BirthStory

The Birth of Kyle

Kyle was long-awaited. It wasn't because we had a hard time getting pregnant; but because we waited for several years before we fully decided that we wanted to add another child to our family. So we decided to have another baby, got pregnant, and lost that baby. Due to some other circumstances in our lives, we didn't try to get pregnant right away. Once pregnant, I had a fairly easy pregnancy; although at 33, it wasn't as easy as it was at 27 with Amanda. Kyle kept us on our toes even before his birth. At 35 weeks, I was 3 centimeters dilated, making me uncertain about how or when he was going to come. By 37 weeks, I was 4 centimeters dilated; and he was born at 38 weeks, just like his sister.

I was at my friend Richele's house. Our girls were having a playdate, and we were having lunch. We were sitting and chatting, when my water broke. I stood up and told Richele what happened. She was excited to be a part of the big day, but then she said, "Jen, there's some blood." In fact, there was a good deal of fluid and blood. I went to the bathroom, and changed into some of her maternity panties that she still had on hand from her recent pregnancy. She offered to call Terry, and told him to meet us at the hospital. I wrapped a towel around my waist and drove my car the half mile to my house so that I could grab my hospital bag and change into a new pair of shorts while Richele loaded up her infant and our two girls into her car and came to get me.

On the way to the hospital, she suggested that I call my doctor. Since the doctor's office is right across the hall from maternity at the hospital, they don't really require a call because the nurses will alert them. Richele said that I should just call them and let them know that my water broke and that there was some blood, so I did. I also called a friend and told her we were on our way and asked her to pray. I was feeling okay at this point, but was having some contractions in my back. As we neared the hospital, Richele asked if I wanted her to park and help me in. I knew that getting her infant in, and keeping track of our rambunctious 5-year-old daughters would be enough for her to manage without trying to "help" me.  So I told her to drop me at the front door, and I would go up while she parked and unloaded. I walked the short distance to the elevator and took it to the 2nd floor. The nurse was a little incredulous at this whole scene. She had my file ready and took me to the examination/labor room. She was a little concerned about the amount of blood there was. The doctor came quickly from across the hall and was evaluating me and Kyle. I was 7 cm dilated. He asked me if I was having contractions, and I said that my back sort of hurt, but that was it. I was apparently in full labor.

He was going over the options when Terry arrived. He said that the baby seemed to be doing okay, but we had to keep an eye on things. If my labor continued to progress quickly, and the baby didn't seem to be in distress, then I could probably deliver naturally. If he became distressed, then we'd have to do a C-section right away. I don't think that the doctor ever left my side, and when Kyle's heartbeat shot up, he gave the order to do a C-section "Now!" I was put under general anesthesia because it was the fastest, and wheeled out of the room. Terry had to wait until after the baby was born, because I was under general and they didn't allow others in the room in this situation.

Poor Terry will never forget the site of me with my guts out, and his first sight of his new son, blue from lack of oxygen. Kyle had to be resuscitated, but did not suffer any damage due to the lack of oxygen.  He was born just in time.  While I was coming out from the anesthesia, the doctor filled Terry in on all that had happened.  Apparently my placenta had torn away from the uterine wall, compromising oxygen flow to the baby.  The doctor said that a matter of minutes could have meant a tragic difference in results.  I am thankful for so many things about that day:  the doctor's wisdom in how to proceed and skill in getting Kyle out quickly, the fact that the hospital was less than twenty minutes from our home, the fact that I was already at a good friend's home and didn't have to think about who to call and what to do with Amanda, the fact that it was during the daytime while the doctors were all in their offices across the hall, and not in the middle of the night when one would have had to be paged to come in.

I woke up with my sweet, slightly shaken husband leaning over me, looking lovingly into my eyes, and holding my hand.  I was not able to see Kyle right away, because he was hooked up to fluids and they wanted to monitor him in the nursery for 24 hours.   Because I had just had a C-section, and was hooked up to some fluids of my own, I was confined to bed. When there was a shift change in the infant nursery, a woman I will always remember came in and said, "I heard that you haven't been able to see your baby yet; is that true?"  I said that it was, and she said, "Let me go get him, but we have to be quick before the doctor checks back in."  So, six or eight hours after he was born, I got to hold my newest little miracle.

I don't know if he's so dear to me because he's my last child, or my first boy, or so sweet-tempered (unless he's just being ill-tempered, but he's definitely one or the other).  It might have something to do with the fact that a matter of minutes could have changed his fate, and ours.  But we love him. . . a lot.

Jennifer, a SAHM, blogs at Snapshot about her faith and her family (including Kyle's big sister Amanda).  She posts daily about her interests, which include reading, family life, scripture study and application and blogging--lots of blogging.  http://www.jennifersnapshot.blogspot.com/

The Birth of Maya Amrita

Maya was due on March 17, 2006.  But I was two weeks overdue, and extremely impatient, hoping to go into labor.  Ted and I had decided that we wanted it to be just us in the delivery room, no other family.  On the other hand, I had NO experience with babies; and I wanted my mom to be there to help with her when Ted went back to work.  So, we decided she would fly the almost 4,000 miles from Juneau to Philly one week after the due date, so she would be there to help us as much as possible.

Since she was 2 weeks late, our plans were obviously not working out as we had hoped.  My mom was there, ready to help.  But no help was needed for a week before Maya's birth, which was fine actually.  It was nice to have that time together.  I couldn't tell you the last time we had spent a whole week together, no work, no school - probably never.  Certainly not since the last time we had gone on vacation together when I was a kid.

On March 27th, I had my last exam.  The midwife told me that if I didn't go into labor on Thursday, I should check into the hospital Thursday evening, after a light dinner.  Um...what?  Spend the night in the hospital?  I hadn't really gotten that far in my thinking, and I wasn't happy about it.  But I wasn't effaced at all, and they would apply some goop to my cervix, which would help efface it, and it might even start some contractions. 

I couldn't see any sense in Ted and/or my mom staying at the hospital with me. There was nowhere for them to sleep, and it seemed to me that we were in for a long day on Friday.  The more rested we all were, the better.  So I was admitted, put into a fashionable robe, had the goop applied, a device strapped to my belly so they could monitor the baby's heartbeat, and that was that.  The midwife said they would hook me up to the pitocin at 9am, and that usually it takes a while to get going, so we decided that Ted and my mom should come back at 10 the next morning.  They went home, and I stayed behind.  The goop did start some very minor contractions, like bad menstrual cramps, which came about every 10 minutes.  I dozed throughout the night, waking with each contraction, trying to get comfortable while hooked up to the fetal heart monitor and listening to hospital sounds.

