The births of both of my sons has been an exercise in challenging my expectations. My first son arrived precisely on his due date (or two days early, depending on who you believe) and came with an exceptionally straightforward and short labor, after our expectation of a 40+ week pregnancy and a slow and drawn out labor. I felt confident that our second baby would be born even earlier, and in a shorter, easier delivery. And I was fairly certain that the baby was a girl.
I was exceptionally well-organized in the days leading up to our baby’s estimated due date. The house was cleaned 2 weeks before, the carpets cleaned shortly after that. The freezer was stocked, the diapers washed, the sheets changed, the bassinet set up, child care on stand-by, back-up childcare on stand-by, the breast pump set next to the bed, the chickens kept in a constant state of “having enough food to last a few days”, the humidifiers cleaned, the garden mulched, the “placenta lady” on stand-by, the prune regime begun, Brandon’s weekly trips to Chicago completed….We were ready for Birth Day no less than 10 days before we expected Ku (as he was known in utero). And then we were hit with a series of events that had me grumpily wondering how I would manage if the baby came early: illness, a difficult work obligation, illness again….I remember looking at the world and feeling indignant that they dared go about their lives while I was expecting a baby.
Ku’s due date came and went. I was shocked, as this baby was clearly bigger. I started to imagine that my baby didn’t want to come out because he could hear and feel all of my parenting imperfections, which my first son hadn’t been privy to. The days went with no signs of impending labor. I felt crabby at the number of times I was asked why I hadn’t “had that baby yet” and when I was going to be induced. Battling a toddler became unbearable and I started to fantasize about going into labor, if only so I could get away from him. I was exhausted from being on such a constant state of alert, every outing meaning I thought through an exit strategy, a driving strategy, a “water breaking” strategy…
On day 4 past the estimated due date, I lost the mucous seal at 7 am. I was sure labor would start any moment! At 1 pm, we lost electrical power at our home for over 7 hours, and I changed course, hoping I wouldn’t have to labor without hot water. I felt no contractions, only an intense backache. You can see a familiar trend through the last weeks of my pregnancy, of me vacillating between hoping the baby would come, and then hoping the baby wouldn’t come. On Day 5 past the estimated due date, I started weak attempts to get labor going. I wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, but I was feeling impatient to meet this little person! I ate half a pineapple that night, and tried to walk whenever I could. On Day 6, I lost more of the mucous seal and had faint contractions about 7 minutes apart. I kept walking to intensify them, and asked my husband to stay home from work, as I was certain we would be going to the birth center any hour. I called Shellie, ready to go. I was certain that if I could just get to the Birth Center, the baby would come out! “So what’s happening?” Shellie asked. I told her that contractions were 7 minutes apart while I was walking, and 20 minutes apart while I was resting. I was so proud of what I could accomplish when walking! Shellie told me what I already knew, that I should rest and wait for more consistent contractions. I went to bed early, defeated in my lack of influence.
At 3 am I woke up with contractions so strong that I couldn’t sleep through them. They were short and about 20 minutes apart, but they passed my litmus test of interrupting sleep and requiring a bath. I saw that they were getting closer together, so I settled on the couch with The Office re-runs to time them, cat-nap, and marvel at how different this birth was shaping from how my first son’s had been. With Fenton, my husband and I labored together in our bathroom until he said “I really think we should call the midwives”. This time, I valued his help more in staying in bed with Fenton and helping to ensure that I wouldn’t have a toddler climbing on my back during contractions. It felt magical to be laboring alone when it felt as if the entire world was asleep, to be waiting for my husband and son to wake up so I could tell them it was time to go. I almost laughed out loud when they slept in more than a half hour later than they usually did. My contractions were staying at about 6 minutes apart. When they finally woke up, we called my parents-in-law for them to come to get Fenton. Contractions were strong enough that I couldn’t talk through them, but they were short and staying at the same frequency. As we were leaving, my husband looked at me apologetically and said that once I was settled in at the birth center, if it seemed we had time, he was going to need to run out to get some breakfast. I told him that I thought I could manage him going through a drive-thru quickly. He groaned and said “I’m never going to live it down that I showed up at the GBC with you in labor and a bag from McDonalds.” One of my contractions in the car took place in the drive thru of a McDonalds, which seemed funny even at the time.
We arrived at the birth center and settled in to what was obviously still early labor. I was chatty between contractions, and even felt some self-consciousness of how boring it was in those early hours. Brandon chatted about politics, and I remember him saying “Just tell me to shut up when you don’t want to talk anymore.” I laughed and said I wasn’t that polite. We had arrived at 9 am, and around noon I started to feel hungry and could feel that things were getting more intense. I sent Brandon out to get me some lunch, and as I was finishing my chicken salad, contractions were started to make it difficult to eat and talk.
