Believe it or not, this is actually the abbreviated version. 
-----
Eowyn (pr. Ay-oh-win) Cordelia McCloud <LN> was born on Friday the 13th at 7:44pm, after 19+ hours of labor and 16 minutes of pushing. No epidural. The pain was totally manageable until the last 4 hours or so (hooray for Hypnobabies!), when it became really awful and I told my husband that my ladyfriend from Hypnobabies wasn't being honest with me anymore, and I took off my headphones. I'd had them on for like 15 hours. So while it worked, it really worked. And I didn't vomit this time (amen). I credit HB for that, since it kept the pain manageable for so long.
Anyway, once the pain really kicked in though, I was afraid an epidural would slow things down. I was determined that Eowyn not have to share her birthday with Valentine's Day (and be doomed to heart-themed gifts for the rest of her life). Those last four hours sucked though.
And here's how it all happened:
Contractions had started around 10pm on the 12th, and by midnight I knew this was it (finally! Thank God. A week and a half of prodromal labor -- I was tired of it and ready for the real thing). I called my mom to come on up and spend the night (she was going to take care of Guinevere while I labored/birthed). And called the doula and midwife to give them both a heads-up.
I sent my husband to bed and I put on Hypnobabies and labored all through the night. At 4am, I took a bath, which did not slow things down, but was nice. Not as nice as the headphones with HB though, so I dried off and resumed listening. By 5am I called my midwife to tell her I felt like we needed to go to the hospital in the next hour or so. (I needed to get there for a 4 hour window as had tested positive for GBS and decided to do the antibiotics just in case). She said she didn't need to come check me. I'd been 3-4cm and 80% effaced the previous day. It was obvious I was in labor. She called the birth center to tell them I was on my way.
But then called me right back, because the birth center was FULL. Holy cow. I was stunned. It's a big place. But apparently some low pressure storm front had moved in the night before and caused all full term women in town to go into labor. Who knew? Anyway, I am so incredibly thankful it worked out that way, because turns out the little hospital we went to instead is MUCH friendlier and more supportive of natural births than the designated birthing center hospital even. We were shocked, truthfully. But the L&D nurses at the little hospital (Parkridge East) were outstanding and no one blinked at our birth plan (I'd brought the abbreviated, one page version), nor the fact that we arrived with a doula in tow. It was fantastic, really.
But given that we'd not toured there ahead of time, and I didn't know what to expect, despite my contractions being 3 minutes apart when we left the house, by the time we were admitted at the hospital they'd slowed to every 10 minutes. I labored sitting/lying down listening to Hypnobabies until 10am when my midwife came and checked me. I was barely over 4 cm dilated. Oh dear. I was very discouraged. And tired. Had no sleep the night before, but didn't want her to break my waters or anything. Yet. So I started walking.
And walked.
And walked.
And the contractions slowly returned and sped up. And Hypnobabies kept working. And I'd lean on my husband and rely on the doula and my little labor kit baggy with homeopathics and essential oils. And all that worked fine, but especially the Hypnobabies. Until around 3:00, when suddenly the nice lady in my ear stopped being honest with me. They weren't "loving pressure waves" anymore. They were massive pains from hell. I told my husband that I'd changed my mind. I wanted to go home, sit on the couch, and watch hockey. He reminded me that wasn't entirely possible.
I took off the headphones and kept walking. But stayed in the room.
The nurse felt bad for me and kept bringing in things to try to help: ice, water, and at one point a birth ball which despite me loving it during pregnancy, turned out to be a torture device in labor. I was exhausted and would've loved to have sat or leaned on the ball, but it hurt worse and besides, as soon as I'd sit, the contractions would slow, and I was afraid of going through a second night laboring.
So I walked or stood. And around 5pm my midwife checked me again. I was 5-6cm dilated. Agony, I tell you. I was crushed. And pissed. And hurting.
And by then the "walking" was really just standing near the bed. But it was obvious that gravity was helping. So I tried not to sit at all, even though it helped with the pain.
Within the hour I was 7 cm. I sat in the shower, sobbing, while my husband stood next to me, holding the IV pole. I was on my third round of antibiotics by then (they repeat every four hours). The nurses had been great about not hydrating me via IV (I drank lots of water), and unhooking it each time as soon as the antibiotics were done. But I was really upset over knowing I'd been there that long. And still wasn't done. I wanted it over. Now.