At 7AM, my water broke.  I buzzed the nurse and told her.  "Are you sure you didn't pee in your bed?" she asked. "Huh? Does that happen often?" I asked. "You'd be surprised," she said.

The indignities of motherhood were just becoming apparent to me. It was my water breaking, however, not pee.  At 8AM, they started the IV of pitocin, a whole hour early.  I settled in to wait.  OUCH! the pain, amazing, scary, what-was-I-thinking PAIN started pretty much right away.

A couple of words about pain.  I don't like it. However, I like needles even less than I like pain, and the sight of the needle at childbirth classes had made me rethink the epidural, and try for a natural childbirth.  And part of natural childbirth is pain (any childbirth, actually...I have yet to hear of one that is painless, natural or not.)  My midwife had told me that one way to look at it was that the pain of childbirth was a natural pain, as opposed to breaking a leg or rupturing an appendix, and that usually what determines whether a woman needs an epidural is the duration of the labor.  My family tends to have embarrassingly short labors, so I was hopeful that I could get through without seeing that dreaded needle.

The midwife kept asking me if I wanted to call Ted and tell him that contractions had started in earnest.  But my addled brain was afraid; afraid that in his panicked state, he would get in a car accident on the way over to the hospital, and then he and my mom would be dead while I gave birth, left alone in a strange city to raise my baby.  Too many Hans Christian Anderson stories in my youth, perhaps.

At 10:00, I was standing next to the bed, trying not to murder the resident who kept trying to take my blood pressure.  She couldn't get an accurate reading, because my contractions were too close together, and the cuff tightening around my arm made me homicidal. I think I was in the beginning of 'transitional labor'.  I could hear my mom talking loudly as she walked down the hallway.  Ted said he heard someone yelling, and he thought, "I hope that's not Julie." They opened the door, and yeah, it was me.

Ted said I was making "animal noises", like an animal that was trapped and in pain.  That pretty much sums up how I felt, too.  I looked at my mom's face, and I was sure she needed to be in the waiting area.  I wanted this to be me and Ted, and if she were there, I would want mother's comfort, which wasn't going to help me right then.  So I told her to go.  I think her feelings were hurt; and she had been hoping to watch Maya come into the world.

I think mine was a "back labor," meaning the pain was low down my spine, and laying down on the bed was excruciating.  What helped the most was for Ted to rub my lower back while I rocked back and forth on my feet, and for him to remind me to relax my shoulders, that they shouldn't be up by my ears. Eventually, that scary needle wasn't seeming quite so scary, and the idea of relief was sounding pretty good to me.  So I asked for an epidural.  The anesthesiologist was at lunch, but they told me he was busy with another patient, probably because I would have lost my mind if I knew he was grabbing his  only chance at a sandwich while I was crazy with pain. They said he would be there soon, and that they needed to examine me to make sure I was far enough along before he came anyway.  Up on the table, and oops...time to push.  I had been told that I would be moved from the "labor" room to the "delivery" room, but thankfully the midwife left that decision up to me, because the thought of being pushed down the hallway in nothing but that gown, looking like crap, screaming and scaring the other moms didn't appeal to me at all. So I pushed.  I had been told what a relief that was, how good it felt to finally push.  Nope, it hurt like hell, and I was SO scared.  I remember wondering if there was a way to sneak out of there, grab a taxi, go home, and pretend the whole thing had never happened. My fear came from knowing that they weren't going to let me out of there.  So I pushed. 

After about 15 minutes of pushing, out she came.  Ted said, "Honey, LOOK!"  But I didn't want to - I was afraid to see myself all gross and bloody down there - so I said, "No! It's GROSS!"  He said, "No, it's our baby!"  So I opened my eyes, and I can tell you, I don't know what I THOUGHT was going to come out of me, but nothing prepared me for it being a real, live, BEAUTIFUL baby. Her lips were all stretched out, and I remember thinking, "Uh Oh, here comes a supermodel," but luckily they didn't stay that way, and her resemblance to Mick Jaggar was fleeting.

Ted got to cut the umbilical cord, and we got to hold her.  That amazing rush of endorphins, relief, and joy overcame me.  I was on top of the world.  No one had told me that the pain stops the second the baby is out...I guess I had thought it would wane.  THANK GOD the pain just...stopped. After we had a few minutes with her, they brought my mom in.  Her jaw dropped to the floor, too. They had just told her that I wanted her, not that Maya had been born already.

Overall, I know that I had a very "easy" labor: Four hours from when the serious contractions began to the end.  It sure didn't feel easy, though.  It was the hardest, scariest, most wonderful thing I had ever done.  After that day, whenever something seems difficult or scary, I just think to myself, "I can do this...I've given birth."

"J" is a work-at-home mother in the San Francisco Bay Area.  She works as a tax compliance analyst, and finds more fulfillment in writing her blog, "Thinking About", which can be found here.  Her daughter, Maya, is 10 years old. 

The Birth of "Baby Bug"

To My Dear Baby Girl:

December 29, 2005

Daddy and Mommy went into the hospital at 8:00 am for a scheduled inducement. We decided to go that route since your older sister's labor was only 6 hours long. We were afraid that if my water bag broke in public, I wouldn't make it to the hospital in time.

They started at about 8:45 am and you were born 3 1/2 hours later at 6 pounds, 2.9 ounces and 19 inches long.

I didn't feel any contractions (even though I was getting them) for the first 3 hours. Daddy and I were actually watching television and laughing at the talk shows. The nurses couldn't believe that I couldn't feel any pain.

At about 11:45 they decided to break my water bag since I was about 5 cm dialated. The doctor had just finished her office hours and was on her way to the hospital. Once they broke the water bag, boy did I start to feel the contractions! I immediately asked for the epidural.

At about 12:00 pm, the contractions started getting worse. The doctor stopped by and said she would check on me in about half hour to see how far along I was.

10 minutes later, more contractions and still no epidural guy. I started to feel like I had to push so the nurse had the doctor paged. By the time the doctor got to my room I was fully dialated and starting to crown. She kept saying "Don't push!" because they weren't prepared for me to deliver yet. She had to still put on her booties, gloves and gown. The nurses still had to set up the equipment. The bed wasn't even in the delivery position. Everyone was running around like chickens without heads! They didn't expect me to deliver so quickly. I had my eyes closed the whole time but I could hear the chaos around me. All I could think about was the pain and pushing through it. I felt like I pushed for 5 minutes straight and the next thing I knew, you were born.

