Best fall harvest ever.
Tired, ecstatic mama minutes after birth (with big sister's hand meeting baby for the first time!).So our baby arrived. Hours after I last posted on this blog.
That Thursday was the first day I had been outside since I had fallen off the treadmill at the gym and rendered myself unable to walk for a few days. I was going stir crazy and it was a lovely day. I asked my mom to come with me to the library just so I could get out of the house. I brought my borrowed cane and painfully hobbled out of the house.
At the library I picked up some new books for myself and some music. I wanted to create a play-list for when I was in labor.
We stopped on the way home and splurged on milkshakes and french fries. I felt defiant and grumpy. Screw healthy eats. I just wanted some sugar, grease, and salt. Lovely stuff that lightened my mood a bit. It was also wonderful to be out in the sunshine and wind. It had only been 4 days since I had hurt myself, but I was fairly depressed. While I was happy that I hadn't gone into labor with this major pubis ligament injury, I was also scared that if I did, I wouldn't be able to handle labor while not being very mobile-- yet I was also ready by Thursday to have my baby on the outside. It felt like in order to continue healing, I'd have to get this baby OUT of the bowl that is my pelvis.
At home, I compiled a lovely labor play-list of Django Reinhardt and Ibrahim Ferrer.
At any rate, with my mood a bit lifted, I ventured out again that day. I wanted another taste of the outdoors and relative freedom from my bed. I dropped my daughter off at theater practice and even went to the grocery store for a few items. I felt like I had two heads as I hobbled huge and imminent with a cane around the grocery store. Folks stared and promptly looked away when I looked back.
When I came home, I found our neighbors (and past home birth clients) talking to my husband in our kitchen. They so sweetly brought us curried squash soup and a swiss chard torte. (Healthy food to make up for my sugar, salt, grease lunch.) I was so touched at their kindness.
All week, family and friends came out of the woodwork with food, driving our kids to school and back, chiropractic care at home, etc. My husband was amazing and attentive and sweet. I literally hung off him with most of my weight as I gasped with pain while I tried to walk to the bathroom. My dad brought us take-out 3 days in a row. My mom made great pots of soup. My sister hung out with me and helped me in and out of the shower and to get dressed! I felt like I was getting my postpartum help before the baby. Would you call that
pre-partum?
That evening after putting the kids to bed, I climbed into bed with my book. (
Cheerful Weather for the Wedding, by Julia Strachey. It's a little novella that was originally published in 1932 by The Hogarth Press- Virginia Woolf's small publishing company. It was one of those books that I picked up solely for the title and the fact that it wasn't current.) I was nearly done with the book. I had my little reading light on (which makes my husband crazy- but I
have to read before sleep comes!) I had two mild crampy sensations sweep across my lower abdomen. Nothing new though. I had been feeling this nightly for 3+ weeks, more so since I had injured myself. I sighed heavily at the end of one of those little cramps. My husband mistook this for my "off to sleep" sigh and said, "Honey, turn off your light."
I thought he was complaining about the light. I had 5 pages left of the book, so I got out of bed and left the room to finish it. I decided first to take a shower, to see if I could relax and see if more contractions would come. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Grrr.I went to the living room and sat on an exercise ball. I finished up those last 5 pages, put the book down on the coffee table, glad that I had finished it before bed and then had two of the biggest, craziest, back-to-back contractions out of nowhere. I sat on the ball and breathed through them. When the second one subsided, I felt my water break. Hmmm.
I hobbled to the bathroom to check things out. I noted the time on the kitchen clock: 10:20pm. The fluid was lightly yellow- evidence of old meconium (possibly passed when I fell?). It was well-dissolved and I wasn't much worried. I said a little prayer asking for no more mec, to keep the baby protected, then went into my bedroom to put on some fresh underwear. But first, another strong contraction.
"Babe, wake up. My water just broke. There's a bit of old mec, but I think it's fine. I'm gonna get my prenatal bag from the car so we can listen to the baby."
