The Birth of YAAN

On February 8, early in the morning at around 6:30 a.m., we received a call from Itzel:

“Mom, I’ve been having contractions since three. Can you come?”

Luis and I got up and began getting ready as quickly as we could. We had breakfast, fed the cat, packed a bag for a few days, and left around eight.

We had expected the birth of my fifth grandchild to happen about two weeks later. Just the Saturday before, Mario’s mother had organized a baby shower, and the decorations were still up at the house. But this little boy clearly had somewhere to be. He was eager to arrive in this world – and he was coming with full force. I felt a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.

We arrived at Itzel’s house around nine.

The plan was for the birth to take place at home, in water, with midwives. A hospital was supposed to be contacted as a backup in case of an emergency, but there simply wasn’t time. The baby’s clothes had not even been washed yet, and the birth pool was still unprepared. The midwives had only just been called.

Luis and I had hoped to find some food along the way so that we wouldn’t have to worry about it later, but we couldn’t find anything. We did manage to pick up the firewood they had asked us to bring so the fireplace could stay burning. We were eager to arrive and see how things were unfolding.

When we arrived, Itzel and Mario were full of anticipation and excitement. They were completely immersed in the moment, surrendering to the experience and accepting whatever was unfolding. The room was beautifully warm from the fireplace, which had already been burning for hours.

The natural process continued to unfold. The contractions – or “dolores,” as I call them – were becoming more frequent, with less and less time between them.

Then their friends Jaque and Mury arrived. They brought the birth pool, cleaned and disinfected it, and prepared it to be filled with water. They also brought supplies from their pantry in case they were needed – chocolate, honey, spirulina, and other things. They were there with so much joy, love, and willingness to help Itzel and Mario.

Isaí, always ready to help, took responsibility for bringing everything needed to fill the pool: hoses, heaters, and other equipment. He arrived on his motorcycle, excited and nervous, together with Cobalto, Itzel's so loved little doggie.

Luis, the soon-to-be grandfather, was equally excited about the arrival of his fifth grandchild. He helped with the last-minute errands and supported wherever he could. After a while, they both stepped back to give the new parents some privacy, while making sure everyone knew they were available if anything else was needed. Jaque and Mury eventually did the same, honoring the intimacy of the moment while carrying with them the wish to share in such a meaningful event.

By now, Itzel’s contractions had become stronger and closer together. The birth pool was ready with warm water, and the midwives Leila and Ligia were there – loving, experienced, patient, attentive, and wise. Everything was ready for Itzel to enter the water.

Her contractions were about five minutes apart. Leila checked her and found that she was already almost seven centimeters dilated.

Then another, more intense contraction came.

Suddenly, a rush of water ran down Itzel’s legs.

Her waters had broken.

The moment was getting close.

Mario remained attentively by her side, helping through every contraction. He held and pressed firmly against her hips with his hands, supporting and comforting her and helping her through the intensity.

Itzel got into the birth pool. The contractions became stronger, now coming about every three minutes. She was in pain and exhausted, but also excited, determined, and incredibly strong – filled with love as she brought new life into the world.

The atmosphere was harmonious. Leila played the guitar, her soft voice blending with Ligia’s. Everything seemed to flow. Through the windows, the trees swayed gently in the breeze, as though they too were accompanying us.

Everything seemed to say:

A new life is coming.

The contractions were now coming almost every minute. Pain and effort were visible on Itzel’s face, but every contraction was met by Mario’s loving embrace, while Leila and Ligia offered understanding looks and words of encouragement:

“Come on, Itzel. You’re doing so well. Almost there. Breathe. Your baby is coming.”

The contractions grew stronger and stronger. The moment was drawing near.

I watched, completely absorbed – filled with emotion, anticipation, wonder, and an almost anxious eagerness to receive the magical gift that was about to arrive.

The four of us gathered around the pool, encouraging Itzel:

“Breathe. Relax. You’re almost there.”

We kept heating water on the stove to maintain a comfortable temperature. Leila and Ligia encouraged her:

“Keep going. Push from your belly, not from your throat.”