Daddy said that when the doctor finally did get in front of me, your head was already coming out. You came out so fast that the nurse had to catch you by your feet like she was holding a fish by it's tail.

Of course, when it was all over, the epidural guy came in. He was surprised to see me already holding you. Everyone was kind of laughing and shaking their heads in disbelief at how fast the delivery went.

I guess you were just ready to be born!

Kailani is a full-time mommy to Girlie Girl (4 years) & Baby Bug (6 months). They live in Hawaii where she works as a flight attendant. She can be found at The Pink Diaries or hosting her own carnival blog The Carnival of Family Life. She loves visitors and making new blogging friends! 

The Birth of Benny

I now know the difference between myself and other mammals. Other mammals are unable to get on the "Nurses' Little Favorite" list because they cannot call the nurses murdering killers when they are birthing their young. And who wouldn't want to take advantage of this purely human opportunity? Certainly not I.

It was 10:26 on December 26th, 1999. I was sitting in the living room watching a movie with my visiting sister-in-law, and Dan had gone to bed. I found myself thinking, "My, these contractions certainly are REGULAR and they certainly are STRONG. Isn't that interesting? By 1:10 am I had taken a long shower, slurped down a big glass of water, and stretched out in bed, and they were still moving right along. So when Dan woke up and said, "Honey, are you alright?" I hollered "NO!" At 3:00 am we were in the Camaro pelting down the highway with me moaning and groaning and clutching myself and Dan saying "BREATHE BREATHE" and me saying "I CAN'T I CAN'T." Just like in the movies. Except we had the top up. Which, in retrospect, was a missed opportunity. But what can you do?

We arrived at the hospital and they put me in a room to check me out. In the screening room, I was perched on the table with one leg on each side, arms propped up on a big garbage can, head inside, puking aggressively at regular intervals, and still hollering and moaning with each contraction. IT REALLY HURT. A LOT. MORE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD. When the nurse came in to tell us we were getting admitted, she said "Would you like an epidu-" and before she had the chance to add "ral" I had said, "YES YES YES IMMEDIATELY PLEASE" and grovelled on the floor like a retard.

By 6:00 am (yes that was two murderous hours later) I had my epidural, was numb from the waist down, and was possibly the happiest person on the planet. The man who gave me my epidural asked me what color my nail polish was and I had the presence of mind to respond, "Blue." This probably wasn't what he was asking but it seemed hilarious at the time. EVERYTHING seemed hilarious. I was in epiduralandia and I wanted to stay forever.

At 8:00 Dr. Crockford came in and broke my water, and very soon I was dilated to 8 centimeters and completely effaced.  At 10:30, Dr. Crockford said it was time to push, and my nurse, Amy, started coaching us through the pushing. At this point, my epidural still had me flying HIGH so I was all too happy to hook my hands behind my knees, pull myself up into a ball, and push like bally-hoo. Unfortunately, two hours later all my good virtuous pushing had had absolutely no effect. This might have had something to do with the fact that I was vomitting with increasing frequency, so that every time we really had some momentum worked up I had to take a break to spew horrid bile all over Dan. We went through 20 emesis basins, and then we started rinsing them out and re-using. You have to be environmentally responsible when you're puking your way through labor, after all.

At some point during all this frivolity, my epidural decided to re-evaluate its life choices, turn in its portfolio, and take a permanent vacation. No one TOLD me this of course, so I was still plaintively pushing the little "More Medicine" button and getting absolutely NO medicine at all. Things took a decided turn for the ugly when I was feeling every contraction, feeling all the pushing, and feeling rather miserable and violent. The nurse decided to try pushing on my hands and knees, since the other way wasn't working, and I was supposed to roll myself in a ball with my head down and push sort of backwards. Oh, my. Suddenly, the patient was full of hate and vitriol. "I CAN'T DO IT THIS WAY. I CAN'T BREATHE. I CAN'T KEEP MY HEAD DOWN. STOP PUSHING ON ME. I CAN'T PUSH. HELP ME." You get the idea.

Finally she let me turn back right side up. Dr. Coates came in and evaluated the situation, and told me that the baby was "Sunny Side Up" which means that his face was turned up toward the ceiling, and his head was basically stuck in the birth canal. For several thousand years, I pushed with Dr. Coates' assistance, and the assistance of half the population of mainland China, or so it seemed as the room filled up with helpful observers and participants. I had one nurse pushing on my belly on the left, one nurse pushing on my belly on the right, and one nurse kneeling on the table above my head pushing on my belly from above. Very. Exciting. For. Me. This is when I started yelling "YOU ARE KILLING ME. STOP TRYING TO KILL ME. I CAN'T BREATHE. I AM GOING TO DIE." Dan, covered with hazardous vomit and probably tired of counting to ten and yelling PUSH, was mercifully kind in these moments, and actually let my head go down a couple times so I could get a breath. The nurse behind my head could only say, "I DON'T WANT YOU TO BREATHE I WANT YOU TO PUSH SO PUSH!" If I could have gotten an arm free to dislodge her I would have knocked her across the room. Of course, now that it's over I am very glad she did what she did and I did apologize for calling her a murderer.

Finally the doctor informed me that I had three more contractions to push the baby out and then they were going to do a C-section. The thought of being in labor for one more second while they prepped me for surgery filled me with such panic and fear that my sheer animal will kicked in and with the assistance of all the peripheral pushers, I cranked the baby out about eight contractions later. I was giving Dr. Coates the "I AM REALLY MOTIVATED NOW" eye so she let me push a little over the deadline.

Finally, everyone in the room started shouting "YES YES!" and Dr. Coates said, "Look down! Your baby is coming!" and in half a second I had Benjamin in my arms, completely slimy with blood and gore and the most angelic beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. I was instantly filled with intense satisfaction, love, relief, joy, and the ability to finally BREATHE! They rubbed him off while he laid on my chest, and then aspirated him and took him over to the warming table. I was so euphoric, so totally charmed and amazed and relieved that everything was swimming, including all the seeming thousands of people in the room. I do remember seeing one face loom out of the crowd, and I realized that this woman was staring kindly and with clinical interest between my spread legs, and then looking up at me benevolently to say, "Awww, honey. She's fixing you up real nice down there! Good as new!" And from this I knew that I had had an episiotomy and that it was being mended. Possibly the most surreal moment of my life.



