I usually write birth stories in installments. But for this one, I didn't. Which means it's LONG. Be warned. I don't have the mental energy to make it any shorter.

It was Saturday morning. I was 39 weeks along, and I started having contractions. My BH contractions had been strong and getting stronger for weeks, but this particular Saturday morning they started to feel a little different, a little more REAL. But they weren't regular: they would stop altogether for hours at a time.

Both of my previous labors had started in the morning, and from the first faintest contraction I pretty much knew it was real, and then went on to have a baby by supper time. Not this time. This time I had no idea what to think.

I hadn't really expected this baby to come before his due date, and I still didn't think he would, but I decided to fish some onesies from the unpacked boxes and toss them in the washer just in case.

Some of my Houston cronies had organized a pedicure date, so I went to get my toes done and wondered if a little ankle massaging would send me over the edge. It didn't. The contractions just kept on going nowhere for the entire day. I fell asleep that night wondering if they would pick up, but the sun greeted me and my still pregnant belly seven hours later.

All day Sunday I had spotty contractions. We went to Mass. 2 contractions. We got donuts afterwards. 1 contraction. We got some soccer gear for Jake and picked up a Craigslist find. 2 contractions. I got home and took a little nap. 0 contractions. Went to a birthday party. 3 contractions. By this point I was gearing up for a week of this kind of thing.

My brother and his girlfriend were coming over for dinner, and as we made dinner that night the contractions started to get a little stronger, so Jacob made me lie down. And no surprise: they stopped almost completely. I got up to have dinner and had a couple more contractions during the meal. They were stronger, but I could still sit and talk through them with relative ease. Jacob and I had enough sense to put my brother on call in case I actually went into labor that night.

We went to bed at 9:30, and I fully expected to wake up the next morning still pregnant. These fizzly every fifteen minute contractions just didn't have me convinced that I was truly in labor. I fell asleep and fifteen minutes later woke up with a contraction - it's rather jarring to have a contraction while half asleep with drool all over your face. A few minutes after the contraction I convinced myself I was not in labor, and a few minutes after that I fell asleep again, and a few minutes after that I was lurched awake by another contraction. This repeated itself about six times before I couldn't get back to sleep and thought maybe I should call my midwife.

I called in around 11pm, and as warm and maternal as the midwife image is, I could hear over the phone that she was not very excited about her middle of the night patient. I told her that I'd been having contractions for two days and while they were still fifteen minutes apart they were getting stronger and my last labor had escalated rather quickly and I just really really wanted this baby to be born where we'd planned for it to be born: in a hospital and not in Jacob's work truck or the hospital lobby or something. She gave me a very inviting: "Well, it's your third baby, so if you think you're in labor then you should probably come in. How far apart are your contractions again?" "15 minutes" Silence "Well...it's your call." Second guessing second guessing second guessing. RESOLVE "I think I should come in."

So we called my brother and packed up the hospital bag, and by 11:30 we were on our way to the hospital.

I'd never been in labor at night; I'd never wanted to be in labor at night. But the traffic-free, one-contraction drive to the hospital was nice. Jacob and I chatted and I fretted about not really being in labor and making my midwife come in in the middle of the night just to turn me away. The contractions still weren't picking up at all, and I was nervous they would peter out altogether. We self-parked and took the elevator up to the main floor of the hospital. The woman at the welcome desk smiled big and asked us if we were coming in for an induction. At this I almost turned around and went right back down the elevator: one harmless question had convinced me I wasn't in labor. But onward we trudged to triage, and soon I was in a gown waiting for my midwife who showed up about 1 contraction or ~10 minutes later.

Verdict: 4cm, 90% effaced. "Well you're definitely staying."

And so it was. We were actually about to have a baby. These noncommittal contractions seemed to be doing something.  We were here in plenty of time to settle in before labor got too intense. I was very pleased.

And then the poking began. The veins in my left arm weren't cooperating, so they switched to my right. There was a billing issue that I had to sort out. Medical history questions, an interview with anesthesia, and a slow ride up to labor and delivery where I was able to sit on a ball while lucky Strep B me got a round of penicillin and an IV bag until PLEASE GOD CAN I JUST GET IN THE TUB ALREADY.

