Divine Timing - The Birth of Cleo Vali Keyser

On Tuesday May 25th, 2021, she decided she had had enough time all folded up in her water balloon home inside me. 

Cleo didn’t waste a minute coming into the world. My contractions began at 12:30pm that day, and she was in my arms 3 hours and 15 minutes later. My world changed forever as I felt her on my chest, all warm and slick with womb goo. It’s a feeling that is difficult to put into words, but if I had to choose one, I would say, it’s extraordinary. 

In the span of a year I lost my mother and I became a mother. There was something so curious about these coinciding life events that the only way I could understand what I was moving through was to see the timing of my pregnancy as divine. 

Of course, all pregnancies are miraculous, extraordinary and divine. I mean, you literally grow a human and a whole other temporary life sustaining organ–the placenta. It still blows my mind. For me, the divinity was in the passing of two spirits deeply connected to me, and so, to each other. 

I didn’t get to introduce my baby girl to my mother. Mom died when Cleo was just a cluster of cells. But I knew, with all of my heart, that they crossed paths. At one stage I fully wondered if Mom had reincarnated as my daughter, a desperate attempt to have them both with me. The truth is, I am of my mother and Cleo is of me, so in the moments that I stub my toe, burn the toast or clunk my elbow and Cleo laughs, there she is, within us both. 

In September 2020, I was in the early stages of my pregnancy when I returned home to Turks and Caicos. I had been up in Canada with my family, moving through the most surreal two weeks of our lives, caring for and saying goodbye to mom. Upon my return, my feelings flipped and flopped between the asphyxiation of grief and the excitement and anticipation of something new. 

My husband and I were so attentive to every little change and growth phase in our baby and my body. Tuning into my pregnancy helped me manage the otherwise insurmountable feelings of grief. We were also grateful to be able to tune out the noise of a world that was still spiraling through the pandemic. 

I continued my active lifestyle and really didn’t change much at all in my day to day living, despite the laundry list of pregnancy “Do’s and Don’ts”. I learned to listen to my body and hone in on my intuition more than I’d ever done before. I still had a mug of coffee daily, sipped a little wine with a meal, ate blue cheese on a cracker and had a bite or two of sushi from time to time. I also nourished myself deeply with self care practices like prenatal yoga, meditation, running, massage, yoni steaming, sunshine, ocean swims, sex, green juice, nutrition filled smoothies,

and I started eating more animal foods. I intuited a way of meeting my nutritional needs while growing a human. It all felt right. 

I was teaching more yoga than I had in years. At least 3 classes a day. I decided not to hop up into handstand at about 8 months (I was getting worried stares from some students) and I really stopped teaching altogether at this time to get my head into the reality that there’s going to be a baby on the outside and everything will change soon. I took this time to nest and read all the beautiful and scary stories of natural births, the bodies innate wisdom and capacity to birth a child. Thank you, Ina May Gaskin. 

My birth team came together pretty organically. I began working with a dear friend, Maryska, a naturopathic doctor and birth doula, on my birth plan. I learned what to expect and all of the ways that labor and delivery can shift and change depending on the circumstances. So, although I was creating a plan, I also knew I had to be flexible. The more I learned about the hospital protocols of the time, the more of my plan I had to let go of. 

We were having Cleo in the height of the pandemic. This meant there were strict, un-bendable regulations in place that did not allow me to have my husband Marc, or any of my birth team with me for delivery. After many tears, frustration and anger and after trying really hard to get an exemption, I accepted what was. I knew it was going to be me and my girl doing this together. 

Maryska supported my labor preparation through herbal tinctures, homeopathic remedies, acupuncture, and evening primrose oil (for softening the cervix) as well as empowering me as a woman, a soon to be mother, a fierce lioness. She, along with some other friends in the community, gave me the guidance I needed to advocate for what I wanted in the birth room. I wanted a natural birth and to be at home for as long as possible, before separating from my family and going to the hospital. 

My sister, Lindsay was my right hand when I needed her to be and I knew I could count on that. She was immersed in her own life journey over the course of my pregnancy - infatuation, exploration and love. I remember wanting more of her during this time but I was equally happy she had her own distraction to lessen the grief of mom. I knew she would appear the second I needed her to. Lindsay had the major task of running our business, more or less solo, and she got it done. I always imagined Lindsay would be a part of my birth story, as I had the honor of being present for hers. While I knew my mom couldn’t be physically present, I wanted Lindsay to stand in as both sister and mom. 