Benjamin was nine pounds, and twenty-two inches long. He has flaming red/orange hair and blue eyes. He is the most wonderful little mouse-nosed cute-i-fied rabbit child that I have ever witnessed. And he has been an angel from day 1. Ben and I both had a temperature, so we had to stay in the hospital an extra day while they gave him antibiotics through an IV. He used this time to nurse so dutifully and earnestly that my milk came in on the second day, and he got so nourished that he had regained his birth weight by the day after we were discharged.

He spends his days eating, sleeping, and making his Mommy and Daddy ecstatic. He is a dear, sincere little angel baby and we love him extremely much. 

Lydia is a homeschooling mother of two little clucking chickens, who rampage around Norfolk, Virginia, flapping their little wings in violin class, karate class, and other adventures.  She keeps a mobile picture blog at "Keep Your Eye on the Kids" and also writes a homeschooling blog at "Little Blue School".  This birth story was originally published here. 

The Birth of "P"

I wrote this for posterity, in honor of my son’s birthday. I’ll warn you now that it’s long. I purposely didn’t whittle it down because I want to remember it as it really was, long or not. If you choose to read it, I hope you enjoy it.

Tomorrow (Saturday) my baby boy will be one year old. I can’t even believe it. This time last year, I was in labor & delivery waiting for him to be born. It was an experience I’d not had before because my first pregnancy came to fruition with a planned c-section; something I had sworn to never participate in again. Suffice it to say, my first delivery was a wholly unpleasant experience that I will probably never write about because other than the moment my newborn daughter was put before my eyes, there’s not much about it I want to remember.

But the birth of my second child was completely different and something I want to savor forever. Sadly, I waited a whole year to write this story and my memory is already failing. Thankfully my husband, who can’t remember some of the simplest day-to-day things, has a pretty good recollection of it. Between the two of us, I’m pretty sure I got all the high points. So without further ado, I give you one of my fondest memories ever…the story of my son, P.

When we decided we wanted to have another baby, I was a little afraid. I’d had an inexplicable estrogen deficiency since the birth of my first child five years prior and had worn a small patch for hormone replacement ever since. I feared that maybe I wouldn’t be able to conceive because something in my body had clearly gone awry.

As it happens, my fears were unfounded. After the first month of trying, I invested in an ovulation scope and conceived the following month.

Because of my previous unpleasant experiences with obstetric practices and because I wanted a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), I opted for an OB group that had a number of midwives on staff that was also one of the only practices in my city that would even allow a VBAC. The midwives were kind and caring and empathetic and best of all, they totally supported my wish to have a VBAC without an episiotomy. They totally GOT me. I was elated. I thought I’d died and gone to pregnancy heaven.

Being over 35, unaffectionately known as “advanced maternal age” I had to take all sorts of tests and screens and the results were very favorable so I declined having an amniocentesis. We found out we were having a boy and though I’d never imagined myself as the mother of a boy, we were very excited.

My 40 weeks of gestation flew by and other than leg aches and major carpal tunnel syndrome that impaired my already fractured sleep, I’d had an ideal pregnancy. As I neared my due date, I had to go every week to see my midwife and then, as my due date came and went, I saw them every few days. Every time, I was only dilated one freaking centimeter! I was getting nervous because if I were more than a week past my due date, the obstetricians would not allow a VBAC as the risks of a dangerous uterine rupture were increased.

On the morning of Wednesday, June 15, I woke up feeling crampy. It wasn’t all that unusual as I’d had cramps a few days before but today I felt different. And when I went pee, I noticed a very slight pink tinge when I wiped. Not wanting to be an alarmist, I decided to ignore it. I had a million things to do that day so I got dressed, got my daughter in gear and headed out.

I went to the grocery store, the post office and a few more places, still refusing to take the cramps seriously. As they became a little stronger, I started to wonder if this was labor. It didn’t feel like much more than a mild period cramp accompanied by a sort of heavy feeling in my lower abdomen so I decided not to call my midwives just yet.

By that night, the cramps were coming and going and I started to think maybe it was, in fact, labor. When I wiped after peeing and saw “bloody show” I knew for sure. At one point, between 10 and midnight they were coming every 40 minutes. Though I was getting excited, Hubz and I figured that nothing major would happen before morning so we went to bed around 1am.

At 2:30 am I woke up with what I believed were definitely contractions because they hurt. A lot.

I woke my husband up and he was really groggy and irritated. He didn’t understand why I didn’t just go back to sleep. I tried to calmly explain that the contractions hurt really bad, to no avail. His preference for sleep was really starting to piss me off. (To be fair, he claims he couldn’t get up because he was so tired).

I could feel myself becoming anxious and adrenalin was starting to kick in. I couldn’t sit still.

As the contractions got stronger, I became more agitated and couldn’t stop pacing around, talking and bugging my husband every 2 minutes.

I’m all “Hey! I’m gonna have a baby. Get your ASS UP!” and he was all “It’s not coming right now. Let me sleep”

I was so pissed. How could he even consider letting me hang out and have painful contractions ALONE???  We still bicker about that to this day.

Finally, he got up and accepted that I wasn’t going to leave him alone. We started to pack stuff up for the hospital and get my daughter’s things together so she could go stay with her grandparents.

At 5am, I called the hospital and told the midwife on call that my contractions were about 15 minutes apart and she was basically like “You’re a VBAC? Get here right away! You can’t wait!!!” Hah. Right. The baby would beg to differ.

So we dropped my daughter off at my in-laws house and arrived at the hospital around 6am. After the initial intake, I was taken to a small triage room where I changed into the gown that I would be wearing for the next 24 hours and proceeded to be poked, prodded, questioned and monitored while my contractions became stronger and closer together.

I was SO excited. I’ll never forget that feeling of anticipation; a feeling that something really special was about to take place. From my room, I could look out the window and see the sun rising over the water and reflecting off the buildings downtown. It was a fresh new day, so full of promise, and I was having a baby. Yay!

I finally wimped out and asked for my epidural because even though I was only 3 cm by about 7:30am, the pain was getting unbearable. Much to my irritation, I had to wait for an anesthesiologist to become available. If I’d known he would take so damn long, I would have asked a lot sooner, like five minutes after I arrived.

So while I was waiting, I got moved to my first labor & delivery room and some nurse came in and brusquely asked if I would mind having a military doctor training to be an OB observe.

