who agrees to your decision to decline cervical checks, but still really wanting to perform one even though your cervix is not a crystal ball and will not give you an indication of when labor will start or how long it will last. It’s a month filled with anxiety about how labor will go this time and praying and hoping it progresses faster. It’s being confident to proceed with a VBAC but still having moments of being terrified of the potential risks. With Sara Grace the last month was difficult, but nothing compared to this time around. Overall this pregnancy has been much harder on my body with lots more complications, and i don’t mean any of this as a complaint; it just makes this last month even more difficult as my belly continues to swell and grow a little more each day. Crying occurs sometimes 3, 4, 5 times a day depending what triggers it at any time. Sometimes it’s a television show, sometimes it’s a song, sometimes it’s just some miscommunication, not knowing if this will be my last pregnancy or not, and sometimes it’s me realizing that Sara Grace will soon no longer be the only baby girl my arms will hold. In these last days of waiting I try to remember that pregnancy won’t last forever. She will be here soon. I am reminded by Psalm 30:5 in the difficulty of this last month that “while weeping may last through the night, joy comes in the morning.”
What is written below is not by me. It was sent as an encouragement as I was in the last 2 weeks of pregnancy with Sara Grace and struggling with the physical and emotional turmoil of the last month of pregnancy for the first time. It was written by a midwife as she was waiting for a client to go into labor, and it has always been a beautiful thing for me to go back and read or share with other expectant mothers in their last weeks of pregnancy. It describes perfectly what the waiting feels like…and even gives the time period a name. Zwischen. Asking for continued prayers during this time of Zwischen. That I would continue to endure, that my body would cooperate and not fight labor, that my support team (that has been amazing so far) would know how to navigate my stubbornness and emotions, and that my birth experience would be safe and hopefully a spiritual experience where I continue to see God’s miracles at work.
The Last Days of Pregnancy: A place of in between
The last days of pregnancy are a distinct time of in between. It’s a tricky time for mothers, and these last few days are a biologic and psychological event.
She’s curled up on the couch, waiting, a ball of baby and emotions. A scrambled pile of books on pregnancy, labor, baby names, breastfeeding … not one more word can be absorbed. The birth supplies are loaded in a laundry basket, ready for action. The freezer is filled with meals, the car seat installed, the camera charged. It’s time to hurry up and wait. Not a comfortable place to be, but wholly necessary.
The last days of pregnancy — sometimes stretching to agonizing weeks — are a distinct place, time, event, stage. It is a time of in between. Neither here nor there. Your old self and your new self, balanced on the edge of a pregnancy. One foot in your old world, one foot in a new world.
Shouldn’t there be a word for this state of being, describing the time and place where mothers linger, waiting to be called forward?
Germans have a word, zwischen, which means between. I’ve co-opted that word for my own obstetrical uses. When I sense the discomfort and tension of late pregnancy in my clients, I suggest that they are now in The Time of Zwischen. The time of in between, where the opening begins. Giving it a name gives it dimension, an experience closer to wonder than endurance.
I tell these beautiful, round, swollen, weepy women to go with it and be okay there. Feel it, think it, don’t push it away. Write it down, sing really loudly when no one else is home, go commune with nature, or crawl into your own mama’s lap so she can rub your head until you feel better. I tell their men to let go of their worry; this is an early sign of labor. I encourage them to sequester themselves if they need space, to go out if they need distraction, to enjoy the last hours of this life-as-they-now-know-it. I try to give them permission to follow the instinctual gravitational pulls that are at work within them, just as real and necessary as labor.
The discomforts of late pregnancy are easy to Google: painful pelvis, squished bladder, swollen ankles, leaky nipples, weight unevenly distributed in a girth that makes scratching an itch at ankle level a feat of flexibility. “You might find yourself teary and exhausted,” says one website, “but your baby is coming soon!” Cheer up, sweetie, you’re having a baby. More messaging that what is going on is incidental and insignificant.
What we don’t have is reverence or relevance — or even a working understanding of the vulnerability and openness a woman experiences at this time. Our language and culture fails us. This surely explains why many women find this time so complicated and tricky. But whether we recognize it or not, these last days of pregnancy are a distinct biologic and psychological event, essential to the birth of a mother.
We don’t scientifically understand the complex hormones at play that loosen both her hips and her awareness. In fact, this uncomfortable time of aching is an early form of labor in which a woman begins opening her cervix and her soul. Someday, maybe we will be able to quantify this hormonal advance — the prolactin, oxytocin, cortisol, relaxin. But for now, it is still shrouded in mystery, and we know only how to measure thinning and dilation.
“You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you, Peter Pan. That’s where I’ll be waiting.” -Tinkerbell
I believe that this is more than biological. It is spiritual. To give birth, whether at home in a birth tub with candles and family or in a surgical suite with machines and a neonatal team, a woman must go to the place between this world and the next, to that thin membrane between here and there. To the place where life comes from, to the mystery, in order to reach over to bring forth the child that is hers. The heroic tales of Odysseus are with us, each ordinary day. This round woman is not going into battle, but she is going to the edge of her being where every resource she has will be called on to assist in this journey.
We need time and space to prepare for that journey. And somewhere, deep inside us, at a primal level, our cells and hormones and mind and soul know this, and begin the work with or without our awareness.
I call out Zwischen in prenatals as a way of offering comfort and, also, as a way of offering protection. I see how simple it is to exploit and abuse this time. A scheduled induction is seductive, promising a sense of control. Fearful and confused family can trigger a crisis of confidence. We are not a culture that waits for anything, nor are we believers in normal birth; waiting for a baby can feel like insanity. Giving this a name points her toward listening and developing her own intuition. That, in turn, is a powerful training ground for motherhood.
Today, I am waiting for a lovely new mother named Allison to call me, to announce that her Zwischen is ended and labor has begun. I am in my own in between place, waiting. My opportunity to grow and open is a lovely gift she gives me, in choosing me to attend her birth.
By: Jana Studelska CPM/LM, a licensed midwife practicing in northern Minnesota and Wisconsin.
Making a Myers 