Birth Story, #2

This Thanksgiving felt a bit like deja vu. Five years ago, I was 8.5 months pregnant on Thanksgiving. Same thing last week. Although that first time I wasn’t hosting the meal/party, and I only had one other kid underfoot while making the few items I was in charge of. This year, I did 100% of the grocery shopping, made the pie crusts, baked one of the pies, and then tag-teamed with my husband for most of the additional prep, so that Thursday could be relatively relaxed: whip up toppings, set grill and oven temperatures, cook. But still….8.5 months pregnant means I was only able to enjoy a tablespoon of each dish on the table before I got full. Don’t worry though, I had a whole piece of pie a couple hours later.

Anyway, with this new baby’s birth fast-approaching, I feel it’s time to tell the last remaining so-far-untold birth story—that of the child who was due in early-to-mid-December last time—Luke’s.

It was a Friday morning. My due date had come and gone the day before. I loaded up my toddler and took her to our moms group meeting. There was a nice speaker giving a presentation. I noticed a few contractions here and there, that were mildly painful. With my first pregnancy, I never noticed a single Braxton-hicks contraction, if I had any. With this second one, I definitely noticed them, but they were never painful at all. Still, I was skeptical that the new, slightly painful contractions were “real,” because with my first baby, I had to be induced at 41 full weeks along. This would be my first time going into labor spontaneously.

After moms group, at home after lunch, it became clear that this wasn’t just a few random contractions. They met all the criteria in the books for being real ones. However, they still weren’t particularly regular, nor particularly painful. So we went about our afternoon routines. By the evening, I had downloaded a contraction timing app. Not very close together yet, but noticeably regular now. I probably packed the hospital bag around this time, everything but my toothbrush, to be ready to go sometime in the next day. Around 9pm, I decided things weren’t too serious yet (contractions were still at least seven minutes apart), so I got ready for bed with the intention of getting one last precious stretch of sleep before the baby was on his way in earnest.

Well, I was unable to go to sleep. Within half an hour of lying down, my contractions went straight from seven minutes apart to three. I completely skipped the five-minutes-apart phase, which was when I was told to / when I planned to load up and head to the hospital. So I got back up. Put my toothbrush in the bag. And hopped into the shower. I at least wanted to begin my hospital stay feeling clean. So I paused every few minutes from washing my hair, etc., to wait out contractions. And then I got dressed, and then we loaded the car. It was past 10:30pm at this point. I texted my parents that we were heading to the hospital. (We lived with my parents at the time, so we conveniently could just leave our sleeping toddler in her bed, undisturbed, and we didn’t even have to wake them up to make sure they knew we were going. They’d discover it the next time they checked their phones. It was going to be Saturday morning, so everyone would be home anyway. And they knew I was in labor already, they just didn’t know when we’d be going.)

From the car, we called my doctor’s office on-call line to let them know I was in labor and heading to the hospital. When I couldn’t answer all her questions, because I had to cease talking to get through a contraction, she concluded with, “See you there soon,” and we went on our merry way. I asked Justin to drive as smoothly as possible. Luckily, it wasn’t a long drive, and there was very little traffic out at that hour. However, there was one moment of the drive I must relate in detail.

We had pulled into the hospital parking lot, where there were some gnarly speed bumps. I started having a contraction as we approached one of them. I instructed Justin to stop before the speed bump and wait for my contraction to pass before going over. He stopped. Then he thought about taking his foot off the brake. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew he was about to start slowly inching forward, so I yelled at him, “Don’t you dare!” He didn’t even deny that he was about to let up on the brake. Any men out there reading this: just wait for the contraction to end and your wife to give you the go ahead, my goodness!

He dropped me at the labor and delivery entrance, and while he parked the car, I made my way up the elevator and down the hallway as best I could, pausing for contractions every few minutes. I felt like a little old lady the way I had to stop and hold onto a wall or nearby counter and take a breather. But! I was not at a teeth-gnashing or screaming level of pain. So I was happy to take my time making my way after the nurse to triage.

When they got me settled and checked me, the nurses and myself alike were surprised to find that I was already dilated to 8cm. I remember one nurse asking me another question, and my asking to wait for the end of this contraction to answer properly. “Wait, you’re having a contraction right now?” *I nod yes.* “Can I feel it?” Sure. She put her hand on my belly. “Wow, and you’re not in pain?” Well, I was in pain, but to cope, rather than indicating so by noises, I was focusing on breathing, or maybe on holding my breath.

It was at this point that I began to consider not getting the epidural for this labor. I thought to myself, “I’ve managed the pain this far (up to 8cm) all by myself, and I’m feeling pretty okay still, and the nurses are impressed with how I’m handling it. Maybe I can do it!”

I moved from triage to an L&D room, where I was reunited with Justin. I expressed my new idea. His response: “We didn’t talk about this!” He doesn’t like to watch me in pain. And, he was right, I hadn’t done any mental or physical prep for an unmedicated delivery. I got the epidural last time; I’d planned to get it this time. Sure, I was handling labor/contractions just fine, but what about pushing, tearing, and stitching? As I debated internally, the nurses reminded me that if I was going to choose the epidural, I needed to make the call ASAP. Past 9cm, that chance would be over. Yeah, you know what, I do want it, thanks!

The anesthesiologist wheeled his little cart into my room. “You’re the lady who’s 8cm? Usually I’d hear you from down the hallway.” I shrugged. I’ve always had a decently high pain tolerance. And my water hadn’t broken yet, so the contractions still had a cushion against the more severe pain I remembered ramping up after my water broke with Miryam.

