Hey mamas! After Micah was born I found myself reading his story over and over, but Katie’s sat untouched in a dusty corner. It’s was a “just the facts, ma’am” catalog of timestamps and pushing techniques . . . pretty much a total yawner. Now, I LOVED her birth, it was just that my story didn’t do it justice. So here is my second attempt: Elvis and Smurfs included for dramatic effect

In My Bedside Table . . .

There is a calender with your conception date circled on it. That is a fact. Doing the potty dance in the Walgreens checkout line while holding a pregnancy test was just a formality . . . I knew you were there three days in when I ate an entire jar of olives and drank the juice!

And because I did the math - oh, about a thousand times – I can tell you it is also a fact that your due date was December 8th.

So when December rolled around I washed your little onesies and yellow ducky receiving blankets (we didn’t know if you were a boy or girl), made snacks for my birth attendants (which I, um, ate before they arrived), and waited.

tick. tick. tick.

tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick.

Now Honey . . .

As much fun as it was to watch the gym staff clutch their chests as I heaved my planet-sized belly onto the stairmaster at 41 weeks, I was beginning to think we had a problem. A huge, 25th of December type problem. As you know, mama LOVES Christmas, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d stuck you with a lemon of a birthday. Not ON Christmas, of course, but just close enough that your big day would be swallowed up in the hullabaloo. Now that I’ve gotten to know you a bit I see how silly this was. I mean, who could ignore this?!?!?

But I am getting ahead of myself. On the morning of Dec. 21, which was the final day of week number 42, you started revving things up around 6am. Of course, I promptly did what any reasonable laboring mother would do . . . I put rollers in my hair and grabbed my eyelash curler! A few days before I’d done a glam birth trial run, so I was pretty sure I had this in the bag.

Please feel free to skip ahead a couple paragraphs and laugh yourself silly at my naivete! So where were were we? Oh right, go time! I spent the morning wrapping Christmas presents and trying to stay relaxed. Then around midmorning my STRONG hypnobirthing “pressure waves” subsided into tiny ripples that barely lapped the shore. I was devastated, but now I’m glad I got a little rest before stage two.

Stage 2: Puke-A-Thon

So here is the thing about glamorous births: They do NOT involve heaving everything you’ve eaten since 1987 into a giant mixing bowl.

For 12. hours. straight. Current theories on how I was able to find enough stuff in my stomach to vomit after every other contraction include:  

1. I can metabolize air
2. It was not really 12 hours, but one hour which I experienced Groundhog Day style (this conspiracy theory is patently false)
3. I am Elvis

Whatever the true cause, my glam birthing clothes are covered in slime and I now have this ratty old t-shirt on.

By this point I’ve been awake for over 24 hours and haven’t been able to keep food or water down for half of that. I’m beyond weak and terrified that I don’t have the strength to finish. My midwives, Susan (aka The Urban Poser’s MIL!) and Angela are becoming concerned for the very same reason.

Game Face? Check!

I needed some space from all the eyeballs gazing at me with deeply concerned expressions, so I took a shower. My family took this opportunity to hold full-on Sunday-go-to-meetin’ prayer extravaganza. They knew something had to happen or I was going to end up at the hospital with an emergency c-section.

Standing in the shower, I knew it too. But as steam swirled all around something changed. I was ready and willing to trust my body. My expectations of a picture-perfect birth with neatly coiffed hair and just the right shade of lip gloss were replaced by sweat and puke. But I was ready. Instead of running from the pain I started leaning into it, using this excruciatingly painful maneuver to cause myself to dilate. It worked.

Now, a funny thing about midwives is that they speak grunt. “Mhmmpf” means someone please hand me one of those oatmeal creme pies. But “Mmmmmmhmpf” is best translated as “fill the birthing tub now or I will have this baby on the toilet.” Since I’m clearly saying the latter by this point they fill the tub and help me in.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! After 35+ hours of labor this was exactly what I needed. Unfortunately I must have let out a “Ohmmpf,” which unbeknownst to me means “get me out of the tub so I can push on the toilet,” so out I came.