WTF?

I didn’t go to a practice full of nice, kind, mother-like midwives so some random guy I’ve never seen before could hang around and look up my dress.

So I said no and she got all snitty with me. “This IS a teaching hospital, you know” Uh no, actually I didn’t know.

And I replied, “Well, that’s the first I’ve heard of any of this and I really don’t want to do it.”

Turns out they were hanging all their hopes on me because the other women in L & D at that moment didn’t speak English and couldn’t give permission. Oh, well.

I eventually got my epidural and was able to relax. Ahhhhh. Much better. An hour or so passed and ouch! I started feeling pain again. On ONE side. My epidural had become lopsided.

Another big long wait while I writhed in lopsided pain and finally, the anesthesiologist came back and tinkered with it and left. No change. I was BEGGING at that point for them to just do it again but they were really afraid to because of potential complications. I could have cared less. I pleaded and they said they would get another guy to re-do the epidural because the first anesthesiologist didn’t want to do it.

To chill me out while I waited, they gave me some Fentanyl. Why do people like that stuff so much? Seriously, it was awful. I itched from head to toe for thirty solid minutes.

After a while, I finally got a new anesthesiologist and another epidural. It worked and life was good again. Except that I was still 3cm dilated.

At about 1pm (I’ve now been there for 5 hours) the midwife broke my water with a thing that looked like a plastic knitting needle in hopes of moving things along.

The rest of the day was a blur of me looking at the monitor and watching the contractions of my uterus as well as the contractions of all the other women in Labor & Delivery and getting my cervix checked. Nurses went off shift and new ones came and I never got past 7cm. I stayed there all evening.

Finally, at about midnight (I’ve now been there for 18 hours) the midwife said they were going to give me a tiny bit of Pitocin because my labor had stalled and the baby had been without amniotic fluid for almost 12 hours. They typically don’t give Pitocin to VBAC candidates because it can be dangerous but because a C-section was starting to look like a real possibility and I was so vehemently against having one, she decided a small amount of Pitocin was warranted.

I fell asleep for the first time in 24 hours (remember, I had only slept about an hour the night before when the huz wouldn’t get out of bed) and when I woke up an hour or so later, I had the worst friggin’ back labor.

The feeling was indescribable and clearly something that the epidural wasn’t going to alleviate. The pressure was so intense, I almost felt like I couldn’t breathe. I asked for heat packs, which helped some, and realized that this baby would be here soon..but not as soon as I’d imagined.

More cervix checks and ice chips and monitor watching until about 4:15am (I’ve now been there for 22 hours). Then the midwife announced that I was finally 10cm and it was time to push!

I’d like to set the stage for you…

I was in my third room and second L&D suite at this point. This one had two beds, a TV and a ton of medical equipment. But the whole time I’d been in this room, they’d never turned on the ugly, bright fluorescent lights. They used these soft, warm, cozy overhead lights above my bed and it was so nice, like being at someone’s kitchen table.

There were only four people in the room; Jan, the awesome midwife, a very awesome, young-ish OB nurse, Hubz and me. It was mostly quiet and not at all like the births I’d grown up watching on TV where the light is all bright and glaring and there are like 8 people in the room yelling at the woman to push. It was so mellow and low key.

The nurse and Hubz held my legs and every time a contraction started to come, I was to put my chin to my chest and push while Jan counted to 10 and then I rested until the next one. I stopped waiting for Jan to tell me when to push. I would feel the contractions, get in position and start pushing. This went on FOREVER!

They had put a mirror at the foot of the bed so I could see the baby’s head. He had a ton of dark hair and it was really cool to see but after an eternity of being told to push because “his head is RIGHT THERE. He’s almost out!! Just a little more” by the three of them , I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I was exhausted. I told them, implored them, to use the forceps or vacuum but Jan said it was too late, whatever that means. I told them they’d been saying his head is “right there” for so long. Why was he not coming out already?

I begged for them to just let me rest because I couldn’t do anymore and Jan said something along the lines of “Yes you can! You’re having this baby!”

I swear, the whole exchange was right out of a movie.

They let me rest for about about 30 seconds and then it was back to pushing for all eternity.

Tra la la…

And then suddenly things became urgent. I was being asked to push harder and harder; harder than I ever have. I would find out later that the baby was in serious distress and needed to come out right away.

Jan told me she needed to do an episiotomy and I was like “Nooooooooo!” but I felt the sting and she told me it was already done.

Again, I was told to push harder, harder, harder. “The baby has to come out RIGHT NOW!”

And then FLOOOOOP!

Like a big wet noodle, he was out!

I forgot all about the episiotomy and everything else and marveled at this gigantic baby I’d just delivered. The room was suddenly full of people and everyone was talking about how big he was. I heard someone say, “No wonder he wouldn’t come out.”

They weighed & measured him with more exclaiming from the nurses. He was 9lbs 6.5 oz. and 21.75 in. And his head was some number that apparently isn’t even on the chart, but most importantly, he was healthy. (And poopy. He’d pooped right after delivery. And in case you’re wondering, I pooped during the delivery. Yep.)

I looked over at him while they were doing whatever it is that they do to new babies and was awestruck, as all mothers are, at this little creature I’d grown inside me for nearly a year. Though newborns are naturally kind of funny looking, I thought he was a work of art, the most beautiful thing I’d seen since my daughter was born. And considering that I pushed for 2.5 hours, his head wasn’t even all that pointy.

I was smitten then and I’m smitten now. P started out as a grumpy baby with a scream that could shatter glass, who had trouble pooping and wouldn’t sleep unless he was being moved rhythmically while tightly swaddled and grew into a mischievous, curious, playful, friendly little guy that I love more than words can say. I am truly head over heels in love with him. We are so tightly bonded that honestly, I really miss and crave him when he’s not with me.

And as a disclaimer, in case my daughter ever reads this, saying how much I love P in no way diminishes the love I have for her. She is my firstborn and I love and adore her with an intensity that cannot be described.

While I may grouse about the dullness and lack of spontaneity and fun in my life, I would not change a thing. My kids mean everything to me.

In closing, I was technically in labor for 48 hours, from Wednesday morning when I awoke with mild contractions (that I called cramps…lol) until I gave birth almost exactly 2 days later after pushing non-stop for two and a half ass-kickingly hard hours. P was a week late and actually born on the day that I would have had a c-section if I hadn’t gone into labor. Holy crap!!!!

