Arlington Heights, Illinois.

2005.

The engine whine and wind whip are deafening.

My white knuckles grip the doorframe.

Cloud wisps race by.

I can’t hear the parachute jump instructor’s words even though she’s pressed right up against me.

I can only hear the words screaming in my head…

“Why am I doing this when so much can go wrong?”
*****

In high school, I took a marriage and family class, and I was the one who adopted a baby from a different country without a partner.

I didn’t need anyone and vowed I wouldn’t get married and have a baby like most normal people.

No way…

I do things my way.

While my uber-smart older brothers went to prestigious schools, I flounced off to study fashion and be a freewheeling artist in the world.

So why did I renege on my high school deal with myself?

I mean I wasn’t even 30 and was already on my second marriage!

But it seems my body was forcing me to honor one of my high school vows, because after four years of “let’s see what happens,” John and I hadn’t gotten pregnant.

We adopt our first dog, Webber instead.

Another year without a pregnancy confirmed to us that we weren’t meant to be parents, so we adopt a second dog, Dido.

Two weeks later I feel a little nauseous.  

*****
We were hard-core holistic, no doubt.

We took Lamaze classes, which teach breathing patterns and other natural relaxation techniques to deal with labor and birth pain.

No drugs, no epidurals, no C-section.

John wanted a home birth, but that was a little too far, even for rebellious me.

But when my water broke suddenly, I had no choice but to go to the hospital.

Now once the water breaks the baby has no protection, so they put me on Pitocin to speed up contractions…

And this drug goes into the baby too.

My self-doubt screamed at me…

After all our holistic plans and preparations, here I was turning my unborn child into a junkie!

John had done tons of research on what medical interventions he did and didn’t want, and I found myself agreeing to everything he suggested.

My freewheeling mind told me to go with this flow too, even if I wasn’t sure why I was doing it.

After 36 hours of no contractions, the doctor suggests an epidural.

And when they wheeled in a tray full of shiny implements, my head screamed…

“No, no, no! I don’t want a C-section!”

After all our plans, am I just giving away all my control to a room full of strangers?

“I’m so sorry,” I say to John.

He reassures me that none of this is my fault and that we’ll do what we must.

Knowing he’s not angry helps a bit, but I can’t escape feeling like I’m letting all this happen to me, instead of me taking charge and being in control of my own body.

What kind of mother will I be if I can’t even get the birth 100% right?
*****
I say I jumped out of the plane, but I didn’t really.

The instructor did, and I’m strapped to her.

At first, I can’t breathe, so fast and hard the wind that pounds my face.

I’m almost two miles above the earth, and only a brightly colored puff of nylon keeps me from being sandwiched between it and a woman I’d met only an hour before.

I tense every muscle, tendon, and ligament hoping to regain control over the situation… Over my dumb decision to jump out of a plane…

Over gravity.

I tense so hard it hurts.

Even that far up, and through all the strapping and protective gear, my instructor feels the tension running through my body.

“Let go, Johanna, and enjoy the ride!” she yells.

I take a deep breath and look around at all this beauty and feel like I fully belong there because, for whatever reason, I chose to be there.
I relax, grin, and a rush of joy fills every fiber of my being.

*****
“He’s got 10 fingers and 10 toes!” says John just after I give birth.

“It’s a boy?!” I yell, thrilled…

We had chosen not to find out beforehand, but having a boy feels right.

Plus, he’s nearly 10 lb, so I figure he’s pretty darn healthy.

“He’s the size of a baby moose!” exclaims the doctor, trying to be encouraging.

“Did he just call my baby a moose?” I ask John, and he shrugs, laughing.

As I hold my little boy, an immense wave of gratitude washes over me.

That’s followed by the tsunami of responsibility of taking care of this little being.

It’s like the feeling of jumping out of the airplane…

Terrifying and ecstatic all at the same time.

“What’s his name?” asks the nurse.

“Zane Stephen!” I say out of nowhere.

John and I hadn’t settled on any boy or girl names, so it shocks me how sure I am.

Well, look at that…

Welcome to the world, little Zane…

And welcome to the world Strong Mama Johanna!

But the feelings aren’t done with me yet…

The agonizing pain of the episiotomy hits at the same time as the regret that I brought Zane into the world with all these medical interventions.

The doubt and the pain brought up a terrifying thought in me:
“How can I do this?”

*****
“Just let the ground come up to meet you,” yells my instructor about 100 feet before landing.

By this stage, I don’t want the jump to end.

I’m filled with awe and wonder and gratitude and disbelief at the same time.

Seconds later we bump the ground and I sit there shaking with joy and laughter.

“Didn’t think you could make it, did you?” she asks as she unstraps our harnesses.

“It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. But after I relaxed into it, I just… trusted that I’d figure it out on the way down.”