The first time I fell in love, I was sitting in a pile of overstuffed pillows underneath my dorm room loft. My husband, who was my boyfriend at the time, had watched a movie with me on my tiny TV and the credits had long since rolled. The pillow pile, a college budget attempt at a sofa, was our favorite spot. I threw on a CD, and while our favorite song played, I realized, “this is it… this is where I belong.” That song would be played again in front of all our friends and family while we danced for the first time as a married couple.
Music has a way of bringing back memories. Every time I hear that song come on the radio, I am taken back to a darkened dorm room with hushed I-love-you’s and a dreamlike waltz in a ballroom on a moonlit beach. Now that I am a mother, I have another song (or two) that hold a similar place in my heart.
During my last weeks of pregnancy, I watched a video on You Tube of a woman singing while her husband accompanied her on guitar. She was in labor! She was calmed by the soulful music and singing was not only a distraction, but a way to control her breathing while she was in pain. I was inspired and instantly knew the perfect album to bring to the delivery room.
After my water was broken, labor got increasingly difficult, but what I remember is having my arms wrapped around my husband’s neck, the music swelling over the steady beep of my monitors, and singing through my contractions. I was calm, anticipating the birth of my son, and giving into labor. (Childbirth is something a woman must submit herself to; it’s not something she controls. When she relaxes and allows it to happen, it takes over and leaves her in a state of awe. I was mesmerized at how my body seemed to know exactly what to do without any direction from me.) Perhaps it was the pain that locked in every other aspect of that evening. Every detail from that night will occasionally replay itself in my dreams. I’ll wake up with a trace of labor’s adrenaline rushing through my veins. The soundtrack is always there, playing in the background.
Hearing those songs again takes me back to the second time I fell in love. A crying baby boy was laid across my chest, his body strikingly warmer than I expected, his new scent sweeter. His shaking voice quieted at my touch as he settled in, knowing he was where he belonged. Yesterday, as I rocked my son to sleep, this same music played in our living room. To say that I was overwhelmed with emotion is an understatement. I think that album will be tied to his arrival for the rest of his life.
Not only did music turn out to be one of the most effective ways of coping with the pain of childbirth, but it also became the defining detail, a pivotal aspect of my experience that I can hold onto forever. A photograph could not recall such vivid memories.
What reminds you of the first time you met your children?
See also:
My Experience With Natural Childbirth, Part 1
My Experience With Natural Childbirth, Part 2
My Experience With Natural Childbirth, Part 3