For background information, or just to relive the first four with me: Levi's birth story, Owen's birth story, Silas's birth story, Toby's birth story
What I wanted more than anything, in this my third planned homebirth, was (as my new midwife, Maureen, coined it) a no-drama birth. No panicking over low heart tones, no paramedics, no ambulances, no cord issues.
I'm honestly not sure if I got what I wanted.
With respect to myself, this pregnancy was a million times healthier than the last two. My blood pressure stayed low the entire 41 weeks, minimal swelling and that not till the last week, no need for herbal tinctures or intense hip massage (see Silas's birth story, linked above). As with the last two, baby measured quite big (at least two weeks ahead of schedule) from about 36 weeks on, but inasmuch as I have demonstrated my ability to birth big babies, I wasn't worried. No-drama birth ahead indeed.
I was, however, naive enough to think that this baby might come early or on time. I mean, 75% of my children have been early or on time, so that was a reasonable expectation, right? So my parents came up three days before due date . . . and we waited. And waited. And waited. My dad headed back to Ohio after 8 days, still without having met his newest grandson.
Tuesday night (October 4) we had another thunderstorm (see Levi's birth story, linked above), and I woke up at 2:30am to my water breaking. As I'm in the bathroom trying to decide what to do next, I hear Silas come whimpering up the stairs: his usual roommate, Owen, was spending the night at my parents' rented cabin (with Levi as well), and Silas simply could NOT sleep alone in his room any longer. The next two and a half hours were a mix of Isaac trying to get Silas back to sleep, and me running back and forth to the bathroom with each gush of fluid. For one hour, starting around 4am, I had contractions every ten minutes on the dot, but by 5am Silas and I were both asleep in my bed. (Isaac disappeared to the couch to catch a nap.) When I woke up again at 7:30, the contractions had completely disappeared. (Boo.)
Most of you saw on Facebook on Tuesday that my midwife had asked me please to NOT go into labor on Tuesday, as she was at another birth. Imagine my surprise, then, when I called her Wednesday morning, that the Tuesday lady still hadn't given birth. Turns out her water had broken but she wasn't in labor, either. Suddenly, Wednesday became very complicated for Maureen! She called in three colleagues and a student (so there would be two people available for both births), they discussed both of us clients, and decided that ultimately, I got first priority, because I was GBS positive and the risk of infection for baby was high.
I dutifully drank my castor oil-orange juice smoothie at 9:45am. It worked with Silas, but not for about 12 hours, and I tried to prepare mentally for a long, discouraging day. In the meantime, I got in some snuggles with my little boys and got prematurely excited over a few more contractions around 11am.
Once again, though, the contractions only lasted an hour, and at 12:30pm Maureen came over to start the serious work of getting labor going. (Some herbs, some other things . . .) Mom took all the boys to her cabin and Isaac set about readying the bedroom for birth. Maureen took note of my experience with Silas (long day followed by eight hours of labor) and told two of her colleagues they had time to go to an important meeting in St. Paul.
But, well -- it didn't take 12 hours. Within 45 minutes I was having 50-60-second contractions 2 minutes apart, and they were serious contractions. Like, serious to the point that I started feeling very panicky and out of control over the speed at which things were progressing. It was very similar to my rapid progression with Levi, but at twice the speed.
I had been perched on the edge of a chair this whole time (the whole whopping hour), but Maureen wanted to see what was going on, so I crawled into bed. A little backstory is somewhat relevant here: two weeks ago, Maureen went to a big conference on birthing breech babies. She fully admitted that since then, she's been a bit hypersensitive to the possibility of babies being breech. So when she checked me and things didn't feel "normal," she worried: either I was only 3cm dilated (not nearly enough for how far along I seemed to be otherwise), or baby was breech. Logically this made no sense, as he'd been head-down for as long as we could feel a position, but who even knows what three visit to the chiropractor can do? Anything is possible (especially, she kept reminding me, with a fifth child had had sooooo much room to move around). Regardless, I'd only been in labor for 75 minutes, and it was clear this baby was coming sooner rather than later. The back-up midwife, Jean, who lives a good 48 minutes away, was called in a hurry.
