Baci Abroad Blog
Dar a luz, a birth story
Sometimes we say, “I wear my heart on my sleeve.” Now, my heart lives outside me and this can be…terrifying. All I can think about is keeping her safe. She is mighty and strong. Yet, she also feels so vulnerable. So many things take your breath away as a mama.
I wrote the reflection above as Dae-Han drove us home from Houm, our birth center in Seocho, Korea. Sofia was four days old. We had spent her first days of life surrounded by an amazing care team of doulas, midwives, nurses, and Dr. Chung. While the day was bright as we drove, and I felt some excitement at being together with Sofia in our home, the underlying emotion I was managing was fear. We had left the cocoon, but I was uncertain about the strength of my wings.
Houm away from Home
If you have followed our fertility journey, you have read about how raw and hard some of the moments have been — unsuccessful IVF, two miscarriages. Grief that knocked the wind out of me some days. In the midst of this journey, I found Houm, a birth center that many mamas from campus recommended.
The origin story of Houm is beautiful. Dr. Peter Chung, the founder, was once a doctor at a large hospital in Seoul — Samsung? … I do not remember for sure. He performed many, many C-sections in this role. One day, a woman from Europe asked if he would assist her home birth, as there were no natural birthing options in Korea at that time. Dr. Chung agreed. In the process of being present at her birthing, he learned what labor really was for a woman.
Dr. Chung and me in my birthing suite on our first visit back to Houm after Sofia’s birth. Dr. Chung also goes by “George Clooney.”
As time passed, more women approached Dr. Chung, suggesting that he open a birth center that offered women the option of births without intervention, unless the safety of mom or baby dictated that intervention was necessary (or the mama requested it). Dr. Chung listened, and what was first named Mediflower, now Houm, was born.
Houm’s approach is holistic. When I returned from summer, at the end of my first trimester, Houm set us up with a care team. A midwife set up a chat for us, available at all times, that included herself, another midwife, and a doula.
As the weeks passed, we got to know our midwife Julia and our doula Karen. Another midwife Dayana assisted us by running a birthing class. As Sofia’s due date, February 9th, neared, I felt connected to these women. At Houm, you feel embraced by warmth walking into each appointment. The care is personal and intimate.
Interrupted sleep
At 4 am on Wednesday, February 5th, I got up to go to the bathroom. “When was the last time I slept through the night?” I wondered. “Many moons ago”, I responded to myself.
I crawled back into bed when my water broke … or started breaking? Rather than one moment, the process lasted hours. Uncertain if indeed this was the start of Sofia’s journey into the world, I texted Linds and Jenn. Dae-Han slept soundly next to me.
Contrary to the world of movies and TV shows, only 5% of women’s water breaks before going into labor. After receiving responses from Linds and Jenn, I texted our Houm care team chat to let Midwife Julia know. She told me I could rest more if I liked, and take our time getting into the clinic when we were ready.
Now on the couch, instead of sleep, I found myself texting the women in my family. My baby daddy kept snoozing, unawares that he was going to enter fatherhood in less than 24 hours. I didn’t want to wake Dae-Han just yet because I knew it would be a long day for all of us. By 6 am, though, I crawled into bed. “Babe,” I whispered. “What! Huh! What?” he startled. “My water broke a couple of hours ago. I messaged Julia and she said we could slowly get ready and come in.” “Okay … okay,” said my sweet husband as his brain grasped what was happening.
Our go-bags had been packed for many weeks, mine already in our car. By 7 am we were en route to Houm, feeling calm as I was not experiencing regular contractions yet.
Around 6:30 am before leaving for Houm. It all looks so easy before the contractions begin.
As Dae-Han drove, I watched the Han river out the passenger window. I thought about the conversation I had had with Tracy leading up to this day. “Connected, but not attached,” I thought. “I would like to bring this baby into the world without any interventions, but whatever has to happen, that’s okay”, I noted to myself.
Why try a natural birth when science can offer women options with much less pain? My thoughts on this pertain only to myself. I am not here to say what is right for any other birthing person.
Earlier in my pregnancy, I had read Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth. The “mother of authentic midwifery” does have a clear opinion on what is best for birthing, and her thoughts rang true for the experience I wanted. If I was able to labor without an epidural, I would be able to move my body freely, helping Sofia move into different stations, likely speeding up labor. If I could stand the pain, epidural-free labors are less likely to end up with a c-section. If I labored without intervention, maybe I could have something of a spiritual experience like my friend Celeste had had. (I knew that I would never be free of my inhibitions to have the orgasmic births Ina May wrote about. Power to those women.) Additionally, I wanted to see how deep I could go inside of myself. Perhaps to show myself in a new way how strong I am.
