By Keesa Ocampo
The author with her son, Kinley, at 6 months old.
Photo courtesy of Keesa Ocampo.
I had my first child at 39. I felt ready - emotionally resolved, financially secure, and physically strong. I was in a sweet, mature, and loving relationship with a man I had met in 2020. Our pandemic bubble was small and it gave us the space to really focus on each other. A year and a missed period later, we took a pregnancy test to verify what I already suspected. Two lines on five different sticks confirmed that I was truly, unmistakably pregnant.
At our first doctor’s visit, the term ‘geriatric pregnancy’ was used to refer to me and I immediately thought - this can use a rebrand. We were given reading homework with a list of what not to eat, instructions on prenatals, and a calendar of future appointments. I barely remember the early days which I spent mostly asleep. Well into our second trimester, we signed up for an online birthing class with a doula/coach from the Philippines. I figured that getting coached by someone who understood my culture, who could show me how we birthed back home would feel aligned and rooted in the wisdom I needed. It was fantastic.
But a few weeks closer to our due date, things started to get complicated. We had a birth plan that somehow was no longer going to work. A mild case of panic settled in. I wondered - can I really do this? His head is how big? Am I ready?
I spent the last few days of pregnancy doing my yoga stretches, pelvic exercises, and kegels. I packed a bag, made a playlist, and prepared an environment that would feel encouraging, calm, and welcoming for our son. I gave birth to my first child a couple weeks shy of turning 40. I was induced. My epidural didn’t work and I felt everything until the last 10 minutes when relief truly mattered. I pushed for 25 minutes. It was an insane, out-of-body experience. And this is what I learned –
Childbirth is unique for everyone.
The most important decision I made was the choice of my doctor. Knowing that I was in good hands and trusting that the best gametime decisions would be made by someone who would advocate for me and my child gave me confidence. So, I did everything humanly possible to ensure we’d be together during childbirth. I held off delivering my baby a couple hours until she made it through a freeway closure. I still can’t believe I did that.
I once asked my OB-Gyn, “What’s the purpose of a birth plan when there’s a big chance that things will change?” It’s important to know that the birthing process may not always go as planned but it is just as important to know that we are built to birth. Our bodies are mind-blowingly magical. Hormones expand the birth canal. Our breath can help move a baby through. What I didn’t expect was how much the process was 80% yoga and meditation and 20% physical endurance. In the throes of full labor contractions and without a working epidural, I put myself mentally on my yoga mat. I visualized. I made each breath count. I repeated a mantra I had been sharing with my son: We’re going to be brave. We’re going to be strong. We’re going to make it easy. We’re going to make it fun.
The delivery room was a yoga and meditation studio, replete with a sound machine and a playlist that made me feel powerful and calm. Together, they raised the vibration of my experience. During the painful contractions, my vision tunneled and the details of my surroundings disappeared but I could hear Ariana Grande telling me that when all is said and done, you’ll believe God is a woman.
People often said, “Find out what your mother’s experience was to get a sense of what yours will be like.” My mother had a horrific birthing experience with me. It was a delivery gone wrong that took five years and two surgeries to fix. Her mother had eight children and on her deathbed, she said that nursed all of them well into toddlerhood. Rather than letting these determine my story, I paid more attention to ending karmic cycles and healing our generational wounds instead.
I have girlfriends who labored for 36 hours and some who delivered with two pushes. Who knows what makes the difference? At a time when so little is within your control, what I kept telling myself is that women have been doing this for millenia with less intervention and technology. I was going to deliver this Generation Alpha child my way and it was as graceful as it was hilarious. I pushed Kinley out with my boyfriend’s hand in my right and a compression sock on my left. No one ever told me that you can tremble like a leaf in a tornado during childbirth.
Kinley was born while Strength Courage & Wisdom by India.Arie was playing, waves of the ocean water faintly lapping in the background from the sound machine. Those sounds have defined much of our relationship thus far.
Joyful moments oceanside, just past the first trimester of pregnancy. Photo by Ariel Neidermeier.
We carry wisdom within.
Two days after taking our son home, John and I wondered - how could the hospital send us home with a newborn baby? There were many times when we didn’t know what we were doing. Neither our nurses nor Tiktok could tell us how to get Kinley to sleep comfortably while being swaddled. One night, we thought to let him keep his hands by his chest the way he did in utero, rather than wrap each arm down as instructional videos advised. He slept through the night.
I haven’t heard too many people talk about what to do postpartum. My breast milk didn’t come right away and its timing couldn’t have been more nerve-wracking than at the peak of the formula shortage. Everyone was saying, “Keep trying. Keep pumping.” I felt like a failure. But just before it could have taken a turn for the worst, we decided to supplement with formula. It was the best decision we could have made as he had lost so much weight. Soon after that, my milk started to come in. The milk factory was officially open.
I learned to trust my gut, to pay attention to Kinley, and to let him show me what gives him comfort. I learned to embrace the painful moments and find rhythm in our new and bizarre sleep schedule. Instead of being upset, I told myself that all these things - the good and the tough - are temporary. Repeatedly and kindly, change kicked in before I could get attached.
