
Five songs I listened to when I was in labor with Ilan, in no particular order
by Robina
1. Won’t Say Anything, Hello Seahorse!
listen via YouTube
This was the first song I listened to when I was in labor and I chose it specifically as The First Song I Listened To In Labor. The first time I ever heard thing song was seven moths earlier; it was in October; I was still in my first trimester; I was working on Wren’s Halloween costume; I was listening to a mix my friend Jenny had made. In the months to come, I would listen to the song often, especially because Wren developed a fondness for it and would often request it and sing along. But that time, the first time I heard it, I listened to it once through, thought “I will listen to this in labor,” and then listened to it again. For the interesting (and useful) thing about a second pregnancy is that you’ve been through labor once already. So certain surprises — say, the fact that you like extremely idiosyncratic music while in labor and specifically songs that are quite repetitive and almost anthemic — are no longer surprises and you will waste no time putting together playlists of things like Jose Gonzales and Iron & Wine. Instead you will know, in advance, that while in labor, it will please you greatly to bounce on a birth ball and chant
DON’T YOU MAKE A FUSS ABOUT IT DON’T YOU MAKE A FUSS ABOUT IT DON’T YOU MAKE A FUSS ABOUT IT DONT YOU MAKE A FUSS ABOUT IT!
Which is indeed what happened.
2. Modern Mysery, Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin
listen via YouTube
The nineteenth-century nerd in me loves the references in this song. And of course it is quite anthemic. So that is how it ended up on my labor mix. However, I only know I listened to it because iTunes tells me so. Sorry, Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, you didn’t make much of an impression on me while I was in labor. I love you anyway.
3. Broken Bells, The High Road
listen via YouTube
So, I am going to sound like a total lameass when I say this, but this song is almost painfully cool. If you were a character in a movie, you’d want this song to play when the camera shot you for the first time, as you walk down the street looking hot. (And I have discovered, now that I was searching for the video to post here, that Brian Burton and James Mercer also apparently enjoy walking down the street looking cool when this song is playing, so perhaps I am not as lame as I thought.) In fact, the song very much reminds me of the walk from the subway station at City Hall to the college where I held a fellowship last year. Except most of the times I sauntered down that street listening to this song I was hugely pregnant. Like, hugely pregnant. As in, carrying a 10 pound baby in one’s uterus pregnant. In fact, one of the clearest memories I have of listening to this song and walking that walk was a week before Ilan was born, and two rastafarian men yelling at me from across the street:
YOU HAVIN’ A BOY, MISS!
and
GOD BLESS YOU!
Anyway, listening to this song during labor was very soothing. As insane as it might sound, the repetition of “it’s too late to change your mind…” felt not like
YOU AIN’T KIDDING!
and more like
“That is profoundly true, I’d better roll with this.”
Go figure.
4. “Airplanes,” Local Natives
listen via YouTube
Oh, this song. By far one of my top ten of 2010. I almost don’t want to say anything about it because it’s just that good.
But I will.
This song was something of the soundtrack to my last trimester. I remember once, on a rather blustery day in April, the day before Easter actually, walking to the toy store near my house to buy a couple of last-minute things for Wren’s Easter basket, listening to this song on repeat. I knew my sister would be at her radio show, so I texted her to tell her to see if the station had this album because I got the sense she’d like the song too. And when I got home and went to pick up Wren at my other sister’s house, a good thirty minutes later, this song was playing: Tahira had found it at the station and decided to play it. I cocked my head and couldn’t help but laugh: what timing!
I cannot entirely explain why this made sense to me as a labor song, or why I still love it as a workout song. I hesitate to say this, since it is about someone’s dead grandfather, but the sound of the song itself is very sexy to me. Listening to it just makes me feel…feisty. It’s that chorus. It gets me every time. And there is, of course, something innately sexual about labor. As I’ve said before, the contraction is essentially the orgasm gone terribly wrong. But it goes a lot less wrong and a lot less painfully if you can still sustain some semblance of feeling like a sexual being while it’s happening. I’m not talking about orgasmic birth or anything like that; I’m just talking about ignoring the fact that you’ve magically grown fifteen extra chins during the process and are in pain and instead Being (note the capital B, because I am a huge hippie apparently) in your body in a way that allows you to look straight in the eye of overwhelming sensation. To feel vulnerable yet powerful — which I would argue is an inherently sexy feeling. Again, it’s hard to explain. But it was never a question in my mind that I would love this song during labor. And I did.
5. Swim Unitil You Can’t See Land, Frightened Rabbit
Listen via YouTube
Whenever I hear the opening bars of this song now, I immediately feel a sense of calm. It’s a strange phenomenon, quite frankly, because the song was one I listened to rather obsessively during my first trimester, when I was terribly sick and sad, worried about how the life growing inside me would affect our perfect little threesome, worried about the approaching winter, worried about how morning sickness was interfering with the progress of my dissertation. And as I’ve written before, that endless seasickness that is the first trimester is as demoralizing emotionally exhausting as it is physically.
So you would think it would remind me of feeling depressed and that I would, as a result, avoid it.
And yet.
The song always served as an anchor for me, if you’ll excuse my extended pun. I can remember so vividly, walking up the street once, the sun glittering in the late afternoon, over the trees and graves of Greenwood Cemetary. I remember walking up the hill towards home and feeling so, so ill, and so, so tired, tired deep in my bones, and listening to this song again and again and again. And literally imagining myself, instead of on a street in Brooklyn, sick and walking up a hill,in the blue ocean of Panama, floating, riding the waves, sun beating down. Or in the lake Andy and Wren and I had driven to the week before I found out I was pregnant: on my back, blue sky above, arms cutting through the water and swimming, swimming, swimming out and feeling utterly content. As you can imagine, I really enjoy swimming: like my daughter, I am a water baby. And these images of myself swimming somehow in that moment linked me to this not-yet-baby inside me: him a little sea monster in his saltwater, developing so rapidly, changing every moment; me feeling as though I was bobbing along on waves, vertigo-ridden and nauseated, in a holding pattern while he grew. Both of us swimming: him through what might fairly be called the most tenuous part of his gestation, me through a haze of nausea, knowing I just had to wait it out. And though I couldn’t articulate it at the time, I think some part of me knew it wasn’t just about waiting out the morning sickness. I was waiting out the whole pregnancy, waiting to meet this person, waiting to know it would be okay and that I would love him as much as Wren and that our family could be even better.
I know “swimming until you can’t see land” doesn’t seem like much of a hopeful image but for me there was something profound about this image of giving up. Giving up on trying to meticulously plan. Giving up on my illusion of control. Giving in to the experience and seeing where it took me.
And so it was natural I would listen to this during labor, the time when you most have to let yourself go to what quite literally feels like waves. That you have to give in to them, ride them, and know you will come out on the other side somehow more than you’ve ever been before.
And the water is taller than me and the land is a mark and a line. All I am is a body adrift in water, salt, and sky…

So I swam.