The shower was minor relief, but hot. I dried off and put on a hospital gown. Then suddenly the contractions moved into my lower back. I was 8-9cm, and told my midwife it was okay to break my waters. She did and I immediately started pushing. There wasn't even time to drop the end of the bed. And it wasn't an undeniable urge to push. It was just a need. I just needed to push. To have it be over. But oh my God, though, the pain was horrid. With Guinevere, the pushing part was almost easy. It was good to push -- a relief almost. With Eowyn it wasn't at all. It hurt worse to push. So I held back some.
"I can't do this!"
It hurt.
I cried and cried. I was so tired I couldn't even hold myself up to push. My husband sat behind me and physically supported me. The nurse stood to my left, holding my leg and cheering, "You're doing so good!" and my midwife stood at my feet, resoundingly encouraging, "You ARE doing it! Stop talking and push, Renee, PUSH! Keep going!" And my doula stood to the right, reminding me, "You're baby's coming!" and all the voices kind of melded together and it was almost overwhelming and then I heard my husband's voice in my ear, excited, honest, and nearly quiet by comparison:
"It's working, Sweetie, it's working!"
And suddenly I knew. I knew I could do it. Because if not pushing as hard as I could was working, then pushing as hard as I could would finish it. And I screwed up my face and pushed with every fiber of my being.
I pushed. And a contraction hit and oh God it hurt and I pushed more.
And I felt her head (like a little bowling ball). I knew I was going to tear. Same tiny spot as last time. I didn't care. But I told my midwife anyway. She applied pressure and said something about breathing and I didn't care. (I tore. Same tiny spot. I don't care.)
I pushed. And I felt her head emerge, and then everyone got excited and I was pissed and groaned. Her shoulders. Oh Lord, head shmead. Her shoulders were next and ouch!
I pushed.
And then her body, and suddenly my midwife said, "Renee! Open your eyes!" And I did. And saw her. All covered in smeary messiness, and beautiful. There was my baby, being born.
And I reached down and helped pull her up to me. The nurse started to lay a towel down on my chest and within less than a second, the doula had scooped it up, saying, "The mother wants skin-to-skin." The nurse just nodded, and we laid the baby on my chest. She had dark hair! And such ruddy skin. She looked so different than Guinevere did (so fair). And she didn't cry. She just lay on my chest, blinking, and looking around. And I cried.
And so did everyone else. Even the nurse hugged me. It was surreal. And special.
It was amazing. And awful. I'm not sure I could ever do it again, and I'm thankful I won't have to, but I'm also very surprised to find there's a tiny part of me that's wistful that this is it. We're done. Because despite it being truly horrific in terms of pain, and pushing me far beyond where I realized I could go in terms of strength, it was also an incredibly real experience. Something very primal and basic, yet loving.
And there's no way I could have done this without my husband. He was unbelievably supportive and just a rock, really. I clung to him constantly. He held me nonstop.
And our doula was invaluable -- worth her weight in gold. And my midwife was wonderful, and professional, yet such my friend. She stayed there for hours and hours during labor before the baby was born, despite having been up nearly as long as I'd been, delivering another patient. And the nursing staff at the hospital were really amazing, too. I can't get over what a difference it made.
After Eowyn was born, the nurses followed the birth plan to the letter. They did all the Apgar/assessment with her on my chest, where she lay skin-to-skin for an hour or so, giving us plenty of time to bond and establish nursing. I wiped her with a little organic towel I'd brought from home, massaged in the vernix, and later bathed the baby myself. All with full support of the L&D nurses. They didn't give us any issues over our pediatrician's orders regarding skipping certain procedures, either. All in all, the experience was worlds apart from Guinevere's birth. Which is a very good thing.
So, anyway, that's it. Whew.
Eowyn's been nursing like a champ, and sleeping tons. I'm recovering slowly but am thrilled to have ankles once more and have lost 20 pounds already. Breastfeeding ROCKS.
We're having some spitting up issues but are dealing with them.
Guinevere's in heaven as a new Big Sister, and we're loving our little family babymoon.