So, I had these intentions … these thoughts previous to labor. The real deal was … as you can imagine, well, beyond my imagining.
Labor: it takes a village
When we had settled into our birthing suite at home, thereafter named “The Four Seasons” by Cass, I was still not in active labor. I spent time calling family and chit-chatting. On a call with Jenn, my college bestie who had had an OBGYN practice for many years, I asked her, “So you had to give birth without epidurals, but if you had had a choice, would you have had the epidural?” I expected Jenn to speak to how empowering it was to give birth naturally. She did not. “Yes, I would have had the epidural.” “Hmmm, curious, not the answer I expected,” I thought to myself. Then she added, “You have to focus on just taking each contraction as it comes. You cannot get ahead of the contraction you are experiencing.”
By 11 am I was beginning to have regular contractions. I found that I could bare them quite well by breathing deeply into them. By 1 pm our doula Karen had arrived. By 3 pm, it was getting real.
The day before we had been at Houm for my 39 week check up. There was no sign of labor, and the ultrasound showed that Sofia, while head down, was not yet engaged. Her face was still turned facing forward rather than facing my tailbone. Karen and Midwife Dayana had assuaged any worries noting that a baby can turn during labor.
I don’t know what time it was, but many hours had passed since labor began, my dilation was only very slowly coming along, and our baby girl was still high in my abdomen. At this time, Karen asked if I would be willing to get into a position that was going to be uncomfortable but would help Sofia descend.
When Karen and I spoke the next day, she noted that this position, called Walcher’s (click that link and send me a note about how impressed you are with me) is something that doulas and midwives hope to avoid asking laboring mothers to do. With my back rounded over a peanut ball and my feet dangling over the edge of the bed, Julia dug her fingers into my abdomen in the middle of a strong contraction.
Folks, I feel like I can say I am made of something damn sturdy to have endured this move. It took something so fierce in me, but it worked. Soon after, Sofia was on her way down the birth canal, which is no straightforward path as previously assumed.
My birthing playlist on Spotify is called Sofia Surfs Out. It conjures a very cute image. Reality: There was no smooth surfing or sailing or shooting down that canal. It was all grit and a deeply primal instinct that Sofia and I had to tap into for her to be born into this world.
As I was enduring hours of intensifying contractions, shifting into new positions, sometimes in a large birthing tub, sometimes on the bed or a birthing stool, Dae-Han was supporting each part of my labor. Julia and Karen instructed him where to be in proximity to me. I love this about my labor, that my husband was actively engaged.
In between contractions, Dae-Han whispers words of support.
Yet, the labor was harrowing, so much pain, not knowing when it would end, feeling it never would. I remember wondering why I had ever made this choice, to go about the labor without an epidural. I remember thinking, “I would never recommend this to another woman.” I remember doubting that I would last long enough to push Sofia out into the world. I remember calling my parents to tell them Sofia had been born at 9:24 pm and when my mom answered, I simply cried: “It was so hard, Mom.”
For me, labor was not the spiritual experience I thought I could tap into. Many moms will talk about the moment that the baby is first laid on your chest, how they cry or feel all the feels. In truth, I remember the physicality of that moment. I love to think back on it. But in that moment, my body was still in fight mode. While (white) women giving birth in the West, or in Korea (in my case), are unlikely to die during childbirth in 2025, labor still seems a life or death experience. It took hours to switch from a fight for survival to feel my heart connection again.
Tender first moments with Sofia:
In photo 2 you will see that Sofia is still attached to her placenta. Houm practices delayed cord clamping as the placenta can continue to offer nutrients to baby even outside of a woman’s body.
In photo 4 you will meet Julia (with glasses) and Karen.
Teach me how to Mama
Dae-Han, Sofia, and I are fortunate to have had access to Houm. I am privileged that my insurance paid for this Four Seasons of birth centers as well. Because of our care team at Houm, I spent the first days of motherhood in bliss — I was not anxious, as I can sometimes be. I felt centered, calm, and, well, zenified. In addition to having an entire suite at Houm, and three delicious meals a day, here are the lessons they taught us about taking care of Baby Sofia:
How to change a diaper when working around an umbilical cord
How to sponge bath a baby
What to do if baby is choking
How to breastfeed
This deserves an additional note. While breastfeeding is “natural” I would argue it is not intuitive. So many challenges can pop up: latching, bruised nipples, positioning the baby, keeping up your milk supply. Every single time it was time to feed Sofia at Houm, a nurse or midwife was there to assist me.
