BirthStory

The Birth of Lilith Joycelyn

      

I was born four and a half months after Pearl Harbor and the entry of the U.S. into WWII.

My father had tried to enlist , but no branch of the service would take him because he had flat feet and was deaf in one ear. He thought that he could do a desk job or cook and so free up someone who could march and hear to fight; but all soldiers must be able to march at need and hear orders, so he couldn’t.  Instead, he spent the war working as a welder between the hulls of battle ships,
thereby losing the hearing in his good ear.

The Birth of Sophia Katharine

It all started that Friday morning. I had the OB appointment with the horrid doctor who, I think, stripped my membranes without asking. It was a painful examination, not least of which because her fingers were so short.

I was quite crampy from that appointment on throughout the day, and then progressively more crampy with back achiness added in for good measure. All along, they had been telling me that if I don't feel it in my back, then it probably isn't contractions. So, about 2:30 that afternoon, I started feeling twinges in my back in addition to the contractions that started to come more regularly. Now it's funny to look back on these "contractions" compared to what came later. I wasn't mentioning them to Aaron at this point because I could still walk around and talk and joke while having them. I decided to experiment around 10 pm and tried doing a little nipple stimulation. Yikes! Things picked up then. Apparently, the stimulation released the right amount of oxytocin and convinced my body to get things moving along. I wrote an asterisk next to the 10:10 pm time recording because it was a noticeably stronger contraction. I had the same strength contractions until 11:30 when Aaron convinced me to call the OB office to check in and see what they would recommend. At this point, it was either try to go to bed or go into labor. My sister and mother had very short labors and I was a bit worried that if I stayed home, I'd end up having her here. I ended up not needing to worry about that.

The Birth of Sadie Grace

I was having what shall henceforth be referred to as "contractions." We were rushing out the door to the hospital. We were all really anticipating a lot of "pain" in our planned natural labor. This shall henceforth be referred to as the "age of innocence" or "we had no idea the hot flaming hell into which we were haplessly marching." No, no, it wasn't that bad; I'm just being melodramatic because I enjoy it.

The Birth of Selah Solis

This pregnancy was very unlike my first. I had so many aches and pains, and my groin hurt throughout most of it! I had major swelling to the point that it would hurt to walk; and I thought my feet were going to burst at any second! Seriously! I did not, however, have anything close to high blood pressure, so there was no worry about pre-eclampsia. My blood pressure always stayed at a low 90/60. Towards the end of my pregnancy, I could no longer fit into ANY SHOES. This becomes a problem when in the middle of November you're walking around in the snow in either flip flops, or Crocks. This makes for very wet feet!

At 35 weeks I was 75% effaced. The doctor put me on part time bed rest. I thought, "Oh, this will be great! I'm gonna go early and all the misery will stop!" Yeah, right, I'm not that lucky. For the next five weeks I continued to make it to my weekly appointments. I was getting fatter and more depressed by the day. At my 40 week appointment, the doctor stripped my membranes. This is very uncomfortable. She actually stuck her hand in there and seperated the bag from my cervix. Yowza!! Then we left the office and went walking around the mall until my poor fat feet couldn't take it anymore. I was having mild contractions, but nothing to get excited about.

That night I couldn't sleep. I was having some pretty good contractions, so I decided to get up and walk around the house. It was about 4am, and I didn't want to wake up my husband or my mother who was staying with us to help out when the baby was born. So I walked around by myself until 6am. Then I decided that since the contractions were coming about evey 3-5 minutes I'd wake up my mom. They still weren't very strong, just very regular. My mom didn't like that they were so regular and insisted that we go to the hospital. So, we woke up my husband and our other daughter. . . and drove to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital at 7am . . me, my husband, my daughter, my mother, my suitcase, my Boppy, and my husband's guitar.  I walked up to the desk in the maternity ward and said very calmly, "My doctor said I should come in when my contractins were about five minutes apart, and they're about 3-5 minutes now. (I said this with a smile, and I actually took time to put on make-up and fix my hair before we went in!)  The nurse replied, "Well, we'll check you and then decide if we're going to admit you or not.  My, you brought a lot of stuff. . . hope you didn't jinx yourself!"   