Many people were quick to share their horror stories, even in unsolicited situations. I asked other women to share their good experiences and to tell me what to look forward to. My client, Priya, sent me a list of beautiful things like the purity of baby’s breath, feeling so whole and complete, each moment happening like a beautiful movie, and finding a clear sense of purpose. My spiritual teacher, Ellen, called me over Zoom to tell me that her experience was easy and joyful and to start suggesting to Kinley that maybe we could make it fun and easy together.
Growing up, my relationship with my mother had rough patches. The good times and bad times became my best teachers. Motherhood opens old wounds and brings childhood vulnerabilities to the surface. Had I embarked on this journey without resolving those first, this would have been harder. My mother stayed with us for the first few months following my son’s birth. She taught me how to relieve his gas. She taught me how to set a happy mood with music each day. More importantly, she gave me the confidence to rise to the challenge.
There isn’t much of a ramp up into motherhood. Like the generations of women before me, I just tried and did my best every step of the way. “The days are long but the years are short,” they say. I started to trust my instinct more. Occasionally, I would watch what other parents and caregivers modeled and tried it at home. Sometimes they’d work. Sometimes, they wouldn’t. Kinley does things his way. He has a funny laugh. He hated rolling over but is now close to walking at 9 months. I let him show me what he’s ready for. I facilitate with loving patience. Knowing that there is magic within me that will help me rise to the occasion and figure out solutions - by prescription, through advice, or by the grace of Tiktok - keeps me at ease.
Three generations of mothers. Six weeks postpartum. Photo courtesy of Keesa Ocampo.
Everything changes.
I had a silly notion - and fear - that everything would change. I was so afraid to lose the fun Burner girl who wore leather fairy wings to children’s parties. I was afraid that my body would change and be destroyed. I was afraid that I would, like many people said, never sleep again in my life. They were very real but silly fears. Of course everything changed! But I didn’t diminish. I became more.
Two months after Kinley’s birth, I launched a second business, Hara - a passion project where we curate handcrafted home goods made by indigenous tribes and women. I never had a true maternity leave. Business owners aren’t always so lucky. However, having my own businesses meant that I could structure the team I needed to support me, while having the flexibility to try to do all the things.
What I didn’t expect was how much household work there was, on top of having a new baby, healing from delivery, and an endless list of things to do. No matter how much John and I tried to share responsibilities, I felt frustrated. I had the lion’s share of feeding, comforting, caring for Kinley, on top of having to do laundry, tidying up the kitchen, cleaning his bottles, cleaning the house, unpacking boxes, and assembling furniture. For a while, I couldn’t name the feeling of invisibility, loneliness, frustration, and anger until I discovered “Fair Play” by Jennifer Seibel Newsom. I wasn’t the only one looking household inequity in the eye. I realized that in order for me to step into my full power at work, my partner had to step into his full power at home. We’re a work in progress.
The growth of babies happens so quickly. “Blink an eye and you’ll miss it,” they said. But while Kinley was leaping into new skills — from lifting his head to army crawling, eating rotisserie chicken and sipping water from an open cup — I was leaping too. Let’s start by saying out loud that the vagina is magic. While my healing happened nearly as quickly as my labor, postpartum wasn’t all roses. By month four, I had lost nearly half the hair on my head. My skin and scalp changed. I developed postpartum dermatitis. But also, nine months later, I’ve found my rhythm. I know things will keep changing but I’ve developed an attitude of grateful detachment. Knowing that all things - good and bad - are only here for a moment has helped me stay present, positive, and open towards what’s coming next.
Motherhood is a sisterhood.
My friend Kimberly Pinkson told me during our baby blessing that there will be times when I’m up alone at night feeding Kinley. The tears may rush in, brought about by exhaustion and loneliness. She said to remember that all over the world, and over time, all mothers have been in this place and that we are all like beads on a string, raising the children of the world together. Motherhood is a beautiful sisterhood.
I look back at the time before Kinley and wish I knew. I wish I could have supported my mom friends better. I wish I took more pictures of them with their babies. I wish I could have advocated better for dedicated lactation rooms at the office. I wish I checked in more when they came back from maternity leave.
I have been blessed with a great circle of mom friends. They share their wisdom, toys, outgrown clothes, and advice that makes me feel empowered and ready for what’s coming next. I’m also blessed with a circle of non-mom friends who support a work environment that is pro-mom and pro-baby. They keep me sharp, informed, and in touch with the world beyond my bubble.
So much of motherhood so far has been surprising, exhausting, and beautiful beyond words. We’re all just doing the best we can, given the support and resources we have. Every time I see a mom at the grocery store, at Target, or at the park, I smile to acknowledge our sisterhood, I see you. You’re doing great. We can do this.
Keesa Ocampo is the CEO & Founder of WeSparq, a positive impact creative agency that empowers brands to find their voice and become a force for good in their milieus of influence. She is a two-time Emmy Award-winning writer, director, and producer for television, distinguished during a 16-year career with international broadcast media company, ABS-CBN International. She was recognized as one of the 100 Most Influential Filipinas in the US and received a Presidential Citation for humanitarian work from Her Excellency Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, former President of the Republic of the Philippines.