Welcome to the World Landon Kawika

From the beginning, even before I really wanted to have another child, I knew that it was time to start trying. I had the impression that it would be a boy, and the name Kawika was imprinted in my mind as his name. I guess it was meant to be, because with my first, Emma,  it took a few months to get pregnant, but with Kawika, we got pregnant quickly.

I wish I could say I was thrilled right away, but the truth is, I wasn’t. I knew it was right, yet I wasn’t ready to be pregnant again. Pregnancy is beautiful, yes, but it’s also hard—and I knew exactly what I was in for: nausea, sleepless nights, weight gain, delivery, and the possibility of bed rest like I had with Emma. Plus, life already felt full with a spirited two-year-old at home. I’d been dreaming of starting a master’s program while Phil worked on his degree, and another baby would make that dream feel even farther away.

Somehow, though, the Lord knew I needed a break. This time, despite worse nausea, I didn’t face the complications that shadowed my first pregnancy. That felt like a miracle—my body felt like a miracle. During Emma’s pregnancy, my OB warned me future pregnancies would likely be the same. She even suggested I might not be able to have many children. She was wrong. With Emma, my cervix started dilating at just 28 weeks—18 weeks too soon—so I spent months on bed rest and medication to keep her in. They told me she’d come early; no one was sure how early. But she surprised everyone, arriving a day shy of 38 weeks, fully developed and healthy. Another miracle.

Because of that history, I saw a specialist every few weeks this time, holding my breath at each appointment. Every time they said my cervix looked fine, I exhaled and whispered a prayer of thanks.

At my 18-week ultrasound, we learned what I already knew: a boy. What I didn’t expect was hearing he had a clubbed foot. We were concerned, of course, but compared to what we’d faced before, it felt manageable. And somehow, we knew it would be okay. Over the next few ultrasounds, the foot seemed to correct itself. Another miracle.

The months crawled by. I was grateful for a healthy baby, but so ready to hold him in my arms. Week 37 came and went. Then week 38. Still no baby. I even scheduled an induction for 7/14/14—what a cool birthday that would’ve been. But Kawika had his own plans. At 39 weeks, on Saturday, July 12, he decided it was time.

This is how it happened…

On July 11th, I went house hunting with my mom. As I climbed up and down stairs, I noticed her and the realtor watching me with worried eyes.
“You okay, Keola?” my mom asked.
“I’m fine,” I said—and I was. Or so I thought.

Later that night, contractions began. By 8 p.m., they were five minutes apart and growing stronger. Exhaustion hit me like a wall, and I realized that if I was going to push a baby out of my body, I needed at least a few hours of sleep. So, I crawled into bed. Miraculously, I made it to 5 a.m.

Then, in the bathroom, the pain surged so sharply I knew rest was no longer an option. I shook Phil awake.
“It’s time.”

He jumped out of bed, and we scrambled to get ready. We checked into the hospital around 6 a.m., but admission took a little time. When the nurses finally examined me, I was already at five centimeters. My doctor was called, and the nurses started an IV.

That’s when things got rough. They missed the vein. Instead of starting over, they kept prodding while I rode out wave after wave of contractions. Pain on top of pain. I broke into tears, thinking, Why did I put mascara on this morning? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

My birth photographer—and dear friend—Tessa Antivilo arrived soon after. She snapped some incredible photos and even wrote down her version of the story (check it out here).

Then Dr. Harrison came in and broke my water. Everything after that was a blur. It was about 6:45 a.m. By 7:17, Kawika was here.

Those thirty minutes were intense. After breaking my water, Dr. Harrison stepped out for just a few minutes. When she returned, I’d rocketed to seven centimeters. She stayed close, knowing things were about to move fast.

I climbed onto all fours during the worst contractions, desperate for relief. I focused on my breathing, squeezing Phil’s hand when I couldn’t take the pain anymore. Between surges, I collapsed onto my side, savoring any scrap of rest I could steal. Phil was a rock—feeding me ice chips, wiping my face, steadying me for the next round. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

Then I told Dr. Harrison—

“I feel like I need to push,” I told her. She checked—still not quite at ten.
“You’re almost there. Just a little longer,” she said.

Not what I wanted to hear. Every second felt endless. But waiting saved me from stitches, and for that, I’m grateful.

Finally, the green light: “Go ahead and push.”
I did. Hard. It burned like fire and brought relief all at once. I wanted this baby out. When the contraction eased, I ached to keep pushing, but Dr. Harrison stopped me.
“Wait for the next one.”

Against every instinct, I obeyed. I trusted her completely—she was my anchor in the storm. Still, I thought, Why didn’t I get an epidural?

Then came the next wave. I bore down with everything I had. And then—release. His head, his body, out in a rush. My entire being collapsed in relief. The worst was over. I had done it.

Kawika’s first cry ripped through the room—a sound of shock, of life. Poor baby, as shaken as I was. Phil cut the cord, and they laid him in my arms. Wrapped tight, tiny and perfect, his face still crumpled with sadness. I held him close. He was here. He was mine.

Landon Kawika is now 2 months old. He is such a smiley and happy baby when he isn't struggling with gas. He is such a joy to be around. He loves it when people talk to him and make faces at him. He is very alert and has been that way since he was born. He seems to notice everything that is going on around him. His eyes are open so wide when he is awake, taking in all the sights. He is strong. He can hold his head up already and can sit in a bumbo. He's even rolled over already. He's definitely a Kinghorn because he usually doesn't go to bed until midnight. He prefers to be held upright, and he has to be held or rocked to sleep. It's alright, though, because he is constantly smiling in his sleep, and it just makes me so happy. 

As of today, he is 12 pounds and 24 inches long. People tell me that he has long fingers. Hopefully, that means he will be a piano player. But, more than anything, I hope he is happy all the days of his life.