Oops.

Sitting backwards with my forehead on the tank did help, though, so I guess the midwives grunt translator is pretty accurate. Or maybe the Smurfs told them. Hey, who invited Smurfs to my birth!?!?!?

Susan didn’t see the Smurfs, but that’s probably because her perception had been dampened by the fact that she’d slept in the past 40 hours. Or I hallucinated them. Whatev.

So Here We Are . . .

Past the glam curler phase, the puke vortex and the Smurf interlude. I guess the only thing left is to push you out! Susan and Angela led me back to the birthing tub where your dad was waiting. I pushed, and pushed, and PUSHED, but all I got was a bulging bag of waters. Finally in desperation I asked my midwife to break it. The first tried and couldn’t, but the second was finally able to. (Susan later told me that my amniotic sac was incredibly strong because of the way I’d nourished myself through pregnancy. Yay me!)

With one gush I passed into the eye of the storm. Everything around me was suspended, and my only thoughts were of you. I felt no pain as you passed through, and as your Daddy gathered you up from the water I leaned back, exhausted. They laid you on my chest and I gazed at you in stupified amazement.

All through my pregnancy I had eaten well, exercised, etc. I had done everything I could to take care of you. But the moment I saw you I was totally undone. Your pink cheeks, rosebud mouth and tiny frame melted me into a puddle of awe. Finally your dad said “Well, what is it?” I had forgotten to check! We pulled back the towel and I yelled”It’s a GIRL!!!” just like in the movies.

We snuggled into a freshly-made bed and nursed while the midwives examined my placenta. Someone put a diaper on me and that was that. We were officially a family of three.

You were born three days before Christmas, and for years I felt guilty about it. But you know what? Your birthday is only time the sun rises and sets in the same place. Oh yes, little one, you are a Winter Solstice baby – wrapped in the paradox of a sun that stands still right before the longest night of the year. From that day forward the days grow warmer and brighter until midsummer when all settles down for a quiet rest again.

The longest, darkest night followed by light and warmth? Yes, that sounds vaguely familiar! And that, sweet girl, is why I will never feel guilty about your birthday again. Indeed, it is the only day fitting for you.

 Similar Posts:

• Birth Story
• Micah’s Birth Story Part 2
• Micah’s Birth Story Part 1

Turnaround

After being coaxed out of the birthing pool I got on the bed and worked through some contractions in an inverted “V” position. Cindy’s goal in suggesting this acrobatic feat (besides getting a good laugh) was to encourage baby’s head to disengage and then re-engage at the proper angle.  Daniel really, really wanted to tweet this photo but held back out of kindness. He HATES this bathrobe!

Cindy gave me one final adjustment to help baby’s head reposition and . . .

Finally, something worked. Like magic.

I had barely been able to walk for the past 24+ hours. After that final adjustment I started stomping around the house like a parade elephant.

BOOM BOOM THOMP!!! Whoosh?

Within just a few minutes of my one-woman-parade the pressure increased so much I thought I needed to use the restroom. I headed for the toilet and sat down.

WHOOOOSH!!!

12:38 pm: My water broke. Since that hadn’t happened with Katie (it was still intact when I was pushing her out so my midwives had to break it) I just sat there, trying to figure out if I’d ruptured an organ.

When I finally realized what had happened I was terrified. When a woman’s water breaks in the hospital she is put “on the clock,” meaning she has to deliver within a certain time frame or the doctor will insist on a c-section. I thought it was the same for homebirths and since my labor was progressing so slowly I thought I’d just bought myself a big fat lemon of a birth. After Cindy reassured me we had DAYS left on our clock I relaxed and tried to assess my situation.

The relief from pressure in my belly was ah-MAZ-ing. I stood up, put on some fancy new Depends, and began walking through contractions. With each one more amniotic fluid came out, reducing the pressure. I don’t imagine there will ever be a time when wetting my pants will be as delightful as it was right then. My mind, which had been overwhelmed by indecision about what to do next (rest or not, walk or lay down, etc.) cleared.