I've had all three babies in hospitals, but with the first two I was pretty hazy by the time I arrived - Lucy June was practically born in the hallway - so this was the first time I was very aware of just how many annoying little things had to happen before I could just hunker down and labor. FINALLY all the pokes and questions were done, and the midwife had guessed correctly that Jacob and I just wanted to be left alone, and the OB nurse was drawing me a bath, and things were looking up.

Contractions sped up a little during all the checking-in part and were around 45 seconds long and five minutes apart. They were getting more intense, but Jacob was helping me get through them, and things still felt pretty chill.

I'm gonna get a little sidetracked now, but hang in there and I promise I'll get back to the riveting birth story soon or you can just scroll down and pick it up (spoiler: a baby comes out of a mother's bottom area - that's the version Jakeboy heard anyway).

During my first labor, Jacob was not very helpful. Early labor was all nerves and making last minute preparations. I wanted to manage my own contractions while they were still easy with the hope that when they got more intense Mr. Husband Childbirth Coach would swoop in with some sweet relief, but this was stupid. You see, by the time the contractions became more intense there was no teaching people how to help me. I was a mad mess of "STOP TOUCHING ME WHY AREN'T YOU TOUCHING ME!?!?!?"

This blog isn't really into advice giving, but if you're hoping to go natty and you're envisioning some kind of laboring-wife-loving-husband dance through the waves of childbirth, then consider trying this: have your husband help you through contractions in early labor, when they're still easy. Tell him what helps and doesn't help. By the time labor heats up, he'll have a good idea what to do. In my second labor, I had Jacob help me through contractions from the get go. When the contractions were easy, I had the patience to vocalize what was and wasn't helpful. By the time my contractions were intense and rationality was flying out the window, Jacob had kinda figured out how to help and could keep on being helpful. Like super helpful.

In this last labor, Jacob would put a lot of pressure on my lower back and kind of push my hips together, and it made my contractions very manageable. Sometimes his hands would slip a little and I would become a banchie woman and curse at him in my head until he'd repositioned his grip and marital harmony would be restored once again.

By the time the antibiotic was done and the tub was ready, my contractions were still a solid five minutes apart but they were strong and would peak two or three times before fully letting go. The nurse said the bath was ready, so I shuffled to the tub after a contraction, but the contraction wasn't done yet. It was a doozie. And while the nurse tried to cool the bathwater off a little, I stood next to the tub and lifted my belly up with my hands to get a little relief as the contraction peaked two more times.

Finally: the tub.

It was deep, and it was beautiful. I sank into that thing and went contraction-free for a solid twelve minutes. Twelve minutes of watery bliss, my thoughts were a litany of love for everything and everyone in the world.

I finally started into a contraction, and I didn't move. I didn't expect it to be too strong, and I was feeling so zen, I figured I would channel my best Ina Mae and just float right on through it. But it was intense. LOVE. More intense. MORE LOVE. But then my eyes popped open and the love bubble burst abruptly because: PRESSURE.

The contraction let go, and I sunk back into the tub in disbelief.

Pressure?

Really?

Probably not really.

On one hand I didn't even want to hope that we were almost at the end, and on the other I had only JUST gotten into the tub and I was not ready to get out. So I didn't mention it to anyone and settled back into my bath. After a nice watery ten minutes of no contractions I had positively convinced myself that no, that hadn't been pressure.

As the next contraction came along, I pulled myself to sitting in the tub and grabbed the interior rail so Jacob could put some pressure on my lower back. It was long and big and at the peak: more pressure. After the contraction I managed to convince myself again that it wasn't REAL pressure. After two more contractions like that I started to get a little...vocal...and had to admit to the inquiring husband that maybe?? I was feeling?? some pressure?? At which point he stood up, called the nurse, turned to me and ordered me out of the tub immediately.