 

Happy first birthday, big guy!

Izzy is a mom of two kids aged 1 and almost 6 years. She is a WAHM graphic designer and creates aesthetically pleasing blogs for fun and profit!  She can be found blogging during naptimes and late into the night at Izzymom (where this birth story originally appeared here.)

The Birth of Corinne Elizabeth

My first child had me worrying about her before she even let me see her face. The initial prenatal visit, when I was only ten weeks pregnant, ended in an ultrasound when the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat. Out came the machine and my husband and I got our first glimpse of the amazing kidney bean shape with a flutter in its center. I fell in love then and there.

After that initial scare, I had a routine pregnancy except for the inability of the doctors to monitor the heartbeat. This little girl knew when they were listening for her and would turn in such a way as to make it impossible to hear. Each appointment seemed to end in me having a non stress test and staring at a ceiling for twenty minutes listening to the lub-dub of my baby's heart.

And then I reached my 39th week. I had another routine visit and noticed the doctor's brow furrow as he listened to the heartbeat. I could hear the beat and it seemed strong. He told me that it was nothing serious, just a little skip. I was hooked up to a non stress test again and as usual, my little girl would not cooperate. Every time the heartbeat was found, there would be the whooshing sound of movement and it would disappear. So we were off to the hospital again for another non stress test and an ultrasound. There she was, still inside me, but looking so different than our second sneak peak at twenty weeks. On the screen, the heartbeat was strong and the doctor told us that everything looked perfect.

I was due on April 29th and went in for a routine doctor's visit. My husband and I had been walking two miles a day trying to induce labor. The night before, I was having contractions every eight minutes and we were hoping to go to the doctor and be told to head to the hospital. We even had my bag in the trunk, just in case. Instead, we were told that there was a good chance that I would have the baby in the next week. We were a little disappointed, but headed off for some pina colada Italian ice and spent the day waiting for contractions to start again.

The contractions never started, but at 1:00 a.m. on April 30th I awoke to a sudden surge of water. I jumped out of bed, waking my husband in the process and told him to get me a towel. He ran to the linen closet, opened it, and yelled "where are the towels?" They were right in front of him, but he was so confused by being woken up that he couldn't grasp what I had asked for. He called the doctor while I showered and did my hair. Around 2:00 a.m. we left our house for the last time as just the two of us.

When we got to the hospital, they asked me if I was sure my water broke. My husband looked at them and said "either her water broke or she brought a gallon of water to bed with her." They seemed shocked when I explained how much water came out and told me that I had grossly ruptured my membrane. They set me up in a labor room and put the monitor on my stomach to make sure that the baby was handling the changes well. When they examined me, I was only dilated 2  centimeters. I wasn't having any contractions, but the nurses were unable to keep track the baby's heartbeat. Because they knew the baby had a heart arrhythmia, they were concerned and put an internal monitor in place.

At 4:30 a.m. they started me on Pitocin to get the contractions going. At that time, I still had not dilated. By 7:00 I was having contractions that were four minutes apart and causing me a great deal of discomfort. I had dilated to four centimeters and decided that because I couldn't walk around due to the internal monitor I needed an epidural. After the epidural was administered, I was my smiling, joking self and better able to handle my husband's playing with the buttons and gadgets around the room. He was like a kid in a candy store. After weeks of telling me to do jumping jacks to get the baby out or asking me if the baby was coming each time I sighed, the moment he couldn't wait for was here.

I was examined at 10:15 and the nurses were surprised to find that I was completely dilated and the baby was at +2 station. I started pushing, but the baby's heartbeat slowed and the doctor decided to have me wait, take some more fluid, and decrease the epidural.

11:15 brought the doctor back to my side to see if I was ready. I felt the need to push and five contractions later, at 11:37 a.m., Corinne Elizabeth arrived. Her daddy cut the umbilical cord and the nurse took her to the warmer. She weighed 6 lbs. 13 oz. and did well on all of the tests the nurses performed. I could see my perfect little baby and was relieved to hear that she was healthy. I held her and took in everything about her; the brightness of her eyes, the little mole below her hair line, her perfectly round head. She gazed at me and I filled with love.

Then the worrying started again. The nurse took Corinne to the nursery and set me up in the mother-baby room. I was told that Corinne would be back with me in less than an hour. My husband left to make some calls and get something for us to eat as I sat waiting to see my baby girl again. An hour passed and then it was two hours. At 3:30, three and a half hours after they took her from me, a nurse came in to my room and told me that they had called in the pediatric cardiologist because of a problem with the baby's heart. She asked if it would be all right to give her a bottle and a responded with a vehement "no." I asked if I could go see my daughter and nurse her and was told I would have to wait until the cardiologist gave the ok. I sat in my room, shaking, and when they finally called for me, I had to have a wheelchair because I was so terrified that something was wrong.

I entered the nursery to see my baby hooked up to a heart monitor with wires coming out of the bassinet. The cardiologist came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. As he removed the wires from my baby's delicate skin, he told me that it was nothing to worry about, that he should not even have been called. My baby girl was fine; she just had a routine arrhythmia that usually clears at birth, but didn't. I would have to monitor it for the next few weeks and just make sure that the baby was not lethargic or having any difficulties. I broke down into tears and thanked him. I glared at the nurses who had taken Corinne from me. My husband found me in the nursery with tears in my eyes. A look of panic spread across his face and once I explained what was going on, it changed to relief and we took our daughter back to my room. I spent the next two days in the hospital getting to know my daughter and not letting her out of my sight.

There is nothing that could have prepared me for the roller coaster of emotion that I had on the day of Corinne's birth. When I think back about that day, however, what is most overwhelming is the love that was created in the instant that my hands touched her for the first time, my perfect baby girl.

Stacey is a stay-at-home mother to her two children: Corinne who is three years old and Garrett who is 1 year old.  She lives in New England. 

Check back for Garrett's birth story-coming soon!

The Birth of Lil C

It was the evening of October 2, 2005, the night before my due date.  I had finally given up hope of going into labor on my own.  After a pregnancy of finger sticks, a strict diet, and oral medication to control gestational diabetes, it was now time to face the fact that I was going to be induced with this pregnancy too.  I had envisioned a birth center birth: no needles, no hospitals, no interference.  Just me, my husband, my midwife and eventually a healthy baby.  The gestational diabetes brought with it all kinds of unwelcome intervention in the form of twice weekly non-stress tests, ultrasounds, and a ton more appointments than just my visits to the midwife, all resulting in a scheduled induction on my due date.  "At least I know when I'm having this baby so I can have plans for my older daughter," I told myself.  I went to bed for the night, knowing full well that I would not get much sleep.