My husband Marc took very good care in nurturing me throughout my pregnancy, supporting all the decisions I was making and getting equally giddy with excitement of our soon-to-be baby girl. When the day came he was skipping around the intense labor scene that took over our living room, doing as much as he could to be out of the way and as much as he could to help. I recall he tried bringing in my aroma diffuser and for whatever reason in that moment it was a no go - totally shot down. He picked up food and made an emergency run to the pharmacy for an extra electric heating pad. And he watched and cheered me on in his way - he’s the kind of guy that can show up for all the things without wavering - the sounds, the smells, the fluids, the tears, the hysteria of labor - he’s that guy. 

During my hospital check ups I met Patrizia, an Italian midwife, and we soon became friends. She really went out of her way to support me during my pregnancy. She talked my ear off at each appointment which always left me laughing and feeling lighter and less fearful or anxious. She used various different techniques on me like guided meditation and she would also swing my belly and hips side to side in a big scarf - Spinning Babies (to help get the baby head down and in a good position for delivery). When Marc and I tried repeating this at home, it didn’t quite have the same effect. Patrizia’s genuine kindness meant so much and she was always a text message away when I needed advice, had concerns, and when the moment of labor arrived. 

I was due to have an induction on Wednesday, May 26th. I had already staved it off 5 extra days, so I knew if Cleo didn’t come soon on her own, I’d be checking myself into the hospital to force labor. I had been in the early stages of labor for days, remaining dilated at 2 centimeters, but no contractions. I was doing all the things to invite Cleo out. Walking briskly, stairs, squats, sex, acupuncture, spicy food, and basically “overdosing” on a blue and black cohosh tincture. I knew I had one more option to encourage some contractions. 

I started with one tbsp of castor oil on Sunday night. This was a middle of the night experiment because I couldn’t sleep and was curious if it might bring things on. Well, it did. A whole lotta poop! It completely cleared my system out, but that was it. So, when Monday night rolled around and still no knocks at the door from Cleo, I decided to go for round two early the following morning. On Tuesday morning at 6am I slugged back another tbsp of castor oil in mango juice as my last ditch effort to progress naturally. By 10am my system was once again cleared out. I can remember changing our sheets and as I was doing this I knew I wouldn’t be getting back into my own bed for a while (we had prepared a big bed in the nursery to sleep in). 

Maryska was planning a visit later that morning to see how I was doing. At 11am, while on a call with my oldest brother Mike, I could feel little pangs I hadn’t felt before. An hour later the little pangs became strong explosions in my low back and it was clear I was having contractions. The pain became so intense that I reached a point of not being able to speak, my brother still on the line. I had feared low back labor because of a chronic back issue I’ve had for 20 years. Surprisingly, throughout my pregnancy I had zero pain so it took me completely by surprise that morning. 

I hung up with Mike and Maryska appeared at the door, right on time. Very shortly after looking at me and watching my contractions, she canceled her afternoon appointments and told me she wasn't going anywhere. She began the clock, timing the contractions, a little surprised at the pace of them and the quick rise in intensity I was clearly experiencing. By 1pm, I was in full blown active labor with my contractions reeling in every 45 seconds to a minute. 

Lindsay, coming right off the heels of teaching classes all morning, still in her yoga gear, decided to quickly stop by, without knowing things had kicked off in such a way. As her truck pulled into the driveway, I could feel tears well up in my eyes. She’s here, I needed her, I needed Mom, I needed help. She walked into the room and saw me rolling my hips around on my yoga ball and completely in it. I broke, my floodgates opened and tears poured out of me. Lindsay sat on the other side of the chair I was gripping, white knuckled, and squeezed my hands and said “you can do this, you’re doing this...everything that has happened with Mom has prepared you for this moment”. More tears came and then I was able to move right back into some fierce Ujjayi breathing. 

I didn’t make animal noises or scream in my labor. I went deep inside of myself, digging out the longest deepest controlled breath I could find. I squeezed my eyes closed and listened to my breath. Despite Maryska’s encouragement for me to soften, relax and release my perineum into the yoga ball, “like a flower blossoming” during each tidal wave, I locked my hips, drove my feet as hard as I could into whatever furniture or wall was close by, not able to move. I clenched my jaw tightly. I laugh thinking about it now because it is the total opposite of what is meant to be helpful in that moment. 