He handed me a big towel and the nurse instructed me to dry off really well. So while I was dutifully drying off (??? because God forbid some residual tub water get on the bed where we're about to push out a baby???) and fussing with the hospital gown, I started into the MotherContraction.

I basically crawled across the room and onto the bed, the nurse checked me and her eyes widened. She told me I had a tiny bit of cervix and my bag of water was bulging, and then she said something else, but I could hardly understand her because she was frantically trying to get a hold of my midwife. My contractions weren't letting go and I was holding onto the bedrail and all of a sudden my midwife was there and checking me and the contraction let go. She asked if I wanted her to break my water. I said no. Then she said, "Well, you can push if you want."

I can't really describe my reaction to this. I liked how calm she was, but at some point I wanted my baby-catcher to do a little cheerleading, perhaps a resounding "you're complete" or maybe a "let's do this!" but she wasn't giving me that. So I said: "I'm feeling a lot of pressure." And she said "Uhuh" And I said: "So I'm gonna push." And she said: "OK."

And then I did.

That contraction saw the biggest push of my life, complete with the guttural female warrior repertoire. I'd convinced myself that the baby was pretty much out, but at the end of it the midwife chimed in: "He's crowning."

And I thought "CROWNING?!?" My first baby had "crowned" for something like twenty minutes while my second had been out in two pushes, so I was pretty sure I'd graduated out of this "crowning" business, and I was blaming everyone in the room that the baby wasn't out yet. If that push hadn't gotten the baby out, it certainly wasn't my fault.

The next contraction kicked in and after another huge push, the baby's head was out. My contraction let go, and I stopped pushing, and my midwife made her first definitive statement of the evening: "Katie, you've got to get this baby out." So I pushed and pushed, and another contraction kicked in, and the baby was out.

And there he was squirmy and swollen. A boy! One of his ears was folded down. He was very upset. And he was big.

And I was beat. I was meeting my son, and my foggy brain was searching for some kind of euphoria, but I was mostly just aware of how tired I was.

It was three o'clock in the morning. I was hungry. I hadn't eaten anything since six. I was begrudgingly enduring all the post-birth prodding. The baby was wailing, and I wasn't very successfully trying to get him to nurse. My midwife was talking to the nurse about how she'd been asleep and that's why she'd barely made it. Jacob was telling me how proud he was. I was grateful to be done, but I was totally exhausted.

I looked down at this new little stranger and thought: I'm sure I'll love you tomorrow.

And I did, one meal, a few hours of sleep, and 1800 milligrams of ibuprofen later. 

Now my baby and my pedicure are three weeks old. The baby - at a solid 11 pounds - is aging a lot better than the pedicure. Jacob is working a lot, but I'm getting a ton of help from friends and family. And, boy, do I need it. I honestly don't know how we'd function without it because we're barely functioning with it. I feel so humbled and grateful, and I'm really trying to dwell in those emotions because the alternatives (exhaustion, anxiety, sheer terror) are never very far away.

My mother once told me that three kids really killed any illusion she had that she could "handle it." And, mom, if I was under any illusion that I could handle it before, consider me enlightened. And on that note I'm off to buy this because it's on sale today and because YES.

And if you're still there and by some impossibility want to read MORE?!?!

Jake's Birth Story

and

Lucy June's Birth Story

Knock yourself out.

Lucy June's Birth Pt. 2

PART 1

We left the clinic just before 5:30, and I had a massive contraction as we got into the car.

6cm.

I was devastated. All I could think about was how much labor I still had to endure. For Jake's labor, we arrived at the hospital and I was already at an 8, my dilation was slow but steady, and it still took me three more hours before I was ready to push.

This time around I seemed to be dilating even more slowly. 2 cm in 6 hours. At this rate, I would be in labor for twelve more hours. (I do math in my head when I'm stressed. It's genetic.)

We drove the sixty seconds to the hospital, and as we got out of the car I told Jacob we should take a walk. It was a beautiful evening, and as soon as we went through the hospital doors there was no coming back out. He thought that was a great idea.

