Birth Story, #4

Where has the time gone? At 7 weeks old, my sweet little guy is more than halfway through his “newborn” time. I’m trying to soak up all the snuggles. You can read all about how we chose his name—Paschal Joseph—in this post.

But today, I have his birth story for you. 

You know, I never was into birth stories until I wrote my first one (about my third birth experience), and then I got interested in what different details women choose to include when telling theirs, as well as all the very different ways a birth can go. I’ve retrospectively written about births #1 and #2 since then as well. If you’re not a birth story person, feel free to skip. Details are more or less uncensored. FYI.

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This was my shortest full-term pregnancy yet. Depending on which method one calculates her due date by, I was scheduled for induction somewhere between 39 weeks + 2 days to 39 weeks + 6 days. Cecily had been a “sugar baby” when she was born, meaning she couldn’t keep her blood sugar level high enough on her own for a few days after birth, which is common in babies over 9 lbs or under 6 lbs. It resolves in 100% of treated cases, but does require a short NICU stay. Cecily was also 9 days overdue. Hence, the plan to induce a bit early this time, in hopes of avoiding both (A) an over-9-lbs baby / a sugar baby NICU stay, and (B) being induced in the end anyway and having another 10 days of the worst part (the last part) of pregnancy. For these reasons, my doctor and I had decided from my very first appointment that I should be induced by the due date, at latest. Around 37 weeks, it occurred to me that I would almost certainly be getting induced on the due date with that plan, since I was 3-for-3 on going overdue so far. And if I was going to be induced either way, why wait for the due date? My belly was already huge. My pelvis was already highly uncomfortable. My conscience was already resigned to a Pitocin labor and the likelihood of the epidural getting involved this time, without qualm. (I did the natural labor thing last time. I wasn’t going to feel bad if I decided to ask for the epidural this time, especially considering the Pitocin.) And finally, if we scheduled induction for before Luke’s birthday, which was the same week as the due date, we could for sure avoid exact-day birthday buddies. So, December 8th at 5am it was to be.

My mom arrived beforehand, since it was scheduled. We had one full day together pre-baby. We tried to go to bed early, but I still had epic troubles getting to sleep. (See above: the worst part of pregnancy. Also: anxiety/anticipation/excitement about what tomorrow would bring.) I got a call in the middle of the night from the hospital, asking me to come at 7 instead of 5 the next morning, because their night shift was short staffed. Sure thing! I changed my alarm, woke Justin to fill him in (lucky for him, he goes right back to sleep easily), and got a bit more sleep.

When we said goodbye to the kids in the morning, Luke asked, “Wait, where is the baby?” because last night I had told them goodbye, and that the next time I saw them the baby would be out. (I was supposed to leave before they were awake.) It’s funny the things the kids latch onto!

So, we got to the hospital at 7. By 8:30 I was settled, everything was situated, and Pitocin was flowing. Within an hour, contractions were about 2 minutes apart, although not yet very painful. I got along well with my L&D nurse, so we were chatting, Justin and I were talking, I was reading my book, no sweat. I told my nurse I was sort of hoping for a natural labor and delivery again, but that I also might very well ask for an epidural after all. I told her how I got it when I was 8cm with Luke, and how that had felt ideal to me. She told me that in her experience, since this was my fourth delivery, I would need to decide around the 4-5cm mark, because labor would probably be going rather quickly beyond that, and there may not be time to get the anesthesiologist if I try to wait longer. Noted.

My doctor came in to give the nurse the medical language version of my chart history, and to say hi and check on me, too. She suggested we all make a guess at how big the baby would be. I said 8lbs even, which was a wish more than a guess. Justin said 8lbs 7oz. The doctor said 8lbs 10oz. She’d commented weeks ago that she could tell it was “not a small baby.” We (Justin and I) don’t make small ones, apparently. And yes, I’ve been tested for gestational diabetes every time, and never had it; and I’ve been tested for normal diabetes or pre-diabetes, too, just in case that might be contributing to my babies being kinda huge, but I was not even borderline: very much not diabetic in any way. Justin was a 9.5lb baby himself, and his grandmother apologized to me for the family history of big babies when I had my first, my smallest, 8lbs 11oz baby. This is just my fate.

Around 10:00, my water broke. From this point, my pain level slowly but steadily increased. Around noon, I was checked, and was barely 3cm. My nurse and I were making book recommendations to each other. Over the next hour or so, as most of the amniotic fluid and its cushioning effect were gone, I began to weigh the pros and cons of getting the epidural. I was having minute-long contractions every other minute, and they were getting noticeably more intense. Pain level was going up a point each time my nurse asked. When she came back into the room around 1:30, she observed that I wasn’t so chatty nor cheerful as I had been. Uh, nope. I told her I was thinking I might want the epidural. I had no idea how fast my cervix was dilating and effacing, but I imagined, since I was less than two hours past 3cm, that I probably had at least a few more hours of labor, and I didn’t think I wanted to handle that with the every-other-minute pattern, knowing the pain would only get worse as time went on.

She said it would take at least half an hour and maybe more to get enough extra fluids into me via IV, and then get the anesthesiologist into my room, so I changed my tune from “I think I might” to “okay let’s get this moving” pretty quickly. She started the fluids and then checked me, in case I was going to be a lot further than I thought and I might want to call off the epidural. “Between 4-5cm and not yet totally effaced.” That sounded to me like not enough progress to be into this life of pain for possibly hours more. So, the epidural I got.

