Birth

What a strange birth experience.

I had experienced contractions from approximately 34 weeks--sometimes two or three days a week I would have contractions and then nothing on the other days. Some painless, some uncomfortable, some really hurting my back. All intermittent. The midwife said when they don't stop, you'll know it's labor.

On the day of baby's birth, I had a bunch of contractions over breakfast, which led to me being a really difficult mother to my child and really drawing some hard lines I shouldn't have drawn. Lots of tears--I insisted on one spoon rather than two and didn't allow extra honey.

The rest of the day I had contractions on and off--sometimes every twenty minutes, sometimes two an hour.

I did the Miles Circuit to try to put the baby into a good position and leaned on an exercise ball while reading the first half of A Memoir of Mary Ann, which I think fortuitously showed up in my online library account that day. So good--and so good to focus on people who have a much more difficult situation during one's own difficult situation.

At 5:40 I went down for dinner and suddenly my contractions were 3 minutes apart for about 20 minutes. I left the table to have the contractions in the hall in between meatloaf and green beans and yellow squash. Some of them were intense, so Francisco finished his half (!) meatloaf quickly and we went upstairs to call the midwife.

I finished packing quickly while I thought he was calling the midwife. It turns out he was finishing up some work emails. Miscommunication. I yelled at him (long suffering husband), and he called the midwife. She was very calm, and I wasn't really having more contractions--she said I could come in and she could take a look or I could stay home and labor as long as I liked. She suggested a bath and some positions on the exercise ball to move the baby as I was having back labor again (it seems like that's just how I feel contractions). I got some really big contractions that I didn't know what to do with. I didn't know how to let Francisco help me, either (last time we were in labor together for days and we had the contractions down to an art).

I hopped in the tub and there at the end of a contraction, I felt the urge to push. I thought, that can't in a thousand years be right--my mind is playing tricks on me because the urge to push came in a bathtub during my last labor. But I got out, dried off, got dressed, and ran to the car, where Francisco once again called the stupid answering service (which takes 10 minutes) while driving to let them know we would be arriving.

I remember thinking, I do not want to get into the car feeling like this, but I don't really have any choice. So I got in. I remember thinking, why is he only going 45 (the speed limit) and not 50, but as I yelled, Francisco soon became aware of the gravity of the situation. He drove faster, I think passing someone on a one-lane road, turning left in front of some other cars, running a stop sign, and pulling into the one spot reserved for people giving birth in front of the hospital. He got a wheelchair, bumped me through the automatic revolving door, pushed me through the lobby as I yelled at the top of my lungs and (he tells me) people turned to stare (I don't care). He pushed me onto the elevator and, straight out of Grey's Anatomy, a gaggle of people were waiting to show me a room, help me into bed (after that contraction was over) and tell me immediately and unrelentingly to push. I was so confused--it's really time?

Oh, I forgot to mention that in the car, there was one especially enormous contraction where my water broke everywhere. We need to remember to clean up the seat.

Back to pushing--we left for the hospital at 6:45, arrived around 7. The baby came out at 7:27. They intensely told me to push and push and then the baby came out. And they had me reach down and help catch him. He came out all grey and vernix-y and smelled oh so wonderful--I had them not wash it off and am glad I enjoyed that smell that told me he was mine for two days. And they gave him to me for an hour of nursing and holding and this was just a way better birth than last time. I was definitely not overwhelmed by love and happiness and all positive emotions, but also not just barely alive and only able to tend to my wounds. I was happy to meet my baby and I like him--so the emotions are basically far, far more positive than the first time around.

Of course, I slept max 2 hours at the hospital because that is just a whole lot of stuff to process really quick. Plus, I was interested in not hemorrhaging again, so I peed compulsively every two hours. Plus, the baby kept pooping and making baby noises. Plus, the nurses woke me up three times overnight--including for a superfluous blood draw at 5:30 a.m. that I'm still mad about. All that to say, when I would finally fall asleep for thirty minutes, someone would wake me up. But they let us go home after 24 hours for good behavior, so we got to sleep in our own beds the next night. The baby only woke up twice the next night, which made me the happiest (and far more rested) mama in the whole world. Now for newborn life together.