Onto hands and knees I went. Protocol among midwives dictates that with a butt-first baby, you do not touch the mother at all, under almost any circumstances. You don't want to risk startling baby into an awkward (more awkward) position. To be fair, I was hot and uncomfortable and didn't want to be touched anyway, but somehow it became a very lonely thing. Maureen kept saying, "you look panicky. Why are you panicky?" I had no response at the time, but the answers are these: Either baby is breech and I have to push him out folded in half, or I'm only 3cm dilated and I'm going to destroy myself in the process, and either way there is no way I have the strength to stay on my knees for however long it takes to happen. (Consider that a plug for exercising during pregnancy, which I have never done.)
My sweet husband always tells me after birth that I hardly screamed at all, but I am 100% positive this time that he was flat-out lying to me. After some indefinite time (up to but not more than an hour) of sobbing, "I can't do this/I don't want to do this," [by the way, I have never shed tears while in labor before], I finally knew it was do or die: time to summon up every last ounce of strength and push this unknown baby out. It felt like an absolute eternity before one of them finally confirmed that it was head, not butt, coming first. All that worry (not to mention, the full, hot birth tub that I couldn't get in with breech suspicions) for nothing (though I don't fault her for being safe rather than sorry). One more big push for shoulders, and finally I collapsed. Two hours and 15 minutes from the onset of labor. Jean, the back-up midwife, walked in five minutes later.
I generally believe that most labors and deliveries are (or should be) a natural process, maybe with some help here and there [oh, castor oil, how I hate you], but largely driven by instinct. But this, this birth -- it was positively primal. If all of my fear during Toby's birth was directed towards the possibility that his heart would stop beating, all of it this time was how completely overwhelmed I was by the speed and intensity involved, and that I did not have the willpower to get through it. I did not feel any fear with my first three sons, and if (this is a big IF) we should have another child, I will definitely be proactive in having people pray against fear!
The rest of the day was rough, physically and emotionally. The castor oil was still wreaking havoc on my digestive system, my lower back ached (understatement) from all the time on hands and knees (like with Toby, only not so scary), and I wasn't quite ready to deal with a fussy baby who didn't want to nurse. I knew, in some part of my brain, that it was a very normal reaction to a "precipitous birth" [read: very very fast]. But Maureen had to fly out to the other lady's birth -- she got word right after I delivered that the other mom was at 9cm, but that proved to be false information [what a day!] -- and it took a while to shake the feelings of loneliness. By God's grace, though, Calvin and I got a really long stretch of sleep that night, followed by some better nursing sessions, and I was quite a different person on Thursday than I had been on Wednesday afternoon. And when I saw Maureen on Thursday, it was very sweet and validating to hear her tell how she had bragged about my husband to her husband -- how Isaac was so steady and sure and ready to help her or me as needed, even when the job was messy or unpleasant. That's my guy. :)
So, like I said, I'm not sure if this qualifies as "no-drama" or not. It certainly wasn't as straight-forward as Owen's, but in the end it was just a quick, hard labor and delivery at home. Sure, there was a scare, but Maureen pointed out that I was so close to the end that she knew more about what was happening than any paramedic would, anyway. It is a shame that everything happened so fast and furious that we didn't get any pictures at all until much later, but all the same I would NOT have wanted a birth photographer in my room during those crazy two hours!
And now we are seven. Levi is disappointed that we did not name him "Lake," but otherwise we are all smitten. What fun, this morning, to listen to them at the breakfast table (from upstairs in bed), wondering if baby Calvin could hear them or if he was sleeping. It's not all fun and games, of course -- we are so very outnumbered by small children! -- but it is a joyous sort of chaos. Praise God for full quivers. :)
What I wanted more than anything, in this my third planned homebirth, was (as my new midwife, Maureen, coined it) a no-drama birth. No panicking over low heart tones, no paramedics, no ambulances, no cord issues.