I checked into the hospital at 8 a.m. on Monday, October 3rd with all intentions of having this baby by lunch time.  I had made plans with my Mom to bring my other daughter to the hospital in the afternoon.  After being hooked up to the monitors, it was clear that there was no labor going on by itself.  Instead of pitocin (which I had with my first labor), my midwife opted for miso (misoprostol).  After the nurses inserted a port into my arm (no I.V. though, thankfully), and everything was ready to go, my midwife arrived.  At 9:45 a.m., my midwife inserted the miso which goes "where the sun don't shine," if you know what I mean.  I started contracting once an hour.  I was 1.5 cm dilated, 60% effaced and the baby was at -1 station.  Not bad, I thought.  After four hours of continuous monitoring which only allowed me to get up to go to the bathroom, I was finally able to get up and move around.  (With miso they require several hours of monitoring because labor can progress extremely fast.  They need to make sure that the baby is not under any stress.) 

The reprieve from the bed was a welcome one and my husband and I began to walk the halls.  There were only a handful of women in labor at the time so the halls were empty.  All the other Mom's had drugs and were therefore confined to their rooms.  We did laps for 45 minutes, with me trying to retain my modesty as much as one can while wearing a hospital gown, and with cords from the monitor straps around my belly wrapped around my neck.  After 45 minutes of walking, I was required to be hooked up to the monitors for 15 minutes of fetal monitoring.  My contractions were now coming every 3-5 minutes.  They weren't a big deal though.  They were a tightening that wasn't painful; and I did not have to breathe through them.  I remembered from childbirth classes five years before that you shouldn't start with the breathing until you absolutely have to in order to keep from getting too exhausted.  We went on like that: 45 minutes of walking, 15 minutes of monitoring for several hours, until about 3 or 4 p.m. 

A resident came in to check me at this point.  During my first birth, it felt like even the janitor was getting some action, because they were checking me constantly.  My midwife made sure that unnecessary checks were eliminated.  But, my midwife was at the birth center and needed to know where I was.  By this point, my husband and I had probably walked miles up and down the hospital halls.  The resident said I was 3 cm, 80% effaced, and the baby was at -1 station.  I would by lying if I didn't say that I was EXTREMELY disappointed with this news.  I was hoping for a big jump.  This labor was progressing like my first and it was frustrating.  My midwife was going to start pitocin, but she was happy with the progress I made and content to let me keep walking and laboring on my own.  For that, I was thankful. 

Instead of a dinner time visit from my family so they could greet the new baby, my dad arrived with sandwiches for later in the night.  I was able to eat only things like jello and broth, just in case of problems, so I knew I was going to be hungry.  I didn't want to have the baby in the middle of the night and be stuck without something good.  I was a gestational diabetic and I was ready for a good meal that involved no carb counting. 

A little after 5 p.m., my midwife arrived back at the hospital and checked me.  Apparently I had a generous resident, because my midwife said I was only 2.5 cm. and 75% effaced.  She said it was either break my water or start pitocin.  I chose to have my water broken.  I wanted NOTHING to do with pitocin. 

Instantly, my contractions went from minor annoyances to hurting bad enough that I had no choice but to breathe through them.  My husband and I started walking again.  The contractions were now coming every 2-5 minutes and they hurt and badly.  I had to stop walking and hold on to the hallway railing for each one.  I felt like my stomach was being twisted.  During one particular contraction as I leaned against the railing with both hands, head down, I was having issues with too much saliva and I actually drooled onto the floor.  My husband and I got hysterical.  Try hysterically laughing while trying to breathe through a wicked contraction. . . not easy at all. 

By 7:30 p.m. I could no longer walk through the contractions and opted to sit straight up in bed instead.  I could not get comfortable.  I tried several different positions and all of them were miserable.  I knew if I stayed upright, I'd have this baby faster. I needed the pain to stop so I stayed upright despite the pain.  I wanted to get it over with.  My midwife checked me and I was 5 cm, 80% effaced and the baby was at 0 station.  It was around 9 p.m.  It would be the last time that I was checked.  I knew I still had a long way to go. 

During each contraction, I went to Nags Head in my mind and sat deep breathing on the beach.  In between contractions I dozed off as much as I could.  I was in such a zone.  I did not want any distractions and the midwife made sure I didn't have any.  The room was kept quiet; the lights were kept dim.  My midwife and nurse were wonderful through the next few hours.  They kept checking on me to make sure I was o.k.  They would bring me hot water bottles that I would use for 30 seconds and then throw to the end of the bed because I was too hot.  Two seconds later, I'd be telling them to position it behind my back again.  They did whatever I needed.  They were continually encouraging. 

My midwife would sit quietly on the end of the bed, place her hand on my leg and speak so softly, telling me I was doing great, keep breathing.  I think she was very calming for my husband as well. 

Around 12:30 a.m., my midwife asked me if I had been to the bathroom lately and if I felt like pushing.  I told her that I felt pressure, but not the urge to push.  I told my husband later that at this point, (and I know this sounds silly) I only felt like getting up and running away from the pain.  The contractions barely gave me a break and they were intense.  Even though I said I didn't have to go, my midwife, husband and nurse helped me out of bed and sent me off towards the bathroom.  I toughed out a wicked contraction while holding onto the sink.  When I came out of the bathroom, my midwife suggested I lie down to relieve some of the pressure I was feeling.  I was discouraged when she said this and thought she was telling me to lie down because the baby was still hours away from making her appearance.  I figured I had better listen to her and lie down to conserve energy.  I didn't know then that my midwife had been reading all the signs and knew that the final phase of labor was just around the corner. 

It only took one contraction and it was very clear I had to push.  My midwife, without checking me, without turning on any lights, without making a big ordeal of it, simply told me to go ahead and push.  So, lying on my right side, with my nurse and husband barely holding up my left leg that felt to me like it was about 5000 lbs, I pushed.  My midwife checked and the baby's head was already coming down.  The lights were kept low and the nurses getting the room ready for the baby were quiet.  I, on the other hand, was not. 

I remember reading something somewhere about childbirth and that making noise actually helps with the pushing.  It releases tension and helps the baby come down, or something like that.  It wasn't like I made a conscious decision to be loud; it just happened and at one point I heard one of the nurses tell another one to close the door. 