With the labor for my first son, I never felt like I was too exhausted to go on. I never felt like the pain was so unbearable that I wanted drugs. I believed the adage that, when you feel like you can’t go on, you’re almost done. But around 2:30 or 3 in the afternoon, I felt as though I couldn’t possibly go on any more, but that I had a long way to go. I started to wonder how much more bearable drugs could make this labor. Back labor was intense, I started to grip the side of the tub while Brandon pushed on my lower back. Audra suggested that we try a method where I did 3 contractions on one side, 3 on hands and knees, and three on the other side. She had seen this work to turn a posterior baby, though even now I’m not certain that he was posterior (the pictures are fuzzy). I tried to follow the suggestion, though I favored the hands and knees position more.
I’ve often joked with my husband that I would make a terrible horror movie heroine. I’m certain I would stay in my hiding place when all hope was lost rather than risk doing something that could save me. I remember during my labor with my first son that we never timed contractions, and I wasn’t in my head at all during that labor – I did one thing and stayed with it, even when it didn’t work for me. For Ku's labor, we focused more on numbers (how long were contractions, how far apart, etc.) partly because things were slower in the beginning, I was past the date I expected him, and we knew we had to allow enough time to get child care to our house for Fenton. At first I regretted how much more cerebral Ku's birth felt to me, but I saw during his labor how being in my head allowed me to “leave my hiding place”. I loathed to get out of the tub during my labor with him, but I knew it was going to help to go to the bathroom more, try different positions more often, walk more. I’d heard of mothers giving birth outside of the tubs at the birth center, and I always wondered “Why would you do that?”. During Ku's labor I saw how you could come out of your hiding place to do what you needed to do, even if it seemed to take more energy to change the direction of your inertia. I did a few contractions on the toilet, which I always swore would never feel good to me. I did a few squatting on the floor outside of the tub, and wondered if I would have the grace to push this baby out wherever he needed to be.
It took me a long time to recognize the feeling of Ku descending was not constipation, as it felt like. For most of my labor, I felt as though if I could only have a bowel movement, labor would feel more manageable. It’s astonishing to me how much it feels like the baby is coming out of your rectum. In between contractions I would make up my mind to get this baby out NOW, no matter what it required. In the throes of the contraction, I would cling to the side of the tub and think “No, no, I can’t force him out, it hurts to much.” And I would slowly ease him out a little more. I remember saying that I felt like I couldn’t let him out because I was going to split, breaking my bones. I tried to picture how malleable his head was and my pelvis was, but the fear of breaking and tearing was so strong.
After a few tentative approaches to the ring of fire, I finally stayed with it and his head was finally out! I thought I would be done, that the rest would come out easily. I remember groaning and thinking “Oh, the shoulders are even bigger!” It was still so painful that I was clinging to the side of the tub, tense and taut. One of the midwives said “Go ahead and reach down to feel your baby.” I remember my eyes going wide, my teeth clenching and saying “No. Too much.” I willed them to catch him because I couldn’t take one more thing in.
Finally he was out, and I reached through my legs to bring him around to the front of me. I was shocked to see a little scrotum. Another boy! We lifted him out of the water as I shifted to lean back to hold him. He let out just enough of a cry to let us know that he was strong, and then he calmly looked around the room with his dark eyes. What a serene little spirit! We all marveled over the amount of vernix he had, so much so that a picture was taken of all that was floating in the bath. The midwives marveled at how big he was, but he looked so perfectly normal-sized to me. I laughed, thinking they were exaggerating, and was shocked when he weighed in at 9 pounds 4 ounces.
As is my signature style, I am completely disinterested in the work that needs to be done after the baby comes out. I find it so difficult (not to mention anticlimactic) to push something as formless as a placenta out. Audra and Kip did their best to coax it out, and finally we decided to cut the umbilical chord and let Brandon snuggle with Reece while I focused more on delivering the placenta. While I was disinterested in this task, I was incredibly interested in putting a stop to the contractions that were continuing. Eventually, the placenta came out while I reclined on the bed, doing little to help it along. My minor victory came right after, when the midwives examined me and said that there had not been much tearing, and that they didn’t think I would need stitches.
We were so blessed to have many of our friends visiting the birth center for other things during the day, to be so surrounded with love on that day. What a joy to get to introduce our perfect little boy to our world right away.