I'm honestly not sure if I got what I wanted.
With respect to myself, this pregnancy was a million times healthier than the last two. My blood pressure stayed low the entire 41 weeks, minimal swelling and that not till the last week, no need for herbal tinctures or intense hip massage (see Silas's birth story, linked above). As with the last two, baby measured quite big (at least two weeks ahead of schedule) from about 36 weeks on, but inasmuch as I have demonstrated my ability to birth big babies, I wasn't worried. No-drama birth ahead indeed.
I was, however, naive enough to think that this baby might come early or on time. I mean, 75% of my children have been early or on time, so that was a reasonable expectation, right? So my parents came up three days before due date . . . and we waited. And waited. And waited. My dad headed back to Ohio after 8 days, still without having met his newest grandson.
Grandpa got in good time with his other grandsons, though.
Most of you saw on Facebook on Tuesday that my midwife had asked me please to NOT go into labor on Tuesday, as she was at another birth. Imagine my surprise, then, when I called her Wednesday morning, that the Tuesday lady still hadn't given birth. Turns out her water had broken but she wasn't in labor, either. Suddenly, Wednesday became very complicated for Maureen! She called in three colleagues and a student (so there would be two people available for both births), they discussed both of us clients, and decided that ultimately, I got first priority, because I was GBS positive and the risk of infection for baby was high.
I dutifully drank my castor oil-orange juice smoothie at 9:45am. It worked with Silas, but not for about 12 hours, and I tried to prepare mentally for a long, discouraging day. In the meantime, I got in some snuggles with my little boys and got prematurely excited over a few more contractions around 11am.
Snuggling the belly one last time.
But, well -- it didn't take 12 hours. Within 45 minutes I was having 50-60-second contractions 2 minutes apart, and they were serious contractions. Like, serious to the point that I started feeling very panicky and out of control over the speed at which things were progressing. It was very similar to my rapid progression with Levi, but at twice the speed.
I had been perched on the edge of a chair this whole time (the whole whopping hour), but Maureen wanted to see what was going on, so I crawled into bed. A little backstory is somewhat relevant here: two weeks ago, Maureen went to a big conference on birthing breech babies. She fully admitted that since then, she's been a bit hypersensitive to the possibility of babies being breech. So when she checked me and things didn't feel "normal," she worried: either I was only 3cm dilated (not nearly enough for how far along I seemed to be otherwise), or baby was breech. Logically this made no sense, as he'd been head-down for as long as we could feel a position, but who even knows what three visit to the chiropractor can do? Anything is possible (especially, she kept reminding me, with a fifth child had had sooooo much room to move around). Regardless, I'd only been in labor for 75 minutes, and it was clear this baby was coming sooner rather than later. The back-up midwife, Jean, who lives a good 48 minutes away, was called in a hurry.
Onto hands and knees I went. Protocol among midwives dictates that with a butt-first baby, you do not touch the mother at all, under almost any circumstances. You don't want to risk startling baby into an awkward (more awkward) position. To be fair, I was hot and uncomfortable and didn't want to be touched anyway, but somehow it became a very lonely thing. Maureen kept saying, "you look panicky. Why are you panicky?" I had no response at the time, but the answers are these: Either baby is breech and I have to push him out folded in half, or I'm only 3cm dilated and I'm going to destroy myself in the process, and either way there is no way I have the strength to stay on my knees for however long it takes to happen. (Consider that a plug for exercising during pregnancy, which I have never done.)
