Ridiculous.
By the end of June, they had evened out and I would contract all day and all night (about 15 minutes apart) with HARD contractions...at least hard for Braxton Hicks contractions, of course.
It completely changed my "this baby will be late" mindset and I started thinking I might actually have a baby come early. It made me panic. I wasn't ready. I hadn't washed and sorted clothes. I hadn't toured the hospital (new hospital for us so I was actually worried about that) or pre-registered. I was still working on projects and hadn't finished my list of things I wanted done before my life was unpredictable again (even if it is only for a short while). I really hadn't "nested" at all because I figured I still had plenty of time to do that.
The morning of my baby shower, June 30, I woke up nauseated and eventually was throwing up. Tell-tale signs of early labor for me. I figured I would have a baby within a week. Ha! Boy, was I wrong.
I made it clear till July 22, the ever disappointing "due" date. And then I just kept on being pregnant. By this point, every day crawled. by. so. slowly. I was bored. The girls were bored. I was out of activities to keep us occupied while we waited and out of energy to do anything anyhow! And I was pretty depressed to still be hugely pregnant in the middle of a sweltering southern summer when I really, really thought I should be holding my sweet baby OUTSIDE my body by then. Yet, every day I woke up and I was still not in labor and I just knew deep down that despite the regular contractions it wasn't the day. And every morning i would sob and boohoo and say "I just want to crawl in a hole a die" and on and on. This might seem dramatic, but if you know ANYTHING about the emotional state of a 40+ weeks pregnant woman (and me at 40+ weeks on top of that) you know that regardless of facts, the overdue pregnant woman is SURE she will be pregnant for.ev.er. And then this continued for 10 --- TEN!!! Days. I was miserable, but I tried to keep it together for most people, because most people (even family members) do not understand or support my desire and insistence on my babies coming in their own time with as few interventions as possible. So rather than hear negative and demeaning comments, I keep on a happy face clear through the end.
The girls' labors both started right around 5 a.m. and although I would have welcomed some labor-beginning excitement (like a different time of day or a different type of start -- maybe) this birth started out much like the others: downward pressure/cramping and spotting, right at 5 a.m. And all those "hard" Braxton-Hicks contractions suddenly seemed pathetically wimpy compared with the intensity of the current contractions I was feeling. I knew it was go time even though I had only felt 2 or 3 contractions so far.
Owen was fidgeting, but not really awake and I figured with my speedy-birth track record I should at least give him a heads up. Well, he jumped out of bed and was ready to go in a matter of minutes. I tried to tell him I was just getting started, but he called his dad to come over and stay with the girls while they slept and he insisted we go to the hospital right away. I can't say I argued too much since I was pretty terrified of not making it in time and having a birth in. the. car. Or in the waiting room. Or at home (although I'm totally ok with PLANNED home births). So, we set off and called the midwife to let her know we would be there shortly.
When we arrived, there was a set of hoops to jump through before actually being admitted into labor and delivery. Our midwife had told us to warn them of my precipitous births and they would push me through so I didn't have a repeat Liesl experience (born in admitting in one of the monitoring rooms). They had us up to a room in 10-15 minutes.
Our nurse got us settled, brought me a birth ball to bounce on, some ice chips to chomp on and we found some Olympic tennis for me to zone out to and then. we. waited. And waited. And waited. Or rather, Owen waited.
I tried the birth ball for a few contractions but it just seemed to make my labor pick up. Any movement did really. Textbook labor. Moving speeds it up. Being still slows if down. So I held still. Real still.
 |
| How's that for a glamour shot? I might look like I'm in pain, but the look is really more of a, "I could kill you for taking a picture of me while I'm in labor and look like this" look. I was obviously super thrilled that he was taking pictures. |
I knew subconsciously what I was doing, but would not admit if to myself or to anyone else around at the time. I realize now that Liesl's birth was so fast and so furious that I had enough emotional damage/scarring/trauma from it to be terrified of pushing. Which really makes NO sense, because really, pushing for 2 minutes is a great way to get a baby out and have it over with. My brain just couldn't handle the speed of her birth though, and by the time I was holding her I still hadn't even wrapped my thoughts around being in labor. And I was done already! It was a weird feeling and even though it was fast and over with before I could really worry about it being hard, I had very little desire to do it that way ever again. So, every time I moved, even slightly, I felt my labor pick up. The contractions would get harder and longer and I would panic (internally) that I was losing control and it would go too fast. I did NOT want to lose control. I did NOT want it to go fast. I was NOT ready for the humble, helpless, no-choice-but-to-push-through-it feeling. And with labor, those are all quite literal. There really is no other way around except through. And it's hard. And I hate it at times. But afterward, once I have made it through the tough parts, and feel like I have been to hell and back and survived to tell the tale. Oh, that exhilaration is indescribable. I LOVE that part! It's worth it EVERY time.