How to do a breast massage
It turns out a 90-minute breast massage from a lactation specialist can feel as good as a deep tissue massage after a big run. Massage helps stimulate milk production as well as keep ducts from getting clogged.
How to put the baby in a carseat
How to hold the bottle. This one surprised me. I’ve fed many a baby before, but perhaps maybe never a tiny newborn? There is an angle and a whole positioning with the bottle that I did not know before.
One of many lactation consultations.
I suppose these lessons are not really about how to be a mama — that’s the heart part — but they were invaluable in helping Dae-Han and I gain confidence in our first days as parents.
Most of Sofia’s care team. Our Houm family.
Homecoming: Back at the Baci Song abode
After four nights at Houm, we departed. Dae-Han was ready to settle into our home as a family of three. Me? I was terrified to leave the our newfound family of carers.
I have not felt the baby blues, but upon leaving Houm, postpartum anxiety took up residence in my bones. By the time the sun set on our first day back at DMC Ville, my nerves were frayed. Dae-Han found me sobbing on our bed after dinner. I was raw with fear and vulnerability.
When Dae-Han came to curl up around me on the bed and ask what was wrong, I choked out, “I can’t keep her safe anymore. When she was in my womb, she was safe.” At the moment, this was a devastating realization for me.
Nearly three weeks have passed since we have arrived home. I feel less raw now. A little less anxious. But Gram, Mom, Linds and Cass are still on speed dial when I am up in the middle of each night for feedings. I call with many questions.
“Can I put her on the boob when she has hiccups?”
“Is it normal that her eyes roll back when she gets really tired?”
“Is this how the baby wrap works?”
Much of the time, I find it comforting to just have one of these women on the other end alongside me from across the world.
Postpartum: The 4th trimester
The vulnerability that exists when a life is in your hands steals my breath and, sometimes even clenches my stomach. The gravity of the responsibility is so very big. Sometimes, Sofia sleeps with one fist raised. So small, but oh so mighty and strong, already ready to be a warrior for justice with this stance. And to my mind, she is also so fragile.
I gaze at her as she starts to come to, at the end of an afternoon nap. Is it called a nap when she has no concept of day or night yet? Her eyes flutter beneath her lids. She takes a few rapid breaths. “Take a breath,” I say to her in moments of wakefulness when she has gotten worked up. She listens. She knows. She calms almost every time.
God, the raw perfection in her features. In moments, straightforward and soft and uncertain and novel with an unnerving piercing cry. How do you process this much love?
Sofia is next to me on the bed, stretching her arms above her head as Bach trills out of my phone. After every two words I type, I gaze and breathe her in.
Mary, who I watched become a mother when we were teaching in Ecuador, recently reminded me how to say “give birth” in Spanish: Dar a luz. To give light.
*italics in this post are hyperlinks
Drunk Sperm Swim in Circles
I believe that I became a mother on May 10th, 2021. If you’re reading this, you likely know me. If you know me, you know that 1. I was single in 2021, 2. that now I am married, and 3. that Dae-Han and I do not presently have any children.
Still, I will state May 10th was the day that I crossed some kind of threshold into motherhood.
There is a a voice message that still lives in WeChat that I sent to my friend Lauren on May 12th. When I play this message back now, I hear my breathy voice:
I’ve been having a rough day today, so you’re getting me in that space … I feel really good about my decision to go home and do this thing … and it is coming with a great deal of uncertainty and stress.
I continue my message to Lauren, detailing that I had reached out to Tracy, my therapist, in a state of distress, requesting a session before our weekly scheduled one.
It was on May 10th, 2021 date that I made the call to close the China-living chapter so that I could return to the States to freeze my eggs. At the time, in the midst of the pandemic, China still had not opened up, making an exit and return to the mainland very uncertain.
In subsequent voice messages to Lauren, I recounted an exchange that had taken place in that “emergency” session:
Tracy: What if there was somewhere else outside China that was going to be viable? What if there was a good school somewhere else that you could work at and you could go home and then go to that school?
Me: That would be really compelling right now. I’m not ready to leave Shekou emotionally, but honestly I don’t think I ever will be ready because I have built such an incredible community. Whenever I am going to leave, it’s going to really hard.