If you made it this far, you deserve a reward. So here are some pictures:
Heart hug (Valentine's Day)
At home goofing off (day two)
Sisters (one week birthday)
Eowyn, one week old (this one will go out with the announcements)
-----
Eowyn (pr. Ay-oh-win) Cordelia McCloud <LN> was born on Friday the 13th at 7:44pm, after 19+ hours of labor and 16 minutes of pushing. No epidural. The pain was totally manageable until the last 4 hours or so (hooray for Hypnobabies!), when it became really awful and I told my husband that my ladyfriend from Hypnobabies wasn't being honest with me anymore, and I took off my headphones. I'd had them on for like 15 hours. So while it worked, it really worked. And I didn't vomit this time (amen). I credit HB for that, since it kept the pain manageable for so long.
Anyway, once the pain really kicked in though, I was afraid an epidural would slow things down. I was determined that Eowyn not have to share her birthday with Valentine's Day (and be doomed to heart-themed gifts for the rest of her life). Those last four hours sucked though.
And here's how it all happened:
Contractions had started around 10pm on the 12th, and by midnight I knew this was it (finally! Thank God. A week and a half of prodromal labor -- I was tired of it and ready for the real thing). I called my mom to come on up and spend the night (she was going to take care of Guinevere while I labored/birthed). And called the doula and midwife to give them both a heads-up.
I sent my husband to bed and I put on Hypnobabies and labored all through the night. At 4am, I took a bath, which did not slow things down, but was nice. Not as nice as the headphones with HB though, so I dried off and resumed listening. By 5am I called my midwife to tell her I felt like we needed to go to the hospital in the next hour or so. (I needed to get there for a 4 hour window as had tested positive for GBS and decided to do the antibiotics just in case). She said she didn't need to come check me. I'd been 3-4cm and 80% effaced the previous day. It was obvious I was in labor. She called the birth center to tell them I was on my way.
But then called me right back, because the birth center was FULL. Holy cow. I was stunned. It's a big place. But apparently some low pressure storm front had moved in the night before and caused all full term women in town to go into labor. Who knew? Anyway, I am so incredibly thankful it worked out that way, because turns out the little hospital we went to instead is MUCH friendlier and more supportive of natural births than the designated birthing center hospital even. We were shocked, truthfully. But the L&D nurses at the little hospital (Parkridge East) were outstanding and no one blinked at our birth plan (I'd brought the abbreviated, one page version), nor the fact that we arrived with a doula in tow. It was fantastic, really.
But given that we'd not toured there ahead of time, and I didn't know what to expect, despite my contractions being 3 minutes apart when we left the house, by the time we were admitted at the hospital they'd slowed to every 10 minutes. I labored sitting/lying down listening to Hypnobabies until 10am when my midwife came and checked me. I was barely over 4 cm dilated. Oh dear. I was very discouraged. And tired. Had no sleep the night before, but didn't want her to break my waters or anything. Yet. So I started walking.
And walked.
And walked.
And the contractions slowly returned and sped up. And Hypnobabies kept working. And I'd lean on my husband and rely on the doula and my little labor kit baggy with homeopathics and essential oils. And all that worked fine, but especially the Hypnobabies. Until around 3:00, when suddenly the nice lady in my ear stopped being honest with me. They weren't "loving pressure waves" anymore. They were massive pains from hell. I told my husband that I'd changed my mind. I wanted to go home, sit on the couch, and watch hockey. He reminded me that wasn't entirely possible.
I took off the headphones and kept walking. But stayed in the room.
The nurse felt bad for me and kept bringing in things to try to help: ice, water, and at one point a birth ball which despite me loving it during pregnancy, turned out to be a torture device in labor. I was exhausted and would've loved to have sat or leaned on the ball, but it hurt worse and besides, as soon as I'd sit, the contractions would slow, and I was afraid of going through a second night laboring.
So I walked or stood. And around 5pm my midwife checked me again. I was 5-6cm dilated. Agony, I tell you. I was crushed. And pissed. And hurting.
And by then the "walking" was really just standing near the bed. But it was obvious that gravity was helping. So I tried not to sit at all, even though it helped with the pain.
Within the hour I was 7 cm. I sat in the shower, sobbing, while my husband stood next to me, holding the IV pole. I was on my third round of antibiotics by then (they repeat every four hours). The nurses had been great about not hydrating me via IV (I drank lots of water), and unhooking it each time as soon as the antibiotics were done. But I was really upset over knowing I'd been there that long. And still wasn't done. I wanted it over. Now.