I was put in a room, and I started reading my book. The nurse came in and checked me. I was dialated to 6cm!! She said "Well, I guess I'll let you get back to your book like nothing's wrong!"
An hour later at

8am...and the contractions still weren't strong, the doctor came in and checked me. I was now dialated to 8cm! She thought I should walk around the halls for a while. I walked, and talked to other women who couldn't believe I was dialated to 8 and smiling. I walked until my swollen feet started to hurt. Two hours later, at

10am, I was still only dialated to 8cm. I sat straight up in bed...because I heard that this position is great and gravity will help bring baby out. By

11:30am I was still dialated to 8cm! The doctor told me that maybe I needed to change positions. I decided to lie down on my left side. BAM!  Just like that I was ready to push! My contractions were still only about four minutes apart. I would push, then wait four minutes, then push, then wait. I only had to do this four times and my beautiful baby girl was out! She weighed 7 pounds 14 ounces and was 19 inches long.  She was born on her due date, December 8, 2005 at 12:02pm (Only 2% of babies are actually born on their due dates).

My husband was sick, (that's why he's wearing the mask...) and ended up passing a kidney stone an hour later!

The Flipflopmamma is 28 years old with two beautiful daughter's ages 10 years and 8 months. She's a stay-at-home mom with too much time on her hands. She is married to a pastor and loving it. Her blog is about her family, her faith, her everyday life and the joys that come with it. She's a mommy blogger, a Christian blogger, a journal blogger...she doesn't fit into any one category, and she's learning how great that is. She's a little flip, a little flop, and a whole lot of mamma!

The Birth of Garrett Thomas

Everyone told me that I would know when I went into labor. Even though this was my second pregnancy, I wasn't sure if my body was truly in labor, or just teasing me. With my daughter, my water broke naturally (in medical terms, grossly ruptured) and it still took Pitocin for me to have contractions, so how could I be sure that my body would know what to do?

My son was due to arrive on July 20th. I went to the doctor and she told me that I was dilated two centimeters, but it didn't look like the baby was ready to come out. I complained of pains in my rib cage. I whined about the carpal tunnel that the pregnancy had induced. I told her that I could tell this baby was much bigger than my first. I begged her to take him out, now. She told me that I was healthy and having a perfect pregnancy and that the baby would come out when he was ready. I would have to schedule an appointment for the following week to see how things were going. Fortunately, I had chosen a practice that did not believe in forcing labor, no matter how much I begged. I did not want Pitocin again and my doctor knew that, but my need to have things planned, was taking over. I wanted to make sure that someone was at my house to watch my daughter, that my mom was in town so she could meet this new being when he arrived, that I wasn't in line at the grocery store when my water broke. I left the doctor's office and hoped that labor would start before the following week.

On July 21st I decided that I wanted my mom. She lives six hours away and I knew that I needed some help. I was tired and it was hot. My two year old wanted to be outside playing and I just wanted to relax. My mom agreed to come the next day and stay for a week. I worried that I wouldn't go into labor until the following week and she would only be able to see her new grandchild for a day or two. But in the end, I just needed my mommy.

My body must have known that I needed to get my mom to our house to make the plans I had go smoothly. On the 23rd I started having contractions. They started around 7pm and only happened when I was up and moving. I dusted. I folded laundry. I wore a path in the carpet from the living room to the bedrooms. When I put my daughter to bed, I told her that I might not be there in the morning, and gave her kisses. Around 9:30 I started keeping track of the contractions. As long as I was moving, they were ten minutes apart. I took a break and sat down to type some hopeful emails, and went thirty minutes with nothing. I decided the dishwasher needed to be unloaded and they  started again. By 11pm the contractions were coming every ten minutes without fail, but still weren't anything strong. I told my husband I was going to call the doctor, just in case. At midnight I told him I thought we should go in because I had a few contractions that were strong and across my back and seeing as my mom was here to watch our daughter, it wouldn't hurt to be checked.

