my son's birth story

Looking back, I always have to laugh. It was about 48 hours before I would give birth to my son, and I said to my husband, "Maybe I will be one of those women who really doesn't feel contractions." I was completely serious too. I think I said this rather silly comment because my entire pregnancy I had not even had one "practice" contraction. Not one Braxton-Hicks. Nothing. So, I thought, well maybe I've had some contractions but I just don't know it, because I'm going to be one of those really fortunate women in labor. At the time I made that comment, we were walking through a store by our home. It was about 10:00 at night. Shortly after my first comment, I said, "Hmmm . . . I feel kind of crampy. This weird cramp keeps coming and going" (making absolutely NO connection in my head, believe it or not). I have no idea what we were even shopping for, but we wandered around that store a long time. Finally I said, "You know, I just realized that weird cramp is coming about every ten minutes. Do you think it's a contraction?" It felt nothing like what I expected. It felt like pms and kind of went around my whole body around to my lower back. The next time I got a "cramp," we both put our hands on my belly and realized it was indeed tightening and contracting. I started getting very excited and still thought, "Oh, if these are contractions, I can handle it."
We had been taking Bradley classes (husband-coached natural childbirth) for a few months, and our instructor had told us to sleep through any contractions if at all possible. I slept very comfortably that night. I worked from home the next day. The contractions remained steady and very manageable every ten minutes the whole day. My husband went to work and kept his phone close by. My grandfather, who had been steadily failing in health died that day. My emotions were all over the place, awaiting this amazing new life and mourning by beloved grandfather, knowing he would never meet my baby and I would never see him again. I wouldn't even be able to go to his funeral, 850 miles away. Strangely enough, almost 12 years earlier, my grandmother on the other side of the family had died on my older sister's due date. (This in itself could be another post.)
Around 10:00 the next evening, 24 hrs. after the first contractions started, we were watching one of our favorite shows that we had recorded. I don't even remember what it was now. I was doing my Bradley exercises in front of the TV, and I realized the contractions were getting stronger. I figured it was no big deal. I would just sleep through them again.
When I went to bed, I fell asleep with a stopwatch in my hand, timing each contraction. They were getting closer, maybe 7-8 minutes when I fell asleep. I woke up around 3:00 a.m. and the contractions now were maybe 5-6 minutes apart and so strong that I had to get out of bed at that point. I went to the bathroom and leaned over the sink and breathed deeply through each contraction. I was actually feeling a little scared by the sensations in my body, but I didn't want to wake my husband until I really needed him. I wanted him to be as well rested as possible to help me later.
Before this point, I had never really felt fear about giving birth. It was an emotion that surprised me and that would come and go my entire labor. Up to this point, I thought I could have given birth completely on my own and that the sheer joy of looking forward to meeting my baby would get me through anything. I wanted my husband to be there, of course, and I wanted his support and help, but I didn't know how much I would come to completely depend on it.
Around 3:30, I was breathing deeply and laboring hard on my hands and knees. The contractions were strong and about 3 minutes apart. I called the midwife at this point, and she told me to meet her at the hospital. [A little side note here: I had initially wanted a home birth, but in my area options are very limited for that and very expensive. The practice I looked into that I was sure I would go with was going to cost us $5,000 out of pocket. We didn't have that. I also did not feel very comfortable with the staff in the practice on a personal level. Also, while I have nothing against men, all of the doctors in the practice were men and there were no midwives on staff. I came to really want a woman who had been through childbirth herself to deliver my baby, and I found a midwife practice in my area and fell in love with them and their philosophy. The only downside for me was that they only did hospital deliveries, but I chose to go with them pretty early on anyway. I knew that I would never have to see a doctor the entire time, unless complications arose. I also knew that my birth plan would be followed as close as possible. I felt good about this decision and still do.]