The shower was minor relief, but hot. I dried off and put on a hospital gown. Then suddenly the contractions moved into my lower back. I was 8-9cm, and told my midwife it was okay to break my waters. She did and I immediately started pushing. There wasn't even time to drop the end of the bed. And it wasn't an undeniable urge to push. It was just a need. I just needed to push. To have it be over. But oh my God, though, the pain was horrid. With Guinevere, the pushing part was almost easy. It was good to push -- a relief almost. With Eowyn it wasn't at all. It hurt worse to push. So I held back some.
"I can't do this!"
It hurt.
I cried and cried. I was so tired I couldn't even hold myself up to push. My husband sat behind me and physically supported me. The nurse stood to my left, holding my leg and cheering, "You're doing so good!" and my midwife stood at my feet, resoundingly encouraging, "You ARE doing it! Stop talking and push, Renee, PUSH! Keep going!" And my doula stood to the right, reminding me, "You're baby's coming!" and all the voices kind of melded together and it was almost overwhelming and then I heard my husband's voice in my ear, excited, honest, and nearly quiet by comparison:
"It's working, Sweetie, it's working!"
And suddenly I knew. I knew I could do it. Because if not pushing as hard as I could was working, then pushing as hard as I could would finish it. And I screwed up my face and pushed with every fiber of my being.
I pushed. And a contraction hit and oh God it hurt and I pushed more.
And I felt her head (like a little bowling ball). I knew I was going to tear. Same tiny spot as last time. I didn't care. But I told my midwife anyway. She applied pressure and said something about breathing and I didn't care. (I tore. Same tiny spot. I don't care.)
I pushed. And I felt her head emerge, and then everyone got excited and I was pissed and groaned. Her shoulders. Oh Lord, head shmead. Her shoulders were next and ouch!
I pushed.
And then her body, and suddenly my midwife said, "Renee! Open your eyes!" And I did. And saw her. All covered in smeary messiness, and beautiful. There was my baby, being born.
And I reached down and helped pull her up to me. The nurse started to lay a towel down on my chest and within less than a second, the doula had scooped it up, saying, "The mother wants skin-to-skin." The nurse just nodded, and we laid the baby on my chest. She had dark hair! And such ruddy skin. She looked so different than Guinevere did (so fair). And she didn't cry. She just lay on my chest, blinking, and looking around. And I cried.
And so did everyone else. Even the nurse hugged me. It was surreal. And special.
It was amazing. And awful. I'm not sure I could ever do it again, and I'm thankful I won't have to, but I'm also very surprised to find there's a tiny part of me that's wistful that this is it. We're done. Because despite it being truly horrific in terms of pain, and pushing me far beyond where I realized I could go in terms of strength, it was also an incredibly real experience. Something very primal and basic, yet loving.
And there's no way I could have done this without my husband. He was unbelievably supportive and just a rock, really. I clung to him constantly. He held me nonstop.
And our doula was invaluable -- worth her weight in gold. And my midwife was wonderful, and professional, yet such my friend. She stayed there for hours and hours during labor before the baby was born, despite having been up nearly as long as I'd been, delivering another patient. And the nursing staff at the hospital were really amazing, too. I can't get over what a difference it made.
After Eowyn was born, the nurses followed the birth plan to the letter. They did all the Apgar/assessment with her on my chest, where she lay skin-to-skin for an hour or so, giving us plenty of time to bond and establish nursing. I wiped her with a little organic towel I'd brought from home, massaged in the vernix, and later bathed the baby myself. All with full support of the L&D nurses. They didn't give us any issues over our pediatrician's orders regarding skipping certain procedures, either. All in all, the experience was worlds apart from Guinevere's birth. Which is a very good thing.
So, anyway, that's it. Whew.
Eowyn's been nursing like a champ, and sleeping tons. I'm recovering slowly but am thrilled to have ankles once more and have lost 20 pounds already. Breastfeeding ROCKS.
We're having some spitting up issues but are dealing with them.Guinevere's in heaven as a new Big Sister, and we're loving our little family babymoon.
If you made it this far, you deserve a reward. So here are some pictures:
Heart hug (Valentine's Day)
At home goofing off (day two)
Sisters (one week birthday)
Eowyn, one week old (this one will go out with the announcements)
:
: My dh was my rock, too-- just perfect. 
Your girls are both gorgeous. Thanks for sharing.