Then a contraction hurtled me onto the asphalt, and I decided that was the last contraction I was having outside, and we made our way to the front doors. My uncle - a nurse in OB - buzzed us into the maternity wing and gave me a huge hug. He said they'd been waiting for me. I smiled feebly and proceeded to have another contraction in the hallway.

I tried to keep it together. After all, I was only a 6. Laboring women don't get to be drama queens in the hallway at a 6. They weighed me and ushered me into my room. Then began the lovely process of checking me in.

The nurse handed me a gown and a cup and sent me to the bathroom. Contraction in the bathroom. I climbed into the bed, and the nurse tried to hook me up to the wireless fetal monitor. Contraction. She hooked me up to the regular fetal monitor instead and almost managed to start placing the Hep lock. Contraction. The nurse placed the Hep lock. Contraction.

In the brief time between contractions, I stared at the birthing ball in the corner and thought that I had to start MANAGING these things because they were ROYALLY kicking my ass. There was absolutely no way I could go on like this.

The nurse started to take my medical history, but with the first question I headed into a new contraction and I got on my hands and knees on the bed. I brusquely told her to wait, and then I thought to myself: "If you want the hospital staff to feel positive about women going natural than you can't snap at OB nurses."And so I apologized for inconveniencing her (???) and went barreling into The World's Worst Contraction.

My mom reminded me to relax my face and keep my voice low because I kept surging up into a whimper. It was pretty pitiful. By the end of the contraction I was just saying: "Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure."

The nurse asked if I felt like I needed to have a bowel movement.

I answered yes and then thought maybe I did just need to have bowel movement. So it was decided that I should go to the bathroom. It would've been wise for the nurse to check me at this moment, but I had JUST been checked in the office...

So I went to the bathroom, and as soon as I sat on the toilet I had another earth-shattering contraction and I got down on my knees on the floor. At the end of the contraction I felt the baby crowning, and I thought: "6cm or not I'm going to push this baby out right here right now. I don't care what they say. I just won't even go out there." After the contraction, Jacob and my mom helped me back to bed; the nurse had run to get my doctor who was waiting for me as I fell on my side on the bed. She checked me, called for an emergency cart, and then turned to me.

"You're complete." She said. And I remember thinking how beautiful she was at that moment. "You can push on the next contraction."

 Baby's head was out about 45 seconds later.

The cord was wrapped around her neck so my OB had me stop to make sure it was loose enough, which it was, so she told me to keep pushing. I pushed but I wasn't in a contraction, and I remember thinking "This isn't working at all." Within a few seconds the next contraction hit, and baby was delivered. All 8 pounds of her. And Jacob and I were in total shock. Only 33 minutes before we were walking through the hospital doors preparing ourselves for a long night of laboring.

Lucy June. Minutes old.

Disheveled and on top of the world

She has her father's feet. (i.e. HUGE) (Jake inherited my deformed pinky toenail so I guess we're even.)

Opie and NanaSuz playing Dr.

Jake showed up, gave his sister one glance, and promptly fell in love with the birthing ball.

I drank my weight in Recharge and a couple hours later went to the bathroom and peed like I haven't peed in 9 months. I didn't think I even needed to go, but then I sat and peed for something like 90 seconds. TMI? Probably. But this is a blog.

Recharging

Recharging

Birth is over and blogged. Now off to the real work.

Lucy June's Birth pt. 1

I suppose the birth story begins with me praying praying praying not to go into labor.

Jake delivered five days early, so I knew an early delivery was very possible, but I had a killer sinus infection at 39 weeks and Jacob was cramming as much work in as possible in Houston before heading my way the night before my Tuesday due date.

So there I was on Monday before my due date with Braxton Hicks contraction after Braxton Hicks contraction counting down the hours till Jacob arrived that evening.

Jacob arrived at 7pm and was greeted by a delighted wife who was not in labor. I fell asleep that night thinking: OK, baby, you can come.

I had my first contraction in the wee hours of the morning. They were faint and far between, and I had no idea if they would take, but I was excited and I was ready. We got up around 7:30, and I was having contractions every 8-10 minutes. We told my mom before she left for work, and she said she'd cancel her afternoon appointments to come be with me. My 40 week appointment was already scheduled for 10:45, and I told my mom I'd give her the update after that.