My sweet husband always tells me after birth that I hardly screamed at all, but I am 100% positive this time that he was flat-out lying to me. After some indefinite time (up to but not more than an hour) of sobbing, "I can't do this/I don't want to do this," [by the way, I have never shed tears while in labor before], I finally knew it was do or die: time to summon up every last ounce of strength and push this unknown baby out. It felt like an absolute eternity before one of them finally confirmed that it was head, not butt, coming first. All that worry (not to mention, the full, hot birth tub that I couldn't get in with breech suspicions) for nothing (though I don't fault her for being safe rather than sorry). One more big push for shoulders, and finally I collapsed. Two hours and 15 minutes from the onset of labor. Jean, the back-up midwife, walked in five minutes later.
I generally believe that most labors and deliveries are (or should be) a natural process, maybe with some help here and there [oh, castor oil, how I hate you], but largely driven by instinct. But this, this birth -- it was positively primal. If all of my fear during Toby's birth was directed towards the possibility that his heart would stop beating, all of it this time was how completely overwhelmed I was by the speed and intensity involved, and that I did not have the willpower to get through it. I did not feel any fear with my first three sons, and if (this is a big IF) we should have another child, I will definitely be proactive in having people pray against fear!
The rest of the day was rough, physically and emotionally. The castor oil was still wreaking havoc on my digestive system, my lower back ached (understatement) from all the time on hands and knees (like with Toby, only not so scary), and I wasn't quite ready to deal with a fussy baby who didn't want to nurse. I knew, in some part of my brain, that it was a very normal reaction to a "precipitous birth" [read: very very fast]. But Maureen had to fly out to the other lady's birth -- she got word right after I delivered that the other mom was at 9cm, but that proved to be false information [what a day!] -- and it took a while to shake the feelings of loneliness. By God's grace, though, Calvin and I got a really long stretch of sleep that night, followed by some better nursing sessions, and I was quite a different person on Thursday than I had been on Wednesday afternoon. And when I saw Maureen on Thursday, it was very sweet and validating to hear her tell how she had bragged about my husband to her husband -- how Isaac was so steady and sure and ready to help her or me as needed, even when the job was messy or unpleasant. That's my guy. :)
So, like I said, I'm not sure if this qualifies as "no-drama" or not. It certainly wasn't as straight-forward as Owen's, but in the end it was just a quick, hard labor and delivery at home. Sure, there was a scare, but Maureen pointed out that I was so close to the end that she knew more about what was happening than any paramedic would, anyway. It is a shame that everything happened so fast and furious that we didn't get any pictures at all until much later, but all the same I would NOT have wanted a birth photographer in my room during those crazy two hours!
And now we are seven. Levi is disappointed that we did not name him "Lake," but otherwise we are all smitten. What fun, this morning, to listen to them at the breakfast table (from upstairs in bed), wondering if baby Calvin could hear them or if he was sleeping. It's not all fun and games, of course -- we are so very outnumbered by small children! -- but it is a joyous sort of chaos. Praise God for full quivers. :)
Calvin Isaac
October 5, 2016, 2:45pm
9 lbs, 6oz -- 21 inches
P.S. I found it hard to imagine another Jesus-loving, calm, competent midwife like my sweet Grace in Cincinnati, but Maureen is just that. I don't actually know anyone pregnant in Minnesota right now, but somewhere along the line, if anyone reads this and thinks you might consider home birth . . . I can't recommend her enough!
So, here I am..........at work......a sobbing mess. Happy for you and isaac and the boys and somehow in your writing you manage to touch the small place inside of my mother's heart remembering when........they placed each one of my children in my arms for the first time and the absolute feeling of overwhelming love, fear, joy, questions, pride, exhaustion that filled my heart each time. And I blubber....like an idiot. So thankful for you, your sense of God's presence in your life, the healthy birth of another precious little boy for you and your family and your continued writing that touches me in a special way. I'm praying for you......they say once you have 3 children the next ones are a 'walk in the park' but I know there is always an adjustment. God's best to you and Isaac. May you continue to know and experience his fierce love and abundant grace.
ReplyDeleteWhat sweet thoughts! Thank you, always, for your kind words and support. It's good to know I'm not doing this journey alone. <3
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