octopus: a birth story

i can feel her small head between my legs. it is the strangest feeling i have ever had. SHE is in ME and SHE is almost HERE. i look down to the mirror at my feet. i am entranced. her dark hair slides out when i push and slides back in when i rest. will she ever come out? "you're doing a great job" they tell me. my husband, almond eyes, is amazed. he is proud and in love and wide-eyed. i must get her out. i touch her head again. it is hard and soft at the same time. i can't belive there is a head inside my body. this is surreal and all too wonderful. i am too tired to talk. i telepathy "ice chips" to almond eyes between pushes. i can't believe he doesn't know what i'm asking of him. doesn't he KNOW? my doula does. she nudges him and he remembers his ice chip duty. a million things run through my head as my body miraculously pushes by itself. i am along for the ride but trying to figure out how to "push" as they tell me. (SHE is the one pushing i think.) what could be in my head at a time like this? of course, food. i am ravenous. this is the most important moment of my life and all i can think about is a grilled cheese and vanilla shake from the diner across the street. i must get her out. i look to the mirror again and try to focus better. i get serious. i will do this. i am too tired to do this much longer. grilled cheese. milk shake. i telepathy again: "ice chips." he gets it this time. my body pushes. i contort my insides to try to push. i grunt. i am loud. "relax your legs." i don't know what i'm doing. but i must get her out. THEN...

FLOP! out she tumbles, wet in her own ocean. slippery and slithery. arms and legs like the tentacles of an octopus. oh my god. "oh my god" my voice escapes through my dry lips. "pray" they say to almond eyes who has forgotten our birth plan wish for quiet so that he can say the traditional prayer of birth. i don't hear him. i don't hear anything. i am amazed at what has just come out of my body. i have birthed. i am strong. i am real.
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