I still had to get my hospital bag ready and make arrangements for where Jake could hang out until my little brother was off work - I'm a huge procrastinator when it comes to these types of tasks - but otherwise we didn't have much to do by way of getting ready and I was glad of that.

When I went into labor with Jake I had a To Do list that was fifteen items long, and I spent the entire day sweeping and otherwise playing Cinderella until I couldn't handle it anymore and we headed to the hospital where all I could do was climb into bed and curl up in a ball. I wanted this labor to go differently - I wanted to try all the gimmicky pain management things during the early parts of labor. I wanted to find some stuff that helped me manage the pain before contractions were too intense. I wanted to sit on the birthing ball and get in the tub and have Jacob put pressure on my lower back and all those kinds of hippy mama birthing things that I hadn't had the chance to try last time.

Doing our nails in early labor

Around 9:30 my grandmother came over to borrow something and Jacob offered to carry it back over to her house. I plopped Jake down in front of "The Lady Movie" (Sound of Music), fed myself, and started to pack my hospital bag; my contractions slowly intensified and got closer together. After a while I looked up at the clock and it was 10:25: Jacob had been at my grandmother's house for an hour.  So I called him.

Wife: Hey, babe. How are things?

Husband: They're good. I'm playing cards with Nan.

Wife: I'm in labor.

Husband: I know. I know. She just asked me to help fix her clock, and I was waiting for the epoxy to dry.

Wife:

Husband: I'm sorry. I just got distracted. We're almost done. Really. Only a few more hands before the game's over.

Wife:

Husband: I'm coming now.

So he did, and we pulled some clothes on our offspring and headed out the door for our 10:45 appointment. We hit some roadwork and arrived twenty minutes late. My doctor is a family friend and practices in my parents' clinic, so throughout my prenatal care I always tried to be super respectful. I used the front door. I waited in the waiting room. I didn't want special treatment because I was the "boss's daughter." I felt horrible arriving so late and was crafting my apology in my head as I waddled in. I didn't have a chance to apologize however: my mother was at the front desk, and all the receptionists grinned as I walked in, as if I didn't feel conspicuous enough lumbering through the waiting room in my 40 week laboring glory. I went in to give my urine sample, enduring all kinds of encouraging smiles as I traversed the back hallways.

A few minutes later we were in the exam room with my doctor.

My contractions were about 6 minutes apart and still really manageable.

My OB checked me. 4 cm and 80% effaced. Good good good. That sounded just fine. She assumed we'd want to go labor at home, and we agreed. She said she'd text me before her last patient around 5 so we could come in and she could check me again and we'd go from there. I thought that sounded perfect.

We drove to drop Jake off at my friend's house, and the streets of Fredericksburg were especially charming. I couldn't help reflecting on how well the process was going. My husband was here; it was the beginning of his ten day leave from work; I'd gone into labor at the perfect time; it was the most beautiful October day; my OB and I were on texting terms.

My friend had some pumpkins on her porch, so we checked off the obligatory harvest photo shoot.

And things continued to go on perfectly pretty much all afternoon. I labored on the birthing ball and Jacob discovered the best way to put pressure on my back to really help the pain of my contractions. I finally got to drink my designated labor beverages: coconut water and Tropical flavored Recharge.

Jacob kept saying it was so beautiful outside that we should take a walk, and I got to smugly remind him that he wasn't the one in labor.

My contractions were 5 minutes apart and intensifying. At about 2:30 I got in my parents' big bathtub. I loved being in the tub. My labor slowed down to every 6:30 minutes, and my contractions were staying around 50 seconds long. I would lean against the tub wall and he would put pressure on my back during contractions. In between contractions, he fed me turkey cranberry salad. My mother came in and told me how many people around town had sent me their best wishes. We opened the window and let the October breeze blow in. Contractions were strong, but the experience as a whole was even kind of...pleasant.

So I began to think about blogging the birth story.