I probably would have stayed camped on that bed completely still for the rest of the day if not for my wise midwife. She checked me around 11:30 a.m. And I was an 8/9 (8 relaxed, 9 during a contraction). My bag of waters was still intact and had she ruptured it, we would have been done right there. She asked if she could, and I very firmly said "no." Looking back, it seems a little silly that I was so apprehensive to move forward through labor when I could just get it over with. But I was. And she listened and left me be.
She stayed in the room this time though and just sat and waited. The nurse sat and waited. Owen sat and waited. If I had had the wherewithal to say anything I would have told them all to "quit watching me because the were making me feel like an animal at the zoo." But I was in labor-land. On a beach in a hammock. Or somewhere calm and relaxing like that and I was not about to talk and break my zen. It stayed that way for what felt like hours (thank you labor-time) but it was probably closer to 15-20 minutes and then the midwife said she was going to do some rounds because if she stayed and waited and watched any longer, it would never happen. But if she left, she knew it would be right away. She also insisted I get out of bed and use the bathroom to empty my bladder. She said it was slowing things up. "Ha! That's what she thinks," I remember thinking to myself. But when she said it, she was really insistent. It was more like a command than a request. So I did. And she was off to do rounds.
I had a couple of contractions on the way to the toilet and while going. And one of them was super hard and I knew what was coming. My water burst. In the most convenient spot ever, the toilet. And then there was a baby head crowning right along with it. Baby was coming fast and I was not in a good spot to be pushing a baby out. I remember Owen telling the nurse, "I see hair!" in a very sing-songy manner. He's been with me through two births already. He knows what happens when my water breaks. A baby comes out! Within minutes. She yelled out the room for a few extra hands since the midwife was still out and pleaded with me to get back to the bed. I stayed right where I was. And the nurse and Owen started screaming at me to get back to the bed and something about not having the baby in the toilet. (Owen says they weren't screaming. It seemed like screaming to me. And I could tell they were panicked that I was over a toilet with the baby crowing). I remember thinking that I would be able to move when I got a break in contractions. But it wouldn't come. I had one, then it double-peaked, then triple-peaked. They were shouting. I was pushing (involuntarily). I just could not will my legs to move. I could not form the words to tell them I would move when the contraction stopped. I could not stop pushing. It was a pretty crazy few minutes (seemed longer to me -- again, labor-time).
The contraction did finally stop. I sprinted (Owen says it was more like a hobble. It felt like a sprint) to the bed and the midwife showed up just in time for the grand finale. Owen caught this time. And at 12:30 p.m. we welcomed this handsome little boy into our family.
 |
| BIG baby |
This has been my favorite birth so far. Is that bad that I have a favorite? Maybe. Oh well. With Miriam, I was terrified of the unknown. (All I had ever been told by friends and family was how HORRIBLE and PAINFUL birth were. That is, until Bita and Chris got their two cents in. I'm so grateful for that. I still feel like they and and Bita's parents were instruments in the Lord's hand guiding Owen and I toward the course we needed to be on to bring our babies into the world.) And we ended up fighting with the doctor just to have a normal, natural birth. It was not ideal, but her birth definitely worked out. Liesl's was pretty good, but soooo fast. Fast can be a great thing, but it was hard on me emotionally more than anything. So finally having a birth that I felt calm and confident and strong and that wasn't fast and furious was really nice. I had a wonderful nurse and an amazing midwife. And it just turned out really well. There was a different sense of satisfaction that I hadn't felt before. Sure, with the girls I had succeeded in my goal of a low/no-intervention birth. I had them unmedicated. I had a healthy baby. I was healthy. Those were all great things. But something about the peace and control I felt during Blaine's birth was just enjoyable. I really was content just contracting and waiting. I was in no rush. And not just because I was dreading the last moments. Labor is just such a unique period of time. It's quick, yet lasts forever. It's hard, yet innate. It's calm, yet chaotic. It's painful, yet joyous. And most importantly, it's the beginning and the end.
Up next....the miserable hospital stay (seriously....the worst EVER)