So, we headed to the hospital. The midwife was not there yet, so I handed over my birth plan to the nurse, and this nurse could not have been more supportive of everything I wanted to do. This is nothing short of God's hand. I know from the midwives that not all the nurses in that hospital are supportive. I had no IV, no hooked-up monitors. I never laid down on my back to labor. The midwife arrived shortly after wearing very bohemian, non-medical clothing and put me right at ease with her amazing massage techniques and her soothing voice. She was a God-send. I was free to roam and eat and drink (I didn't eat, but I drank a lot during labor). The nurse and midwife got me a birthing ball and a ton of pillows so I could lean over the bed, which seemed to be my preferred laboring position for hours. I walked around the hospital for a good 45 minutes, stopping to lean on my husband through contractions. They dimmed the lights for me and we put on Norah Jones. The room was quiet and homey. They filled the tub, and although I was not allowed to give birth in it (which is a real shame--hospital policy), it sure did help during the transition phase of my labor. The nurse made me a waterproof pillow to lean on in the tub. At this point the contractions were coming on top of each other. I eventually got out of the tub and went to the shower (this is about 2:00 p.m. now), where I had excruciating back labor. I really believed I might die. I tried my best to continue deep breaths. Each contraction, the nurse would put the water pressure on high and as hot as I could handle (at my request). My husband helped hold me up. For some reason I wanted the water scalding on my lower back. It just seemed to help me through it. I was crying for God to help me at this point. I just didn't think I could do it. I was honestly frightened.
Somewhere in all of this, my midwives switched shifts. I knew all of them at this point, so I was comfortable with both of the midwives who attended my labor. I was very fortunate that there were no other midwife patients laboring at the time. I had a nurse, a midwife, and my husband with me the entire time, and I know I could not have accomplished this without the support of all three of them. I continue to thank God for giving them all to me that day.
When it came time to push, I requested a squat bar. My husband was behind me, adding physical support. The squat bar was in front of me and so was the midwife. The nurse was beside me, and I can never thank her enough for lending me her hand to squeeze. I really didn't end up using the squat bar. I used my husband's knees, which were on either side of my hips, for support and the sweet nurse's strong hand. I don't know how I didn't break it. My pushing stage lasted almost two hours. I was so so worn out and really did not have any more strength to push. I don't know how I finally birthed this baby. Everyone kept cheering me on and telling me I was doing great, but I was disheartened by now. I always believed the hope of seeing my little boy would get me through anything in labor, but even that hope and expectancy had left my mind at this point. I had requested a mirror to see the baby be born, but I didn't even want that now. I felt it would detract from the concentration I needed to push. We had wanted my husband to catch the baby, but I needed him behind me, so we departed from that plan without even needing to talk about it. We both just knew where he was needed. The midwife kept telling me she knew I did not want an episiotomy but that she would give me one if I changed my mind. It might speed things up. I did not want it, but I thanked her because I really think she was looking out for me--not just trying to do an unnecessary medical procedure for her own convenience. She did end up breaking my water after many requests to do so. I finally agreed, because she told me my labor and pushing stage were going on so long that she feared the baby might have swallowed meconium by now. The water was clear, and in retrospect I wish I had not let her do that, but I do think I understand her reasoning.
Every push seemed self-defeating. I was using every ounce of energy and feeling the baby move out slightly, but then in between pushes, he was just slipping back in and I felt I had made no progress whatsoever. Everyone still kept saying I was doing great, and the intermintent heart monitoring showed the baby's heart rate continued to be strong, so we just kept going. I believed this was never going to be over. I did not feel strong or in control anymore. And then on one push, a push that was not even all that big, the midwife said, "Stop!" The baby's head had emerged and the cord was around his neck twice. I did not look or even know why she told me to stop. My husband told me later she was so calm and amazing unwrapping the cord. Then she told me to push again, and there he was, screaming his little lungs out. She put him on my chest, and the baby and I were both crying, and I told him I felt the same way he did and that it was okay to just cry. I held him for maybe fifteen minutes until the midwife said that I was bleeding too much and she needed to make it stop. My husband took the baby and they weighed and measured him right next to me. 6 lbs. 12 oz. 20-3/4 in. 5:04 p.m.
We got settled in our recovery room, which was beautiful and warm. The baby never left our side. I held him and stared at him for hours on end. And this is pretty much how we spent the first year of his life. Holding him, wearing him, staring at him, cuddling him, talking to him, praying for him.
I told my husband that night, "This is it. I can't do this again." Within weeks I knew I would do it again in a heartbeat and that I would do it every day of my life for the little miracle I now held.
I remember waking up next to him in the hospital the morning after he was born and being so in love with him. I looked at him and did not know how he had managed to get cuter in the few hours I had slept. I still think that every morning I see him. How does he just get more precious with each passing day? But he does and I love watching this little life unfold day by day, moment by moment. God is amazing to bless his children with the gift of parenthood. Who could have dreamed this up?