Because this was turning out to be the most boring birth story ever.

It was my due date. I went into labor after a perfect night's sleep and looked to have a baby in my arms by nightfall. My labor was slow enough but fast enough. Soon it would be five o'clock and we'd go in for some more encouraging news and then we'd go to the hospital and push out a perfect baby....and it really just didn't seem fair.

It didn't seem fair to all the women who have deeply traumatic labors and to all the women who deliver babies with complications and to all the women who don't have someone who loves them at their side as they deliver much less an entire town of hands that are eager to help.

I was about ready to cry about all this and expressed some of the sentiment to Jacob who had no patience with these particular emotions and told me not to count my chickens.

That sobered me right up, and I decided that it was mine to continue with my lovely birth even if the story ended up too obnoxious to even put on the blog.

Shorts: Nike
Sandals: My little sister's
Shirt: From my stint on the 1994 Fredericksburg All Star Softball team. Glory days. 

At 3:30 I got out of the tub and back onto the birthing ball. I leaned my head against the wall and did my best to hum through my contractions while Jacob massaged my lower back. These were getting serious and were 3-4 minutes apart. I could only handle them on the ball or on my hands and knees/child's pose. On about 5:00 I started to get faint so my mom had me lie down.

I lay on the couch until my pulse went back up, and thought I must be entering transition so we geared up to drive to the clinic.

Jacob got the stuff in the car and just as we were leaving at 5:15 my OB texted me that we should head her way. The contractions were intense, but in between them I was still able to marvel at how uneventful and well timed this whole birth was. The roadworkers were gone for the day, so we didn't even get delayed on our way into town. We drove up to the clinic, walked back to an exam room, and I lay on the table through a contraction. After the contraction, I told Jacob how hard things were getting but how encouraged I was by how things had gone as a whole. And then I said:

"But what if I'm only like...6 cm or something..."

As soon as I said this my OB walked in and checked me.

"You're at about 6 to 7...well...6."

I started to die inside.

She continued. "Did you want to go ahead and go to the hospital or what were you thinking?"

I smiled the fakest smile under heaven and thought: "Thinking?! What was I thinking?!? I was thinking I was at least an 8 and that you would comment on how well I looked for being so far along and straightway send me to the Women's Pavilion. That's what I WAS thinking. Now I'm thinking I want to die. 2 LOUSY CENTIMETERS IN OVER 6 HOURS. Grand. Just grand." But instead I just said:

"I guess we should go get checked in before things get more intense." She concurred and said she would come over as soon as she finished up at the clinic.

She left. I had a contraction. I pulled myself up off the ground and walked out of the clinic to the car.

And scene.

[Part 2 will be up soon. I want to pound this thing out before my newborn stops sleeping 22 hours a day.]

The Birth Story pt. 2

Again, this is only for all the brave people who are comfortable with gooey labor language, with words like cervix, contractions, dilation, placenta, umbilical, etc, etc. Read Part I here.

By the time we drove to the hospital I was very much in active labor. Jacob, my Mom, and I were in our car and Ruthie followed behind. We only had a couple miles to drive and Jacob did his best not to hit any bumps while I was having contractions. We arrived at UCLA when I was in the middle of a contraction, and the valet had to wait to take away the car while I sweated it out in the front seat. Finally I pulled myself out of the vehicle and waddled into the hospital. Jacob and I (delinquents that we are) hadn't gone on a tour of Labor and Delivery. Thankfully, the people at the front desk of the lobby, with all its austere marble, took one look at us and pointed to the elevator. I leaned against the wall outside the elevators through a contraction, feeling grateful that we were close to the room where I could stay for the rest of my labor. The elevator doors opened finally, and I leaned on Jacob as I entered. A woman with blond hair rode the elevator with us. She said she'd been at her friends home-birth for the last 36 hours. Her friend had just been transferred to the hospital. This should've been demoralizing for me to hear, but mostly I just remember thanking God I hadn't been in labor for 36 hours.

We exited the elevators and we each headed cluelessly in three different directions. I was pretty sure I was heading the right direction, so I kept going, assuming they would eventually catch up with me...I was moving rather slowly...