Epidural was successful. Pain relief was immediate. This time, though, I could still feel pressure, just no pain. (In my labor with Miryam, I was more or less completely numb from the waist down.) I got to take a bit of a rest until pushing time came. Not too long, though. We’d arrived at the hospital right about 11pm. Luke was born around 2:30am. This time, I felt the urge to push, although mildly. I was still coached through it by nurses. I don’t remember how much pushing happened. But we ended up with a healthy baby boy (the sex was a surprise for us again), who came out pooping on everyone. Yes, he spewed meconium on doctors and nurses alike just as he took his first breaths. Justin relates that the delivering OB, who, you know, deals with people’s bodily fluids on a daily basis, was grossed out by this. And now Luke is a potty-humor-loving almost-5-year-old. So many fart noises. Why are boys like this?? But, what else should I have expected, based on his grand entrance?

At 8lbs 12oz, Luke was one ounce bigger than Miryam had been. He had an excellent reflex for opening his mouth wide for nursing. He was also a much more efficient eater than Miryam ever was. I had significantly fewer nursing issues with him, much to my relief!

I was also a less-neurotic version of myself as a mom, of course, with this being my second child. Sometime later in the morning, after I’d had stitches, we’d had our golden hour, and we’d been transferred to a postpartum recovery room, I’d fed Luke but he was fussy anyway. A nurse asked if we’d like to offer a pacifier. Omg yes, please! Why didn’t I think of that? Miryam never took to a pacifier at all, because I was so terrified of nipple confusion that I barely let her try it. Round two: first three hours of life, Yes let’s do this. Sweet peace. A couple hours later, it began to hit me that I hadn’t slept since early the morning before—close to 24 hours straight at this point. I was so exhausted. I asked the nurse to take my precious bundle of a baby down to the nursery so I could get a smidgeon of uninterrupted sleep. With Miryam, I was high and mighty on my rooming-in practices, which that hospital had been adamant about advocating for, too. Round two: I’m paying y’all the same amount either way; please go work your magic on him so I can actually try to recover, here. The nurse asked when his last full feeding was. “We finished about half an hour ago. I just need like one full hour.” She thought for a minute, then said, “I’ll give you three.” She whisked him away in his little rolly bed, and I have never slept so well in a hospital bed before or since that stretch.

A word about visitors during one’s postpartum hospital stay. Justin stayed with me the whole time. I asked my parents to bring big sister, Miryam, to visit us and meet the baby. My in-laws were able to drive up from out of state the same day to meet their new grandson, since it was a Saturday. Beyond this tight circle of grandparents and sibling, I requested that everyone else call Justin and “make an appointment” if they wanted to see the baby before we went home. A couple of my sisters did so. My own grandma was offended that I wouldn’t welcome her unannounced. But, like, I’ll be home so soon. It’s freaking difficult to sleep between a newborn’s needs and the hospital’s lighting and the nurses checking my vitals or the baby’s hearing, etc. If you happen to show up when I’m getting a fleeting moment of sleep, No, you will not be welcome. And I’m not sorry about it. New moms: don’t be sorry about it! Your sweet baby will have his or her whole life to get loved and doted on. You just had a marathon of labor and delivery. It’s okay to put up boundaries to protect your rest.

We ended up going home on Sunday evening: less than 48 hours total in the hospital. Granted, the nurses thought we were crazy for having waited so long to come in on Friday night. Justin later told me that he had been reprimanded, while I was in triage, by nurses, who asked if he knew how close we could have been to having a baby in the car. “Why didn’t you bring her in earlier?” Of course, he told them he brought me when I told him to get in the car. He had learned by then not to order a pregnant lady around, when she has her mind set on a shower before leaving the house to have a baby, or something. Good man. And we had plenty of time, after all.

Overall, I’d say Luke’s was my most-ideal birth so far. I felt good about managing most of the labor pains on my own, but got the epidural just in time to rest a bit, still feel pressure but not pain for delivery, and for it to wear off relatively quickly after birth. With Miryam, I’d had the epidural for so many hours that I was totally numb and it took several more hours for it to wear off after delivery, which I did not enjoy. With Cecily, of course, there was no wearing-off window, because there had been no pain relief window. With Luke, I found my personal happy medium. If only I could plan it out just the same way for this next birth! However, the time of day of his birth was no bueno for getting enough sleep (for me), so, there’s that, too.

Anyway, nesting is in the home stretch these days. Baby clothes are washed and put away. Swing is set up. Rocking chair and pack’n’play are on standby in my bedroom. But the kitchen cabinets need to be wiped down. The stroller that fits the baby car seat—currently still a mystery inside its box in the garage—needs to be figured out. And I need to wrap all the Christmas presents this week so that will be done. “Need.”

Plus I’m a big mix of feelings. So excited for a snuggly newborn and nursing! So concerned about how sleep-deprived I’m going to be! So bewildered about how we are going to meet the needs of FOUR children! So thankful (literally near tears level) for grandmas who can travel across states to come visit and help, and for the friendships and community we’ve been able to build and let take care of us already, being here just over a year now. So anxious about the labor and delivery itself! 😱😱😱😱😱😱 (Look for another birth story in the coming weeks or months!)

If you’re a person of prayer, please spare one for me, for a safe delivery, a healthy baby, and a relatively smooth postpartum recovery. Thank you and happy December! ❤️