Our lovely first-born has turned 9. That's so crazy to me! She's a great kid, prone to be a little dramatic (which can make you crazy but also is a big part of her charm), but is a very caring person and does a lot to help around the house and outside of home for others.
Since this blog started as a midwifery affair, I'll take the time to tell our daughter's birth story. I've told it so many times over the years. I may have even wrote about it here on other birthdays. That's okay. Every Mama should take the time to reflect on the day(s) they birthed their child.
When I was pregnant with Sarah, I knew nothing about any kind of alternative birth options. From rapidly reading Dr Sears',
The Birth Book before the pee on the EPT was dry, I learned about midwives. Certified Nurse Midwives, not home birth midwives. I learned to trust birth and our ability to go into labor and to give birth, hopefully without any intervention or drugs. That book taught me far more in it's 300 or so pages than my ridiculous Lamaze class did 6 months later. (My Lamaze class taught me when I could get an epidural, and how to hyperventilate using rapid breathing patterns. I was told I
might be able to negotiate not getting an episiotomy, but don't set your heart on it. ---I've now been hearing many wonderful things about Lamaze as they have since done an over-haul on their education classes and are much more empowering to women.)
So I worked with two nurse midwives in an OB practice. I never met the OBs. I had 20 minute long appointments, which seemed luxurious to the 5 minute appointments a pregnant co-worker was getting from her doctor. I asked lots and lots and lots of questions and my midwife graciously answered them all in a very sweet, understanding way. She never made me feel she didn't have time for me. In fact, she seemed just as excited about my upcoming birth as I did. She never gave me crap about questioning every test and denying almost every one of them.
During Sarah's pregnancy, I was waiting tables in a fast-paced restaurant. By the time I was 5 months or so along, our land-lady asked if we thought we'd be renewing our lease in August (my EDD was 8/22). I said we were trying to save for a house (in theory. We didn't actually have anything saved). She told us about another house she owned that she rented to her brother-in-law but wanted to sell. It was 2 doors down from the apartment we rented. It was a great house. I walked our basset hound past there every day after work. She named a low price for it (although still feeling unattainable to us at the time), and we said we'd see what we could figure out.
The next 3 months became a slurry and fury of working with a mortgage lender that looked like W.C. Fields and had a shitty disposition. He was constantly bitching to me, "You know, I'm not a damn real estate agent!"
We paid off some debt and worked our asses off to get any kind of payment not even for a down payment, which we didn't have, but just for the closing costs that came close to $10,000. So my big pregnant butt started working 6 days a week. I'd pick up extra shifts where I could. My feet and ankles took on the same girth as my thighs from all the edema. Sciatica soared and burned up and down my legs and into my bottom and lower back. I gimped around that greasy spoon and raked in a lot of money in a short amount of time.
Our land-lady allowed us to move into the house we were buying in early July, thinking we'd close in a week or so. Our closing date kept getting bumped further ahead for one reason or another. I worriedly asked her, "What if this doesn't work? What if we're denied for some reason and all our stuff is here in your house?"
She said, "Then you just continue to pay rent until it works out."
Which was really sweet of her. It was a crazy stressful time, but one that you just keep going at 90mph because you know it's worth it.
We finally had a closing date of August 19, three days before my due date. I prayed I wouldn't go into labor for the closing and I didn't. We made it. After signing our names about 200 times on various documents, we were the proud new owners of a 30 year mortgage.
The next day I was with my sister shopping. I felt a small gush of fluid fill my underwear. I ran to the bathroom to check it out. It was clear and didn't smell like pee. There wasn't any more of it coming out though. My sister and I found a pay phone (no one had cell phones back then-9 long years ago!)at KMart and called my midwife. She was still in her office, about to leave. She told me to come on in so she could check out the mystery fluid.
Once there, she put a speculum in me so she could swab whatever fluid she could find. She put some on a slide and checked it out to see if it would "fern" the amniotic fluid will do under a microscope. I remember laying on the table with my sister in the room. We waited while the midwife did her ferning thing. My sister said, "Your belly looks great. You don't have any stretch marks."
That made me feel good in the moment. -Strange how those little details can still be
felt years later.
The midwife came back in the exam room and politely explained I had only peed my pants, and not had a gush of amniotic fluid. We laughed hard enough to almost make me pee again. The midwife asked if she could check me since I was there. I agreed.
Donning a sterile glove and a huge grin, she excitedly told me I was 5cm dilated.
"How did that happen?!" I asked.
"Have you felt any contractions?"
Not really," I said.
"Hmmmm. I don't know how that happened." My midwife said. Then she talked about the possibility of a fast labor and how I shouldn't be too far from the hospital.