We showed up at the desk at Labor and Delivery and they had us in a room quickly. We turned down the lights and I changed into a hospital gown.

I had this unrealistic image of myself practically doing yoga during labor, changing positions for every contraction, squatting, swaying, but no can do: I got on the bed, curled up on my right side and stayed like that for the remainder of labor. I was beginning to feel pretty beat up by this point, and in between contractions I would close my eyes and just try to relax completely and almost drift to sleep. During my contractions I would grab the bar on the side of the bed and lift myself up a little bit and breathe with Jacob/moan/wonder why in the world I'd elected to do a natural labor.

We'd checked in around 7pm, right before shift change (exactly what they tell you to avoid in birthing classes, but like you actually think, "let's hold out for half an hour, it's shift change" when you think it's time to go the hospital.) So our L&D nurse looked very ready to go home as she came in to ask us questions and and seemed even slightly annoyed at having to pause while I dealt with each contraction.

Dr. Mom--who was doing her best to be Mom and not Dr.--was beginning to wonder why no one had checked me. She went out and asked a nurse who said that we would have to wait for my midwife who was currently busy with someone else. To assuage my mother, they finally got an Ob/Gyn to come check me. She came in and introduced herself rather brusquely. As she checked me, she seemed a bit surprised and then informed us that I was at 8cm.

Knowing I was so far along was a huge stamina booster. This was one of the two moments in my labor that I was truly encouraged that I was doing this and things were happening. The other came later.

After the Ob/Gyn checked me the energy in the delivery room really changed. People began to take us a bit more seriously since I was already in transition, there was a lot of bustle, and within a few minutes my midwife was there.

The next two hours are all a painful blur. 

Between contractions I would lie back and almost fall asleep.

I got annoyed very quickly when people would do things I didn't like. For example, a couple of times Jacob let go of my hand and I became irrationally angry with him. I didn't have the energy to express this anger, so I would just stay mad until he came back and took my hand again.

At some point, the midwife asked if I wanted her to break my water. She said this would make the delivery go more quickly but it would get more intense. This felt like an impossible decision, so I looked helplessly at my husband and my mother for guidance. They of course weren't going to decide for me. My midwife encouraged me that I was progressing beautifully (she used lots of luscious words like that) and breaking my water wasn't necessary. I couldn't imagine things being more difficult than they were, so I elected not too. 

By this point in the labor, I'd got into a bit of a pattern with my contractions. I would have one really strong contraction, then I would throw up, and then I would have another not-so-strong contraction, and then the contraction would let go completely for a blessed minute or so where I could lie back and relax. Throwing up really wasn't as bad as it sounds. My midwife encouraged me that every time I threw up it pushed the baby down further.

When I was around 9.5 cm in one of my barfing-bouts, my water broke by itself in a gush...and when I say gush I mean like thank-God-no-one-was-at-the-foot-of-the-bed-fountain thing. I didn't even know that could happen. It was actually quite...funny...in a moment where not much was funny.

So just before 10pm I started pushing. 

Finally. 

I've read so many birth stories in which women talked about how GOOD it felt to push. I always thought this was (forgive me) bologna. But honestly, pushing certainly felt different, and different was indeed REALLY good.   

As I pushed everyone in the room was super encouraging. They told me over and over again that I was doing SO well. But I didn't believe them. I kept scanning their faces--the midwife's, the OB nurse's, the med-student's--for a hint that they were lying to me and nothing was happening. Because that's how it felt. 

But they continued with their encouragement. The midwife would count me through three pushes per contraction, and afterward everyone would gush about how well I was doing. Lies. I thought. All lies. 

After 50 minutes of pushing, my midwife and the OB nurse launched into action and they weren't wasting time. My midwife put on her baby-catching gown; the nurse pulled a table around to the foot of the bed, grabbing various things.

This was the second moment in the haze of labor where I felt like things were truly happening....where I felt like things were progressing, that perhaps--heaven forbid--it was almost over.

The baby's head was out with the next push. 