“Another contraction is coming,” Itzel said.

A muffled cry came from deep within her – not a cry of pain or complaint, but a sound of strength that seemed to rise from her very soul. Her longing to see her son was palpable.

Another powerful contraction came.

“Come on, Itzel,” I heard Leila say. “Beautiful. That’s it. You are a brave warrior. It’s over. Rest now.”

And so it continued, one contraction after another.

Then came the magical moment.

With an enormous effort from Itzel, we suddenly saw a tiny head emerge. Itzel reached down and touched it. Every pair of eyes was fixed on this extraordinary moment, filled with wonder at the perfect and natural power of the female body bringing life into the world.

I was overwhelmed, emotional, deeply moved. I could not take my eyes away. The baby moved, patiently searching for the right position to free himself and be born. We could already see his little face.

“Mario, touch his ear,” Ligia said.

Itzel was exhausted and impatient to finally hold her son.

A few minutes passed, feeling like an eternity.

Then the contraction we had been waiting for arrived.

Itzel squeezed her eyes shut, held her breath, and gripped the edge of the pool tightly. She summoned every last bit of strength.

And then we watched as the little boy’s entire body emerged.

Mario, overwhelmed with emotion, received his son.

“Don’t take him out yet,” Leila said. “Wait a moment. Now, take him gently and place him on Itzel’s chest.”

Itzel was exhausted, in pain, and yet completely happy. She held her son close and spoke to him lovingly:

“My little one. My love.”

Ligia gently bathed him with warm water.

The new parents were overwhelmed and almost unable to believe the miracle they had just witnessed. With soft voices, loving touches, and tender embraces, they comforted their newborn as he cried and protested.

It was 2:27 p.m. on February 8, 2021.

I watched, grateful and teary-eyed.

“He looks blue,” I said.

“That’s normal. He’s fine,” Leila replied, calmly caring for the newborn with satisfaction and emotion.

“Everything is okay.”

“Lilia, take a towel and gently dry his head,” we heard Ligia say.

We looked at one another, happy and nervous. I began gently drying the head of this new little life, afraid of hurting him because he was so tiny and fragile. I could hear his little cries.

We waited a little longer for the placenta to be delivered and for Itzel and the baby to be settled comfortably. They dried Itzel with towels and helped her into bed, keeping both mother and baby warm. YAAN was still connected to his placenta through the umbilical cord.

For a while, time seemed to stand still.

We watched the new parents with gratitude. Everything was well. There was peace, harmony, and love in the room.

The new mother had done something extraordinary with immense courage. She never stopped fighting, not even in those moments when she felt she could no longer go on.

Two hours or more passed. We shared a bowl of chicken and vegetable soup to restore our strength – Leila, Ligia, Itzel, Mario, and me. It was the kind of hunger that comes after an intense and deeply satisfying experience, after the feeling of having accomplished something together.

The room remained warm from the fire in the fireplace.

Then came the moment to weigh and measure YAAN and cut the umbilical cord.

Ligia laid a blanket on the floor and asked me for flowers. I went into the garden and cut calla lilies.

When I returned, YAAN was lying on the blanket, still connected to his placenta by the umbilical cord. A heart had been placed on the placenta, surrounded by the calla lilies.

We weighed him with the help of the blanket.

3.2 kilograms. 49 centimeters.

Now it was Mario’s turn to cut the cord. Ligia measured a few centimeters from YAAN’s body along the cord, placed a clamp on it, and said to Mario:

“Cut here.”

Mario cut the cord.

We took photographs and later shared them in our different family chats. It was a beautiful little ceremony, lovingly prepared by Ligia and Leila.

Once the cord had been cut, the newest member of the family was dressed and wrapped up warmly. Finally, he rested peacefully in his mother’s arms.

I was still trying to take in everything I had witnessed.

I could hardly believe the reality of it all – something so magical, sublime, and almost divine.

And I felt deeply grateful for the opportunity to witness something that is, in one sense, so ordinary and familiar, yet at the same time so extraordinary and breathtaking.

A new life had been born.