Electric heating pads were bolstered around me. Lindsay had moved behind me and was pushing on my low back with a heating pad on full blast, penetrating through the pain. A second one underneath me. I don’t have any labor experience to compare this one to, but during each contraction it felt a little like someone was taking a sledge hammer to my low back and smashing my sacrum into a million tiny pieces - into dust. Somehow, I was managing. With Maryska sticking acupuncture needles into my toes, Linds feeding me strength through her hands and Marc, close by, I was doing it. 

Lindsay’s hands pressed firmly into my low back for two hours straight. They felt like anchors. They were the connection I needed to stay steady and in my body. Her hands were a channel of strength, courage, love and the “mother-like touch” I had wished for. 

At one point I threw up. Maryska got really excited at this point and had me get down on my hands and knees for a new position and then I threw up some more. I learned that when you throw up during labor it can open up the cervix more rapidly. Maryska kept checking her phone and later I found out she had been in touch with Patrizia who was down at the hospital working and hoping to see me while she was still on her shift. 

Contractions were coming in fast and furious at this point and before we knew it, I was transitioning. I made my way to the toilet feeling like the baby was going to plop out of me. I had no idea what stage I was in, but Maryska did and I could hear Lindsay and Marc scurrying around getting my things together and into the truck. 

I felt completely safe, completely in the flow. As much as one can be in a precipitous labor. I fully trusted my team to guide me, to make the right calls, and they did. My home labor was exactly as I had wanted it to be. But my fear of having my baby in the hallway on the way out, was almost coming true.

I couldn’t get off the toilet. Marc and Maryska came into the room. According to Marc my stomach shot out and then sucked way back in almost flat, and then gush. My water broke. I remember Marc's eyes wider than his head and Maryska on her hands and knees in front of me. She looked up at me and said “Laura, we have to get you up and get you into the truck now. We need to get to the hospital, right now. We have 10 minutes.” She said this calm and collected, but certain. This was the very first moment that I actually felt a little worried. What if I couldn’t stand up? 

The pressure was so strong at this point. I stood up, Maryska dressed me. I looked down and my black crocs were filling with water and fluid as I hobbled my way down the hallway and out my front door. I made it to the truck where I sat in the front passenger seat on top of my nursing pillow so my butt had space to do whatever the hell it was doing. Marc at the wheel, Lindsay and Maryska behind me in the back seats. This 3 minute drive to the hospital was agonizing. Marc had to stop every 30 seconds while I had contraction after contraction. Head down, eyes squeezed, deep in my ujjayi breath, white knuckled gripping the handle above the window. 

We came flying in through the emergency doors of the hospital. Lindsay and Marc went ahead to inform the triage. As I was about to climb out of the truck, Maryska opened the door and scooped me right up and started carrying me to the doors - a little like a scene from a movie where someone is being carried out of a burning house. I started laughing and said “what are you doing? I can walk, I think.” 

So, down I went in a hilarious split second of drama. A wheel chair was waiting for me. Maryska wheeled me into the triage to find Lindsay and Marc arguing about forms needing to be filled out. Maryska, knowing this baby was coming any minute, started piping in, while the nurse handed me a clipboard with papers to sign. My eyes were squeezed shut as hard as possible in hopes that if I could squeeze my eyes closed I could keep my cervix closed too. 

After a blurry fury of my team yelling at the administrators, and the administrators finally getting what was about to happen, I was swept away. Swept away from all my people, my team, my safety bubble. Marc kissed my head, said he loved me and I disappeared into an elevator with two people carrying my stuff and pushing me along. 

As we reached the labor ward floor and the doors slid open there was Patrizia, my other team member. She was still on shift. She took over, wheeling me into a delivery room while someone chased behind us, still trying to get a registration band around my wrist. 

I looked at Patrizia and said “if I stand up this baby is going to come out. The baby is coming out.” 

I was hoisted onto a bed, Patrizia suited up with gloves and coat and did a quick check. My cervix was 10 cm, baby Cleo was coming!