As we left the house, I began to cry. I was excited to be bringing this new life into the world, but at the same time, I was so sad for my daughter. She had been the center of our world for two years, and that was about to change for her. She was going from having mommy and daddy's full attention, to having to share more than she would be able to understand. I knew I would nurse my son, and that the decision to nurse would greatly limit the time my daughter would have to cuddle on my lap. I needed to mourn the loss of time I would be able to spend with my daughter and prepare for a new relationship as the mom of two.

The hospital is twenty minutes away and half way there I was sure we made the right decision. I filled in paper work and went through the admitting process with a few minor contractions. They took me to a room and checked, I was 4 centimeters and the baby was zero station. I told them I was going to want an epidural. I had been through this before and even though I can deal with quite a bit of pain, I loved being calm and clear headed as I controlled the birth of my daughter and wanted the same sensation with my son. I would have to wait another two hours before the anesthesiologist would come to see me due to other women and emergencies. During that time, I paced around the room, resting my head on the bed during contractions or sitting on the bed cross-legged rocking back and forth.

When they got me to the delivery room around 3:30am, I measured 5 centimeters. At 3:45 I got an epidural and finally was able to smile. The epidural made my blood pressure drop way below the comfort range for the doctors, but after me assuring them that for me it was normal, and no, I did not have a metallic taste in my mouth, and I was no more light-headed than usual, they left it in. At 4:30 I woke up from a short rest when my water broke, grossly ruptured, again. I asked my husband to call for the nurse. She helped me get some clean sheets and then left so I could relax. At 6:10, I called for her again to tell her I was feeling a great deal of pressure. She started to get the room ready. My doctor came in at 6:30 to introduce himself and then he left. (There are six doctors at the practice. I had seen five during my nine months of pregnancy. He was the only one I didn't see.) The nurse called him back ten minutes later because I told her I needed to push. She had checked my progress only to see the baby coming out on his own. I had them decrease the epidural, a must for being able to push. The doctor returned and asked me to push with the next contraction. Three rounds of pushing later he told me to stop. I stopped, but the baby didn't. He just kept coming down. A small episiotomy was done to keep me from tearing and the baby was out and screaming.

The doctor helped me lift Garrett onto my chest. It was 6:52am on July 24th. Garrett Thomas arrived on his own four days past his due date. The lights in the room were dimmed and the nurses and doctor did what they needed to in silence. They let me hold and nurse Garrett before they took him to be weighed. I stared at him, this creature who just a few moments before had been inside me. He looked so big compared to my first, but still so small. My husband's face beamed with pride as he gently caressed Garrett's head. Garrett had a perfectly round head covered with dark brown hair and a look of absolute contentment to be nestled up against me.

After he finished his first meal, the nurse took him to be weighed and cleaned. He was 8 lbs. 9 oz., almost two pounds heavier than his sister had been. The nurses and doctor told me what an easy patient I was and that I was a great pusher. The doctor said I should do this one or two more times and I told him that it is always a possibility. They took Garrett for his first bath and me to my post-partum room. As soon as Garrett was returned to me, I let my husband go home to rest and tell our daughter that her brother had arrived. I stayed awake, holding my son in my arms. It didn't matter that I had been awake for most of the last 24 hours; I needed to study every part of my new baby.

My husband, daughter, and mom came in later that day. As I sat in the hospital bed, with my two children in my lap, I could not feel more blessed. My daughter suddenly looked so big. I could not believe that just twelve hours ago, when I had kissed her goodnight, she had been a baby. Now, she was a big sister. As I gazed at my little boy swaddled tightly in his baby blanket, I looked forward to learning about his unique personality and all that he would bring to our family.

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. You can read the birth story of her daughter here.

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.)