Tracy’s question sat with me for the hours after my session with her. While I had little hope of landing a job in May in the international world of teaching, I knew that her question was meant to unearth clarity — she was trying to help me ascertain what my number one priority was at that time. The resounding message that came back from that wild woman place within me was motherhood. I would make the decision that would give me the greatest chance to bring a baby into this world someday. Motherhood would shape this decision to leave the family I had built in Shekou, China, in order to build the family that would begin in my womb someday.
One day later, I turned in my resignation to Shekou International School. On that day, I had a one way ticket to Minnesota, I did not have a job lined up for August, but I did have my clarity.
And then a Universe thing happened. At least the way I see it. As I told Lauren of my decision and my sadness to leave all that I had loved in and loved about China, she typed a message back:
Lauren was writing to me from Seoul, South Korea, where she had spent her first year as High School Librarian at Seoul Foreign School.
And this is how I now too write from Seoul Foreign School, from the 2nd floor High School English office where I have begun my third year as a Language and Literature teacher, and second year as Head of Grade 12.
When Tracy asked me to imagine a scenario in which I would go back to Minnesota to freeze my eggs and then start a job in August, I didn’t think this would actually happen, but I get goosebumps looking at how everything came together once I found my truth in that moment and built everything else around that.
It was not just a great job at a top-tier international school that I landed when I made that decision to put my eggs in cryogenic basket in Minnesota. It was the love of my life that I found in Seoul. My Seoulful Life, I now frequently hashtag on Instagram.
While I would love to live a dozen lifetimes with Dae-Han, and maybe one of those lives would include just the two of us, the way I believe it to be is that we get this one wild and precious life, and in this life we want to bring that dream of parenthood to full fruition. Thus, we have stepped onto a road traveled by some, but not by everyone.
When we returned from our honeymoon, I made an appointment at Houm OBGYN and Natural Birthing Clinic. It was at this appointment that I learned that I have 11,000 eggs left in my ovarian basket, 3,000 of which are healthy. It is bananas that science allows me to know this now. I also learned at this appointment that I have a 6% chance of conceiving a healthy baby at this point in my no-longer-in-my-twenties life.
Since it is not only my reproductive health that affects our chances of conceiving, Dae-Han too went to the doctor. Ultimately, the combination of both of our stats — if we were baseball players our batting average would unfavorable — led us to walk the road right into Cha Fertility Center. And that is where we stayed for three hours on Saturday morning. I went through a battery of tests, from blood to heart, and Dae-Han sat by to hold my hand and translate. (If ever I am at an appointment on my own, there is a number I can call for a translator, though no other translator compares to your partner.)
This week, the thoughts in my head have been swimming the way that I imagine drunk sperm do — in circles. So many questions, uncertainties, fears — will IVF work for us? Will I endure the heartbreak of a miscarriage? How many gosh darn baskets do I need to put my eggs into? (This mama cannot fly her Minnesota eggs across country lines, so there is not a chance of them hatching until at least June.)
It is now the end of my school day. The only moments I have been able to transfer, for short periods, swimming thoughts from their sea to a nesting pond are when I am in front of my students. The rest of the time, I am trying to stay afloat in that sea.
I am afraid of heights, but here I am typing out my words on a keyboard, leaping off the vulnerability high dive as I share them with you. Why did I walk up all of those steps to the top of this platform with wobbly legs? Because I think there is too much power in stories not to right now.
When Dae-Han and I were first wrapping our heads around the recommendation that we use IVF to form our family, I was processing with my soul-sister Ceci. She reminded me that her friends Liz and Mark had done IVF in Korea, and they now have the most gorgeous three-year boy Finley for it.
I was quick to message Liz and she was quick to pick up the phone and video call me to share her story with me. Liz’s story was not simple or straightforward; there is strength in knowing someone on the other end to understands these next steps.
So maybe someone else stumbles across the words and we continue to build our community of stories.
The next chapter will write itself at our appointment Thursday where the doctor will sweep out my fallopian tubes. I imagine a tiny little micro-brush lightly twirling around in my tubes like a sweet grandma dancing to Elvis while sweeping her front porch. In reality, I know the experience will be much less quaint.
In the coming days, Dae-Han and I will be working towards collective clarity on building our birds nest.
In the past, I’ve always been able to tune into my intuition to find my answer to many of my big questions. This time, I do that with Dae-Han.