Rather than try to figure things out, I put myself in Cindy’s hands. From then on it was “Yes Ma’am” to whatever Cindy suggested. Labor on the bed? Okay. Two more like this? You’re the boss.

Longer, Stronger and Closer Together

That’s what contractions are supposed to be like when you’re near the end, right? I thought so. My contractions were ten minutes apart at this point. I could have told you my whole life story while waiting between them, so when Cindy told me we should probably get in the tub and get ready to push I was completely dumbfounded.

Push? Now? Cindy informed me that Lynsey, our birth photographer, was on her way. I could tell by the way she said it that Lynsey was racing to get here, and that was when it finally hit that I was almost there.

Despite all my second-guessing I was going to make it and not have to be transported to a hospital. I climbed in the tub and wept for joy.

Breathing through a contraction

The front door opened and in ran Katie, eyes glowing with excitement. My mother-in-law Marian and sister-in-law Kristine trailed behind, followed shortly thereafter by Lynsey Stone, the rock star of birth photography.

It was standing room only when everyone finally gathered. There was my all-star birth team: Cindy Haggerton (midwife #1), Christy Martin (midwife #2), and Alexa Gumm (doula).  Surrounding them were my Mom (Gigipotamus), Marian (mother-in-law), Kristine (sister-in-law), Katie and Lynsey.

Left to right: Kristine, Katie, Gigi, Christy Martin, Dr. Cindy Haggerton

Daniel climbed in the tub with me and held my hips together as I prepared to push.

Resting between contractions

The contractions were still ten minutes apart, so Christy gave me a homeopathic remedy to help make them stronger and closer. The first contraction I had after taking it resulted in baby’s entire head being born. That’s good stuff, I’d say!

We had to wait ten more minutes for another good contraction, but when it hit baby’s body was out. I wish I could insert some suspense about baby’s gender here, but ya’ll already know we had a boy. For us, though, this was the first moment we knew our “sense” about this pregnancy had been correct. We’d never come up with a name for a girl and toward the end of the labor I didn’t even pretend I was trying to be objective. It was “he” and “him” and “Micah” all the way.

Micah came out extremely blue, but I saw that at a good friends birth before so I wasn’t alarmed . . . at first. But as the seconds ticked by and he remained limp in my arms I started asking “is he okay?” He was not breathing. My AMAZING, COMPETENT midwives worked quickly to revive him, rubbing and stimulating him until he gave a good, loud cry. It took two long minutes, but it didn’t freak me out because Cindy said he was okay and I trust her that much. Cindy later told me that his umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around both his neck and body when he was born, basically choking him until they intervened. I love my midwives. LOVE LOVE LOVE those women.

After our little scare Katie climbed in the tub with and welcomed her baby brother while I stared at Daniel in amazement.

Throughout this whole pregnancy we worked to overcome the barriers that had prevented me from reaching out to him when I was in labor with Katie.

We succeeded.

Bringing Micah into the world is one of the (if not THE) most intimate experience of our marriage. Daniel was with me every moment . . . comforting me, rubbing my back as I puked all over him, literally holding me up through contractions until I could feel the strain in his muscles. His love was present, physical and real. He showed up for me when I needed him most and I have never been more in love with him than I am today.

Random Reflections

1 week postpartum belly shot

Since I got the Sept. 12 birthday I wanted for Micah I don’t regret my decision to rest and try to delay. However, I will always wonder if making a different decision would have changed the course of the birth. Many of my friends have “butter births” that go so quickly the midwives barely make it in time to catch baby. So far I have only succeeded when the process involved 30 hours of pre-labor drama which exhaust me so much that I start talking jibberish. I like lizards . . . seriously?

My confidence in my ability to birth a baby has been somewhat shaken, but my confidence that I am doing something right in the kitchen has never been stronger. My placenta was HUGE and extremely healthy. Because of the length between contractions my midwives were concerned I may have excessive bleeding (not sure why), but instead my bleeding was lighter than what’s considered normal. Cindy thinks both of these were a direct result of all the good food I ate while carrying Micah. Go me!