"You okay? You want me to get your bag?"
"Naw, I can do it."
So I went outside to my car. I had another strong contraction at the gate. I saw a man walking down the street. He was only a silhouette, but I saw him pause as he watched me grab the gate and audibly breathe through a contraction. I giggled to myself, imagining how I must look to this stranger, then walked to the car. I put the key in the lock and had another huge contraction. The man was still stopped at the end of my driveway. I let the contraction finish, then waved him on with a smile, meaning to say, "I'm okay, really."
I grabbed my prenatal bag and remembered that I didn't have my doppler. The apprentice was carrying it. So fetoscope it was. Even though only 10 minutes had passed since my water broke, I was very definitely having strong contractions every two minutes. I couldn't believe it. I explained to my husband how to use the fetoscope as quickly as I could between contractions.
"Put these in your ears. The baby's back is over here. Listen low. It's gonna be fast. Now take my watch and count the beats for 15 seconds- you're gonna multiply that by four. Put the post against your head and take your hand away once it's against my belly. Wait, not yet. Shit, here's another contraction."
He positioned the fetoscope against my belly and said he didn't hear anything. Go lower! I instructed. He moved down a bit, smiled, and said, "Wow. That's so cool. It's so fast!"
Knowing another contraction was coming very soon, I barked, "Just COUNT!"
The heart tones were fine, in the 130s.
Next, I grabbed my phone and called my midwife partner. I tried to give her as much info as is humanly possible in a 120 second period. Another contraction came on and I threw down my phone to deal with it. I felt the baby push lower and lower every time. In my head, I was flabbergasted-
This is coming too fast. This can't be. I want to push. It was about 10 minutes before 11pm. I tried to ignore my panicky feeling of knowing my partner lives 35 minutes or so from me. I really wanted her here for the birth.
I had all the gear needed for a water birth. My husband asked me if I wanted him to blow up the pool and grab the hose from downstairs. I nodded yes but then said, "Wait!" Another contraction. I needed to hang on him. It ended and I said he could go now. But no- "Wait!" again. Another strong contraction. He wisely said, "Honey, we don't have time to get the pool ready."
More contractions. I was getting really vocal now. With every one I had to resist the urge to push. It was completely overwhelming and scary. It was 10:56pm and I called my friend and former apprentice, A. Even though she stopped apprenticing a couple months ago, she had attended a lot of my prenatals and this was kind of her last on-call birth. I wanted her here and was glad this was happening at night when she was home from work. I asked if she could come over and help. Again, another phone call I couldn't finish for throwing my phone down and growling/grunting/blowing through another contraction.
I stood by my bed with my husband at my side. I was so confused. I was trying to figure out where I wanted to
be, what I could do to make this more bearable, less intense. Damn, I needed to
PUSH! During contractions I'd alternate groaning, praying, and swearing like a sailor. Something like this: "Oh gawd, another one already! Please God, protect this baby. Slow this down, God. I can't cope with this. I need more time....uuuuggggghhhh! Fuck, shit....
damn it!"
A. and my husband were giggling at me. I didn't mind, I knew how silly it sounded. But it felt really reassuring to pray and I couldn't help but to swear.
Next, J. our friend and apprentice came in with the doppler. I wanted her to listen. She did first thing. Baby was great, heart tones 140. Oh, I wanted to push. I had tried to lay on the bed for one contraction thinking lessening the effect of gravity might help but it was
awful. So I continued standing at the side of my bed, squeezing my buns so tightly together (my butt cheeks were really the sorest part of my body the next day!) and blowing, grunting, praying, swearing.
A. and J. were a flurry of activity setting up birth supplies. I was partially still in my midwife brain, trying to utter direction between my litany of verbal coping. "You guys, my birth bag is in the trunk of my car. It's unlocked if you need anything. I brought my instruments in, they're sterile. I.....
shit, shit, shit!!! Please God, give me the strength and the calm to deal with this. It's tooooooo faaaaast!
