Wise mothers tell you to make a birth plan at a hospital close to where you live. Take a birthing class and learn how to pack a bag with all of the essentials to have by the front door a week before. Make sure the person you love is by your side.
Trouble was, the place where I lived — Melbourne — had never really felt like home. Neither did New York, where I was from. Bangkok did, where I had lived the year before. So, more than the familiarity of the streets I grew up on and my family on speed dial, I needed friends who supported me in my life decision, the warm laughter from those same close friends, and a lifestyle at a calmer tempo. More than anything, that’s what I wanted to give my baby, and what I wanted to give myself.
I dreamed of slipping my feet into the sand and showing my daughter the waters where mommy and daddy fell in love a year ago. In November, stand along a river in Thailand and you’ll see thousands of paper lanterns lighting the dark sky for the festival of Loy Krathong. I had scribbled my dream of starting a family on a lantern a year before and I couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than revisiting that with our daughter.
My boyfriend protested. His mom protested.
The day before my flight she ushered me into her office to view a stack of papers. One stapled stack showed Australian hospitals where she knew I would be comfortable. She had family members on speed dial who were willing to help. She said it would be easier for our child to gain citizenship if I gave birth on Australian or American soil.
“Be rational,” she shrieked. It was her grandchild. She was worried. She called me crazy.
But in my heart I knew that I was making the right decision for me. I felt calm. I was happy. So, at 25 years old and five months pregnant, I boarded the plane to Thailand alone to give birth to our daughter in a foreign country.
Sabai is a Thai word that roughly translates to “happy.” But unlike in English, where happiness is the opposite of sorrow, Thais use the word to describe a state of tranquility or wellness. I didn’t have all the things that wise mothers tell you to have when you’re preparing to bring your daughter into this world, but as I stepped off the plane and walked into the arms of my friends, I was enveloped by sabai sabai.
Slowly, all the fears that had been injected into me over the past several weeks—Why give birth in a foreign country? What if something goes wrong? Is Thailand even safe?—slowly faded.
I found a birth doula, who told me that a mother’s emotions affect her unborn child. Stress hormones release chemicals that negatively affect a child, and positive emotions promote health in both a woman’s and the newborn’s body. I was happy in Thailand, and I hoped to pass that on to my child. It didn’t matter what other people thought. Our daughter was going to be born in the water, and we found a hospital that specialized in water births. My boyfriend flew in for doctor’s visits. He didn’t like the idea of me being far away and in a foreign country, but he understood the stubbornness of a woman aligning life to meet her needs. He knew that my friends were taking good care of me. He knew that I was happy.
My birth doula was American, but she spoke fluent Thai. She helped me navigate the busy markets and stores as we shopped for clothes, blankets, and baby carriers. My best friend held my hand as nurses in crisp uniforms shuffled around the birthing room. The woman at the embassy wrote congratulations in a beautifully decorated card as she helped us sign the paperwork for my daughter’s passports. And even though my family wasn’t around, Skype showed my boyfriend’s mom her grandchild even though she was miles away.
We traveled to the island where we had met to dip our feet into the water, whispering words of love to our unborn daughter. Today, she’s seven with a name that means “wondrous beautiful light.” And when I look into her eyes, I realize that I wasn’t crazy after all, because I still see feel sabai sabai.
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