His shoulders were stuck for a couple seconds, but in a flash they placed him on my stomach and Jacob told me it was a boy.

And I held him there as he wailed. My mother told us to shade his eyes, and immediately after my hand had blocked the light, his little eyelids fluttered open. And so we greeted our little Jake.

The Birth Story Pt. 1 (For the DieHard)

It was Thursday night and Jacob was putting up a shelf in the kitchen. We'd gotten a lot of the little repairs on our place done by that point (except the ones in our bedroom) and so we were beginning to feel more relaxed about the baby coming.

I wasn't in a really good mood. But since Jacob was using his time so annoyingly well I decided to finish up some painting which I had put off for about two weeks. So I painted and grumbled about how I was so ready to be done with all this house stuff and I just wanted the baby to come.

I woke up four hours later, at 1:30 in the morning on Friday, June 3rd feeling like I was going into labor. I went to the bathroom, and then I went and lay back down in my bed wondering if I should wake up Jacob.

From all the birth stories I'd read and heard, I knew it would be best for Jacob to be rested.  And since my contractions were still really mild--as in, almost undetectable--there was no real urgency.

And I liked lying in the quiet. I liked being the only one who knew. I was so excited to be going into labor, so grateful that my body was doing what it was supposed to. I would close my eyes during the contractions praying that they were the beginning of the real thing.

So I let him sleep.

For about 5 minutes.

Then I woke him up, told him, and we started...giggling. We eventually calmed down enough to sleep and I slept until 7:30 waking up periodically during contractions.

Then I called my mother. Her phone was off, and I remembered that she and the family were leaving that day for my cousin's wedding in Rhode Island. So I called my dad hoping that they hadn't already departed. I was totally relieved when I heard his familiar voice answer the phone.

They were in Chicago on a layover.

So I told him what I'd observed during the night. (At this point it helps to know that my parents are both doctors...) and he asked me some pointed questions.

Meanwhile, my mother is listening to my dad and growing increasingly anxious. She'd had every intention of making it for the birth of her first grandchild. Her flight home from Rhode Island landed her at LAX on Monday where she was going to come to my house and sit tight until the little tike came out. But to her dismay the baby was jumping the gun by a couple days.

After a couple minutes, my dad tells me he's going to hand the phone to my mother, and I think that's a great idea. I couldn't wait to tell her and talk to her about what I was experiencing. I couldn't wait for her reassuring voice and Dr. Mom wisdom.

But I wasn't to get any of that.

My mom came on the phone, and I gushed for about 10 seconds, as she attempted to get off the phone, repeating in a tense monotone: "Uhuh. Ok. Well. Ok. Honey, I'm gonna go."

And that was that. She was gone.

I laughed and turned to Jacob and told him that my mother was bee-lining to a ticket counter.

So we got up. I whipped out my contraction-timing iPhone app, ate a big breakfast, bought a delinquent wedding gift, swept the porch, called my long-time friend Ruthie who was gonna come up from Orange Country for the birth, went for a walk, folded clothes.

My excitement about labor continued and the contractions were slowly becoming more consistent. A couple times they stopped completely for an hour or so, and I would start pouting.

We soon heard from my mother that she had rerouted to LA. (Originally the woman at the ticket counter told her it would cost 450$ to change her itinerary, but since this was an unusual situation she went to get a supervisor. The supervisor clicked around on the computer and told my mother she could put her on a flight that would have her in LA by 2:30pm at no extra charge. My mom said the supervisor looked like a grandmother.) Ruthie arrived around 2pm and Jacob left to run some errands and pick up my mother. The contractions were getting stronger by this point.

My mother and Jacob got back around 5pm, and my mom decided to check me to see how dilated I was. (Before going into labor I never imagined I would've been comfortable with this...but for that matter a lot went on that I never imagined I would've been comfortable with...) She didn't want to break my water so she couldn't be really accurate but she thought I was at least 4 cm. So off we went to the hospital.

To be continued...(Read part two here)

In other news Aunt Kathleen arrived yesterday from Dallas!

Hope all is well!