We had just enough time to eat, rest and take a bath before leaving for home. I was sure Fenton would be asleep by the time we got home, but what a joy to find him still awake. He cautiously approached Reece, pointed and said “That’s my baby brother!”
I was exceptionally well-organized in the days leading up to our baby’s estimated due date. The house was cleaned 2 weeks before, the carpets cleaned shortly after that. The freezer was stocked, the diapers washed, the sheets changed, the bassinet set up, child care on stand-by, back-up childcare on stand-by, the breast pump set next to the bed, the chickens kept in a constant state of “having enough food to last a few days”, the humidifiers cleaned, the garden mulched, the “placenta lady” on stand-by, the prune regime begun, Brandon’s weekly trips to Chicago completed….We were ready for Birth Day no less than 10 days before we expected Ku (as he was known in utero). And then we were hit with a series of events that had me grumpily wondering how I would manage if the baby came early: illness, a difficult work obligation, illness again….I remember looking at the world and feeling indignant that they dared go about their lives while I was expecting a baby.
Ku’s due date came and went. I was shocked, as this baby was clearly bigger. I started to imagine that my baby didn’t want to come out because he could hear and feel all of my parenting imperfections, which my first son hadn’t been privy to. The days went with no signs of impending labor. I felt crabby at the number of times I was asked why I hadn’t “had that baby yet” and when I was going to be induced. Battling a toddler became unbearable and I started to fantasize about going into labor, if only so I could get away from him. I was exhausted from being on such a constant state of alert, every outing meaning I thought through an exit strategy, a driving strategy, a “water breaking” strategy…
On day 4 past the estimated due date, I lost the mucous seal at 7 am. I was sure labor would start any moment! At 1 pm, we lost electrical power at our home for over 7 hours, and I changed course, hoping I wouldn’t have to labor without hot water. I felt no contractions, only an intense backache. You can see a familiar trend through the last weeks of my pregnancy, of me vacillating between hoping the baby would come, and then hoping the baby wouldn’t come. On Day 5 past the estimated due date, I started weak attempts to get labor going. I wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, but I was feeling impatient to meet this little person! I ate half a pineapple that night, and tried to walk whenever I could. On Day 6, I lost more of the mucous seal and had faint contractions about 7 minutes apart. I kept walking to intensify them, and asked my husband to stay home from work, as I was certain we would be going to the birth center any hour. I called Shellie, ready to go. I was certain that if I could just get to the Birth Center, the baby would come out! “So what’s happening?” Shellie asked. I told her that contractions were 7 minutes apart while I was walking, and 20 minutes apart while I was resting. I was so proud of what I could accomplish when walking! Shellie told me what I already knew, that I should rest and wait for more consistent contractions. I went to bed early, defeated in my lack of influence.
At 3 am I woke up with contractions so strong that I couldn’t sleep through them. They were short and about 20 minutes apart, but they passed my litmus test of interrupting sleep and requiring a bath. I saw that they were getting closer together, so I settled on the couch with The Office re-runs to time them, cat-nap, and marvel at how different this birth was shaping from how my first son’s had been. With Fenton, my husband and I labored together in our bathroom until he said “I really think we should call the midwives”. This time, I valued his help more in staying in bed with Fenton and helping to ensure that I wouldn’t have a toddler climbing on my back during contractions. It felt magical to be laboring alone when it felt as if the entire world was asleep, to be waiting for my husband and son to wake up so I could tell them it was time to go. I almost laughed out loud when they slept in more than a half hour later than they usually did. My contractions were staying at about 6 minutes apart. When they finally woke up, we called my parents-in-law for them to come to get Fenton. Contractions were strong enough that I couldn’t talk through them, but they were short and staying at the same frequency. As we were leaving, my husband looked at me apologetically and said that once I was settled in at the birth center, if it seemed we had time, he was going to need to run out to get some breakfast. I told him that I thought I could manage him going through a drive-thru quickly. He groaned and said “I’m never going to live it down that I showed up at the GBC with you in labor and a bag from McDonalds.” One of my contractions in the car took place in the drive thru of a McDonalds, which seemed funny even at the time.
We arrived at the birth center and settled in to what was obviously still early labor. I was chatty between contractions, and even felt some self-consciousness of how boring it was in those early hours. Brandon chatted about politics, and I remember him saying “Just tell me to shut up when you don’t want to talk anymore.” I laughed and said I wasn’t that polite. We had arrived at 9 am, and around noon I started to feel hungry and could feel that things were getting more intense. I sent Brandon out to get me some lunch, and as I was finishing my chicken salad, contractions were started to make it difficult to eat and talk.