One of the very stressed out admin workers caught up to where I was and managed to clip the wristband on me. As I started to push, my two doctors who had been taking care of me at the hospital for all my checks and sweeps, came flying through the doors. I was surprised to have company. They had brightly colored striped socks on and bright clothing, not the typical scrubs, and their hair was done up in silly pigtails and a side ponytail. I later found out there was a staff dance party happening and that was why they happened to both be there at that time. They heard I was about to deliver and came straight up. 

I was beyond moved to have all of these women, my hospital team that had carried me this far, on all three sides of me, cheering me on. Here I was, back in another bubble, with a new team. 

While Patrizia was at the helm reminding me in her accent to breath the baby out, little breaths to let the baby slide out (the idea with that is to avoid tearing), the doctors, one in my left ear and the other my right were hollering at me to PUSHHHHH, PUSHHHHH, Chin to chest, and PUUUUSHH. Their voices won as they were the loudest and the urgency I had to push was like the worst bout of diarrhea you have ever felt. I curled my shoulder blades up enough that I could press my chin to my chest, as instructed, and I pushed. 

I felt a hot ball push out and then suck back in - that would be Cleo’s head. OH MY GOD. I was not about to let that happen again, so on my next push, I just didn’t stop, I didn’t breathe, I just pushed until I felt that same hot head push through, and continued on that same push, abs as fatigued as possible, until I felt Cleo’s whole, warm body slide out of me. I believe this is called “purple pushing”, and something I had planned not to do. Good thing I had also committed to being flexible with whatever happened. 

I felt the sting, the burn, the tare, and then I heard a cry. Cleo’s cry. Patrizia was placing her onto my chest and then helping to pull my snake print yoga top out of the way so Cleo could start rooting. She found the milk supply quickly and there I was with this tiny, itty bitty, warm and wet baby, suckling away. She was here, now living outside of my body and 100% reliant on my body still. Patrizia pressed my belly and another warm, sizable mass pressed its way out of me - my placenta. Suddenly there was Marc’s face. My eyes welled. Patrizia was holding up the phone with Marc on FaceTime to meet his baby girl. His eyes wide, in shock at how quickly she was out. My home birth team had only just returned to our house to clean up the scene when Patrizia called them to say Cleo was born. 

As they took Cleo 10 feet away to dry her off, and dress her. II had requested they not bathe her to keep her white coating on, the vernix - there to protect the baby in the first couple weeks of adapting to a new, dry environment. My eyes blurred over as I began to feel the worst pain yet. Stitches. I had a second degree tear and Patrizia was taking her time to make sure I was stitched up in the best way possible. At this point, my knees are rattling in the stirrups as this meticulous process is underway.

Fortunately, I had a new baby to focus on, to distract me from my rattling legs and the pain. After stitches I was padded up and Cleo and I were wheeled to another room. Our own, very quiet room. 

As the door closed, the hustle and bustle, the energy of my home team and my hospital team all disappeared. 

In the quiet space of my own room, with my new baby on my chest, deep pangs of fear swept in. I was completely alone here. How would I know what to do? I didn’t want to be alone. I looked over at the empty guest chair in my room, and I saw her, sitting there, alert and attentive from the edge of her chair, watching over me. “Mom, meet Cleo”, I said with tears rolling down my face. I felt relaxed and at ease after that. 

“It’s you and me Cleo, right now at least.” 

We made it through the night, I held Cleo close and got in trouble a few times from the night nurses who were upset I wasn’t keeping her in her hospital bassinet. I think they were scared I would roll over her. I kept bringing her back in with me, tucked under a cozy blanket I had from home, breastfeeding and falling in and out of sleep together. 

The next morning, after changing myself many times, giant pad, after giant pad, I realized I would have to pee at some point. Yikes, this was a terrifying thought. It stung but not as bad as I anticipated. When the pediatrician came in to visit us and check me and Cleo, I was on my best behavior, acting totally good and well and ready to go home. I just wanted to bring Cleo home. 

She looked at me and said I could leave an hour earlier than I was meant to. Fine, I’ll take it. I called a close friend from the hospital that morning, but I don’t remember what I said. I was in a dazed state for sure. I wanted her to see Cleo, all fresh, and to see that I was still me, although we both knew I was a new version of me now. 

Marc had been on and off facetime with me through the night and that following day until he was right there on the other side of the Emergency doors waiting to meet his daughter and to take us both home.