She asked if she could strip my membranes and I agreed. It hurt a bit, but I was told it often makes women go into labor. Sweet. I was ready to have this baby. We made an appointment for Monday in case I didn't have the baby by then. "But you will probably be back her in the morning, in labor!"
My sister and I went home and told my husband the news. I can't remember his reaction. I'm sure he was silently a deer in headlights. It was a stressful time. My sis and I decided to go on a power walk to get labor going. Stripping my membranes made me very crampy and I wanted to embrace any pain that happened to twinge my way. The Heritage Festival was going on here in Ypsiville, so T and I huffed through the arts and crafts, the drunks, the loud live blues from the bar, while I had a little twinge here and there. It was exciting and exhilarating. We must have walked for 2 hours, and all I experienced was exhaustion.
I made it to my Monday morning appointment. My midwife said she thought for sure she'd get a call about me over the weekend. She checked my cervix and with a puzzled look on her face said, "You're 7 cm now! Have you had ANY contractions?"
"No, not really." I said.
She stripped my membranes again with my consent. I was now very emotionally ready to get the show on the road.
The following week I did everything I could naturally do to try to induce labor. I walked miles every morning and evening. Older women in the park would stop my insane mall-walk-pace to ask when I my baby was due and I'd grunt, "Six days ago!" before shoving off again. I rode miles on our recumbent exercise bike while reading English romance novels from my MIL. I'd take some herbal tincture for "labor-prep" that did absolutely nothing. I persuaded my husband to have sex with me and my 7cm cervix for his much wanted prostaglandins. No a single contraction.
Before you knew it, Labor Day was approaching. I saw my midwife for a prenatal on a Wednesday morning. I was ten days past my due date. I was so emotionally toasted. I think I would have been a lot better had I not been this freak of nature (which was how I felt) to dilate without contractions, to have everyone tell me for weeks how it would "probably happen tonight!". Ack. I was becoming convinced my body didn't know how to go into labor.
My midwife easily talked me into this plan to break my water to get me to go into labor. What the hell. Sure thing.
I came home and explained things to my husband. I ate a bowl of Fruit Loops for breakfast. We packed a bag for ourselves, called family members and went to the hospital around noon. After a non-eventful checking in (I wasn't in labor), I went to my assigned room and waited for the midwife. She arrived an hour later and broke my water. Clear fluid. It was 1pm. No immediate contractions. We were told to walk around the hospital and walk we did.
And walked and walked and walked. Once and hour I had to be put on the monitor to check in with the baby, then I was prodded to walk some more. "No contractions yet?"
Nada.
My family began to trickle in to see a show that wasn't happening. I feared a pitocin induction and kept fretting to my midwife how I didn't want one. "You won't need it," she somehow said to me. It was3pm, then 4, 5, 6. No contractions.
My sister arrived after her work day. I was starving. I wasn't allowed to eat. The hospital dinner trays in the hall actually smelled delicious. I wanted to grab a handful of goulash off a tray and stuff it into my mouth. Instead my mom, sister and I walked the halls, giving my husband a much-needed break. At 6:22pm I had a contraction. It made me stop dead in my tracks. It wasn't a cramp. It was huge, I couldn't talk. When It ended, I smiled and said, "Holy shit! THAT was a contraction!" My sister said, "Great! 6:22 now. I'll time them."
Another one came at 6:24, then 6:26, 6:28. WTF? I was bulldozed by the strength of them but was so excited they finally commenced! We waddled back to the room to tell the midwife things were happening. Every two freaking minutes.
See, this is the down-side to starting labor at 7cms. You don't get mild, rhythmic contractions that "feel like menstrual cramps". You start labor in TRANSITION. There was no slow-getting-used to things. Soon I was clutching my husband and midwife, still walking, walking in the hallways. I was crying and panicking but insisted I didn't want drugs and no one better ask me about that choice. I got into a shower and it felt amazing. I cried freely and it was very cathartic. Blood and amniotic fluid flowed down my legs and bones ached from the pressure of this +1 for two weeks baby pressed further down into my pelvis. Soon it was time to push. I pushed hard. I grunted and my throat was raw. It was charted that I pushed for 22 minutes, which was probably 10 contractions or so. I wanted to swear so badly, but I was in a Catholic hospital and didn't want to offend any one! Which is so unlike me, I can have the mouth of a sailor in friendly company, never mind being in extreme pain. I felt very loved during all of this though. I kicked all family out except for my husband, nurse and midwife. My husband was so sweet as I held his head in a firm head-lock at my shoulder. As I grunted and snorted in his ear, with tears streaming down my face.
At 8:44pm, little miss Sarah came into the world. She screamed and shrieked and was absolutely perfect. I cried tears of relief and joy. It was surreal and empowering and absolutely amazing. One of the best days of my life.
And also the kick-off point to my epiphany: I want to be a midwife!