With the labor for my first son, I never felt like I was too exhausted to go on. I never felt like the pain was so unbearable that I wanted drugs. I believed the adage that, when you feel like you can’t go on, you’re almost done. But around 2:30 or 3 in the afternoon, I felt as though I couldn’t possibly go on any more, but that I had a long way to go. I started to wonder how much more bearable drugs could make this labor. Back labor was intense, I started to grip the side of the tub while Brandon pushed on my lower back. Audra suggested that we try a method where I did 3 contractions on one side, 3 on hands and knees, and three on the other side. She had seen this work to turn a posterior baby, though even now I’m not certain that he was posterior (the pictures are fuzzy). I tried to follow the suggestion, though I favored the hands and knees position more.
I’ve often joked with my husband that I would make a terrible horror movie heroine. I’m certain I would stay in my hiding place when all hope was lost rather than risk doing something that could save me. I remember during my labor with my first son that we never timed contractions, and I wasn’t in my head at all during that labor – I did one thing and stayed with it, even when it didn’t work for me. For Ku's labor, we focused more on numbers (how long were contractions, how far apart, etc.) partly because things were slower in the beginning, I was past the date I expected him, and we knew we had to allow enough time to get child care to our house for Fenton. At first I regretted how much more cerebral Ku's birth felt to me, but I saw during his labor how being in my head allowed me to “leave my hiding place”. I loathed to get out of the tub during my labor with him, but I knew it was going to help to go to the bathroom more, try different positions more often, walk more. I’d heard of mothers giving birth outside of the tubs at the birth center, and I always wondered “Why would you do that?”. During Ku's labor I saw how you could come out of your hiding place to do what you needed to do, even if it seemed to take more energy to change the direction of your inertia. I did a few contractions on the toilet, which I always swore would never feel good to me. I did a few squatting on the floor outside of the tub, and wondered if I would have the grace to push this baby out wherever he needed to be.
It took me a long time to recognize the feeling of Ku descending was not constipation, as it felt like. For most of my labor, I felt as though if I could only have a bowel movement, labor would feel more manageable. It’s astonishing to me how much it feels like the baby is coming out of your rectum. In between contractions I would make up my mind to get this baby out NOW, no matter what it required. In the throes of the contraction, I would cling to the side of the tub and think “No, no, I can’t force him out, it hurts to much.” And I would slowly ease him out a little more. I remember saying that I felt like I couldn’t let him out because I was going to split, breaking my bones. I tried to picture how malleable his head was and my pelvis was, but the fear of breaking and tearing was so strong.
After a few tentative approaches to the ring of fire, I finally stayed with it and his head was finally out! I thought I would be done, that the rest would come out easily. I remember groaning and thinking “Oh, the shoulders are even bigger!” It was still so painful that I was clinging to the side of the tub, tense and taut. One of the midwives said “Go ahead and reach down to feel your baby.” I remember my eyes going wide, my teeth clenching and saying “No. Too much.” I willed them to catch him because I couldn’t take one more thing in.
Finally he was out, and I reached through my legs to bring him around to the front of me. I was shocked to see a little scrotum. Another boy! We lifted him out of the water as I shifted to lean back to hold him. He let out just enough of a cry to let us know that he was strong, and then he calmly looked around the room with his dark eyes. What a serene little spirit! We all marveled over the amount of vernix he had, so much so that a picture was taken of all that was floating in the bath. The midwives marveled at how big he was, but he looked so perfectly normal-sized to me. I laughed, thinking they were exaggerating, and was shocked when he weighed in at 9 pounds 4 ounces.
As is my signature style, I am completely disinterested in the work that needs to be done after the baby comes out. I find it so difficult (not to mention anticlimactic) to push something as formless as a placenta out. Audra and Kip did their best to coax it out, and finally we decided to cut the umbilical chord and let Brandon snuggle with Reece while I focused more on delivering the placenta. While I was disinterested in this task, I was incredibly interested in putting a stop to the contractions that were continuing. Eventually, the placenta came out while I reclined on the bed, doing little to help it along. My minor victory came right after, when the midwives examined me and said that there had not been much tearing, and that they didn’t think I would need stitches.
We were so blessed to have many of our friends visiting the birth center for other things during the day, to be so surrounded with love on that day. What a joy to get to introduce our perfect little boy to our world right away.
We had just enough time to eat, rest and take a bath before leaving for home. I was sure Fenton would be asleep by the time we got home, but what a joy to find him still awake. He cautiously approached Reece, pointed and said “That’s my baby brother!”