I pushed when I wanted and as hard as I wanted.  I really concentrated on trying to go slowly, and no one told me to push, or pant or gave me any instructions.  There was no counting or holding my breathe.  It was very relaxed and very much at my own pace.  After a couple pushes, my midwife told me to reach down and feel my baby's head.  Her head felt wet and I was shocked to feel hair on her head.  The first inch of her head was out and I held her there with a steady push, not wanting her to slip back.  Three more pushes and her head was out completely.  I did it on my own and gradually, without an episiotomy like with my first. 

The midwife suctioned her nose and mouth and I was relieved to be rid of the ring of fire.  It did burn, but not as bad as I had thought it would.  I pushed a tiny bit and her shoulders came out.  My baby was born with a fist clenched underneath her chin (she had probably been sucking on her fingers like in all the ultrasound pictures, right up until the big squeeze).  My midwife told me to reach down and grab my baby.  I reached down with one arm and the midwife giggled a bit and told me I'd need two.  I was just so tired.  I reached down with both arms and grabbed her under her arms and pulled her the rest of the way out onto my stomach.  It was 1:05 a.m. on October 4th and my sweet baby girl was born.  She had held out one day past her due date.  No baby of mine would ever choose to be on time.

She was just so amazing, so bright-eyed and just staring right up at me.  It was an absolutely amazing experience to pull her out on my own.  The midwife left her on my belly for a while, and didn't cut the cord right away.  She was just beautiful, with a ton of dark hair (so shocking as my first was a baldy).  Unlike my first, she was covered in vernix.  I knew right away that she was a tiny baby, compared to her sister.  My first words when I saw her were, "Oh My God, she's so tiny." 

Eventually, the nurse took her and weighed her.  They did let me hold her while they put the drops in her eyes.  The entire time, she stared at me.  We had an instant connection, me and this baby that had taken 14 months to conceive.  Me and this baby that had put me through four finger sticks a day, twice weekly non-stress tests, and side effects from the glyburide that I was prescribed.  When they hit the conversion button on the scale, I couldn't believe it.  Despite the fact that a growth scan had said she would be 9-10 lbs., my baby was only 7 lbs. 10 oz., a mere 3 oz. less than the weight I had guessed she would be and had told my midwife as she had broken my water. 

 

My midwife checked out the damage while they swaddled my daughter and tried to clean her up a bit.  I had only three minor tears, none requiring stitches.  My midwife assured me they would heal within a day or two and she was right. 

Despite the gestational diabetes and having my birth plan turned upside down, this birth experience was amazingly relaxed.  I did not have to have an I.V.; I had no drugs beside the initial miso to get labor going, and my daughter came out with a perfectly shaped head.  She was just beautiful. 

Despite being exhausted from a 15 hour labor and 20 minutes of pushing, I could not sleep.  I sat in bed, cradling my baby daughter and just taking in everything about her.  I peeled back her hat to stare at the unbelievable head of hair; I stroked her cheek that felt like warm velvet.  I stared at her and felt so blessed that she was finally here and healthy. 

My labor and delivery nurse moved me to my post-partum room in a wheelchair, but I felt more like a rock star arriving at a concert.  The post-partum nurses were waiting in the room, and my l & d nurse delivered me amid a wave of praise for laboring without any drugs.  It was the first labor and delivery she had been a part of that didn't involve pain-relieving drugs and she was "psyched" to have been a part of it, she said.  She thanked me for the experience of it all; and I had to agree that the experience had been pretty amazing.  After settling in my post-partum room, my husband fell fast asleep but I simply couldn't.  When they took my baby to give her a bath, I ate my entire italian sandwich instead of sleeping.  I waited until around 8 a.m. to start calling everyone and giving them the good news (Of course, my parents and daughter got the call at 1:15 a.m.).  Later in the day, my mom brought my older daughter in to meet her new baby sister.  The meeting went very well. 

My midwife came to check on me and said I could go home right away.  At 5 p.m. on the same day I gave birth, I took my new baby home.  From start to finish, it was one amazing birth day. 

"J", also known as "Black Belt Mama" lives in the northeast and is a stay-at-home/work-at-home mother to her two daughters, "Big I" who is 5 and "Lil C" who is now 9 months old.  She writes on her blog, Black Belt Mama, and also for a syndicated (more tame) version of her original blog for her hometown newspaper's website.  She is also the editor of the Birth Story blog. 

The Birth of this Blog

When I was newly pregnant, I searched everywhere for information about pregnancy, and especially about what to expect during the birthing process.  I searched on the internet.  I read books.  I watched a ton of "The Baby Story" on TLC.  It was 9 months of studying for the big event. 

Because of how much I love reading birth stories, I thought it would be a great idea to start a blog with the intent of collecting birth stories from a wide range of experiences and mothers.  In fact, even stories from a father's perspective would be welcome!  I hope that this blog serves as a place where new mom's-to-be can go to read birth stories that will: inspire them to go the natural route, ease their fears about a scheduled C-section, or just give them some idea of what to expect.  For those of us veterans who have already been in the trenches, I hope this site will serve as a place to read some amazing stories about how the special little ones in our world came to be.

If you have a blog and would like to let your readers know about the site and submissions, please do and thank you!

Submission Guidelines

• All stories submitted to Birth Stories may be edited.  Stories will be kept in tact as much as possible.  Typo's and minor grammatical issues will be fixed; but please use spell check and send it off in a polished form.  The blog owner reserves the right to refuse to publish any birth story that it deems inappropriate for whatever reason.
• You may submit photo's to go along with your story.  Four photographs are required in order to create the collage, but please send an extra photo or two in order to make the best collage possible. Photo's can be sent as attachments.
• Stories can be published anonymously; or I will gladly provide your name and a link to your website, blog, or provide an email address if you so choose.
• Please email your stories within the text of your email, not as an attachment (until I figure out how this will work best).  Please email your story to: black-belt-mama at hotmail dot com. Your story can be original or previously published on your own blog.  Please type "Birth Story" in the subject line so that your story doesn't get lost.  Even if you've previously published your story, please copy and paste it into an email and send the pictures as attachments instead of just sending links to your story and pictures.
• Please provide a byline which includes a few brief statements about you and your child or children.  See published birth stories for examples.
• If you're a mother who has adopted a child, you also have a birth story to share so please submit your story!
  

I look forward to reading lots of great birth stories as I'm sure others are as well!