It was a perfect epidural. The anesthesiologist was so efficient and calm. Within minutes my lower half was swept with a wave of warmth that erased pain but left pressure and control of movement intact. By the time I was settled in and comfortable—a good hour after I’d decided for sure that I wanted that epidural—and my nurse got a chance to check me again, I was “almost 9cm.” Well. Had I known things were about to go that quickly, I might have held out for an unmedicated delivery again. But. Had I been under the stress of the pain from 30ish contractions for the last hour, who knows if I would have progressed that quickly anyway. “No one is ever told what would have happened.”

Shortly after that check, I texted my family that we would probably have a baby soon. Basically the next thing I knew was that it was time to push. My doctor arrived—the first time my doctor would actually be delivering my baby—and she kept one eye on the contraction monitor to coach me through three contractions: three pushes each. Everyone in the room was calm. Nothing was urgent. Apparently there was a momentary shoulder dystocia, but the doctor and nurses performed their maneuver so quickly and calmly that it didn’t even register as a delivery “emergency” to me. Neither baby nor I was injured by this complication, thankfully! Justin later told me that a nurse literally jumped over me like lightning to help do whatever the maneuver was. Like, where was I?? I have no recollection of nurses doing anything that seemed unusual or urgent to me. Good job, medical team! I keep using the word “calm” because that is the quality that stands out the most to me from this birth. I wasn’t stressed, no one was freaking out about anything or rushing or suggesting I do anything I didn’t want to do, everyone was speaking calmly, I was calmly doing what I needed to do, and voilà! 3:42pm. Baby. My shortest pregnancy culminated in my shortest labor: about 7 hours. First time 16, second 12, third 8, fourth 7.

Anyway, Justin announced that it’s a boy! The baby meconium’d on the doctor. Both of these pieces of information were delightful to big brother Luke, who was so hopeful of evening out the family gender balance, and who had also pooped on everybody in his first moments outside the womb. #myboys

It was immediately clear that this was not an 8lb baby. I got a few minutes to snuggle, and then they weighed him.

10lbs, 2oz.

I am so glad I had the epidural.

Cecily, my natural labor baby, was 9lbs 10oz. I had a 3rd degree laceration, accompanied by a bit of hemorrhaging, with that delivery. That delivery was decidedly not calm for me. I suspect that the epidural allowing me to relax before delivery time, combined with my accumulated experience of a few births by now, accounts for the calm factor this time around, which afforded me more control (mental, physical) during pushing. Hence, I only had a 2nd degree tear this time (back to my norm), and no hemorrhaging, even though the baby was half a pound bigger this time. Thanks, science! Lol. But seriously. (The difference in degree of tearing also could just be coincidence. Who knows.)

Newborn baby Paschal was eager to nurse. I was once again thankful for the epidural when I could feel nothing of my breastfeeding-related postpartum uterine contractions. Because he was so big, the neonatal doctor had the nurses check his blood sugar after every other feeding for the first 24 hours. Lucky for us all, his readings were all good, and he never had to go to the NICU! The medical staff was also very worried about him having jaundice, because his blood type is – and mine is +, meaning supposedly there could be a higher chance of jaundice. So, they kept putting off his first bath and concurrent jaundice check, “to give him maximum time to flush out bilirubin.” When they did finally check it, his jaundice risk level was so low that the doctor called it “a joke.” None of my babies have had any jaundice, so this didn’t surprise me, but due to the doctor and nurses being so surprised, I did some research out of curiosity, and discovered that jaundice is way more common than I had thought. Now I know.

Anyway, we regretted not packing the white noise machine, but made do with a white noise app on my phone in order to get a few winks of sleep. We did pack a velcro swaddle from home, which Paschal peed on within a couple hours of bringing it out, during one of our clumsy, haven’t-diapered-a-slippery-newborn-in-a-couple-years, early diaper changes. I wished I’d packed two. And I realized my hopefulness of having an 8-pound baby had affected my packing, as well, as I pulled out the newborn-size going-home jammies from the suitcase, and knew for sure they would not fit on my 10-pound baby. I placed a pickup order from my phone for a couple onesies and a sleeper from the Target right down the street and sent Justin out to get them while I was waiting on discharge paperwork.

Less than 48 hours after birth, we were heading happily home, with a sleeping baby in the backseat, and a lot of awe over the fact that we had become parents of FOUR children here on earth. What are we going to do with them all?? 

Seven weeks in, I’m happy to report things are going well. The big kids, all three, LOVE their baby brother heart-meltingly much. The two middle children in particular do not love sharing mommy’s attention, but we’re adjusting all right. Biggest sister Miryam has blossomed with some newfound maturity and mothering instincts, the development of which has been so sweet to witness. She looks at Paschal and exclaims, on the regular: “He’s the cutest baby ever! It’s so sad he’s getting so big already! Babies are so lucky, because everyone just loves them so much.”

I tend to agree with her. (:

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In other news, I’ve renounced my former stance that “Leggings are not pants.” Leggings every day, y’all. I’m sorry to all the people I judged on this account over the years. We cool?