Uuuuuuuuggggghhh."
Minutes later, my midwife pal and partner arrives.
Thank God! I felt better for her being there. I immediately told her I needed to push, but that I was scared. This was so fast. This couldn't be, right?
She calmed me and said it was fine to push.
"I have to poop," I said. She gave me that Look. The Look that all midwives give because having to the urge to poop means there's a baby really there, not poop. All that pressure and what-not.
So I said, "No, I really
do have to poop. I can tell it's there." And I
could feel it. I was too afraid to sit on the toilet before she got there!
"You're on blue pads. Just poop here. It's fine."
Damn cultural programming. I could not bring myself to poop on the floor, blue pads or no blue pads, standing upright in front of my husband and three close friends. No way. I needed to sit on a toilet, preferably alone.
So I was escorted to the toilet and sat down. Ugh! The pressure! I waited so that I wasn't contracting when I sat. I quickly pushed and felt this egg-size bit of poop come out, and the next thing was the baby slamming down as a contraction began. Later I laughed at how I knew that poop needed to come out, and how it seemed to work as a baby-blocking speed bump as I waited for my midwife friend to arrive! Next, I shot up standing, not able to bear the sensation of sitting on the toilet. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by everyone in the smallest room of my house (because most home born babies end up being born in the absolute
smallest room of the house!).
"Have you checked yourself?" My midwife pal wanted to know.
I shook my head no and then tried to feel for cervix or baby. All I could feel was wrinkly baby scalp (coming down quickly!) and
hair?! My babies are born cue-ball bald! I couldn't say what I felt except to utter something, "Baby.....coming."
And so I pushed, standing over the toilet. My left hand on the window sill, my right on my husband's shoulder. Midwife on her knees in front of me, apprentice hands scurrying in and out of the frame, handing over blankets, blue pads, etc. I kept my eyes closed for most of it. I pushed as our baby's head came down, and crowned. The worst part, so intense. Then that contraction ended and I was told, "Good job, the top of your baby's head is out."
"The
top?!
Just the top? Damn!"
"Reach down and feel."
"NO!" And more pushing.
This time though, lots of verbal guidance. "Slow, slow. Don't push. Just do little grunts. That's it, slowly. Good job..."
And my goodness, this was my absolute favorite part of my labor. In comparison, this was the most calm and controlled part. I could feel the baby's head slowly oozing out. Everything stretching to accommodate forehead, eyes, nose, lips, chin. Very intense, but equally amazing and ingrained in my cellular memory for life, no doubt.
Head was out. With the next contraction, I felt the twist and rotation of the baby's shoulders and the body came away from mine. In relief, I plopped onto the toilet and was handed this sweet, chunky baby girl with a mass of wet, dark hair. It was 11:34pm.
We've named her Magdalena, or Magda for short. She weighed 10# 7 oz; 22" long; 14 1/2" head. My biggest baby yet.
My quickest, and by far, most mentally overwhelming labor yet. And thanks to the skillful hands of my midwife and friend, there was nothing on me that required repair!
-And for what it's worth, I never had time to listen to my labor play-list!The past week and a half has passed quickly, but well. Half of my brain is hazy and slow, fogged by the effects of prolactin release thanks to breastfeeding. The other half of my brain is forced to stay awake and on top of things: bills being paid, one kid to theater, gathering school permission slips, book orders...What's for dinner?
Did you buy my costume yet? Do we have groceries? Did you throw in the laundry,
Mom, where are my shoes?!...etc!
This is what comes with having older kids and a new baby. I must say though, both kids have been amazing, sweet, helpful little nurturers.
I am so thankful for our new healthy baby girl, for our sweet children, for my awesome husband and for all the family and friends who helped us through the past few weeks. Love to you all! You know who you are. (And if I have your dishes, I'll return them soon, I promise!)