Oh, here’s the surprise ending: Micah finally has a middle name!

Welcome, Micah Cole! We love you!

That, dear friends, is the secret of how I lost 30 pounds in 3 hours. Somehow I’m guessing my method will not be making the bestseller list anytime soon!

Similar Posts:

• Micah’s Birth Story Part 1
• My Winter Solstice Waterbirth
• Birth Story

Warning: This is a BIRTH story. It’s graphic by nature and not for shock value. The pics are pretty tame, but you’ll have to decide on the narrative yourself

I Lost 30 Pounds in 3 Hours . . . This is How I Did It

This is probably not the most common way to begin a birth story, but in my view birth is a completely paradoxical experience. People talk about how it is one of the most sacred, life-changing experiences a woman can have.

So true . . .  but no one reverently whispered amen when I pointed my bum at them and began pushing Babypotamus out on my hands and knees. They may have prayed, but it was probably along different lines. Anyway . . .

There is a lot of talk about how empowering it is. Which, again, is totally true . . . as long as you’re first willing to feel the full brunt force of all your weakness, own up to it and then move past it.

There are other paradoxes, too. Time, for instance. Technically, I was in active labor for about 3 hours. What that doesn’t include was the far more difficult early labor that lasted 31 hours. The numbers are two sides of the same coin, but they sure do look different depending on which side I tell people about!

This is My Story: Irreverent and Honest With Some Mushy Parts, Too

Dr. Cindy and Me

Friday, September 10. 10:35 pm – Text from me to my midwife Cindy on her birthday – “How long can wine hold off labor? If I wake up tonight is it even possible to delay for 24 hours?”

10:37 pm – Response from Cindy - “Will only hold it off if it’s very early or warm up labor”

10:37 pm – Me to Cindy – “Okay just checking.”

10:38 pm – Response from Cindy – You know u r cracking me up. You still have an hour and 20 min ; – ) [To have the baby before midnight]

10:49 pm – Me to Cindy - You don’t know the half of it. I am standing in my birthday suit in the kitchen because I am washing my pants (the only ones that fit right now) so they will be clean in case I go into labor. Talk about paranoid. Going to bed now before doing something completely insane.”

Looking back, I wasn’t paranoid. Somewhere deep within I felt my body warming up for labor just an hour shy of the one day I didn’t want Babypotamus to be born. That’s the long and short of how my plans for this birth flipped upside down.

Fight or Flight

At Katie’s birth I had been timid and hesitant rather than proactive, practically running from the pain until I was completely spent. Because of that (and the fact that Katie was born with her fist up around her face) labor was a lot more difficult than it had to be. This time I planned to throw myself into the process wholeheartedly so that I could make progress while I still had the energy to finish.

Unfortunately, the last thing I wanted to do on September 11 was make progress and have a baby, so when I felt my body warming up I tried to stall it with warm baths, resting, etc. I have dubbed that 17 hour stretch Groundhog Day for labor. I wouldn’t let my body go forward and it wouldn’t go back, so I had the same. exact. contraction. All day long. By the end of the day I felt like I’d had a battering ram applied to the lower front of my pelvis. Great, I thought,  I haven’t even started yet and I already feel black and blue on the inside. Looking back, this is probably a huge part of the reason this labor ended up being so difficult. But I am getting ahead of  myself . . .

Alexa Gumm - Doula

When we got within a few hours of  September 12 I was ready to work. We called our birth team “first responder” – a gorgeous mother of four that happens to be a doula. When Alexa walked in around 10:45 I looked up at her kind, comforting expression and briefly forgot I was in labor.

Briefly.

Alexa began helping me find different positions to labor in. She rubbed my hands and feet, focusing on pressure points that help with pain around my ankles. With her guidance and encouragement and Daniel’s strength I finally ventured out for a walk in my neighborhood (If you’re new to the natural labor scenario, walking often does a lot to help labor progress).

She may have regretted that when I kindly puked all over the sidewalk AND her feet following a strong contraction.

Alexa was the only member of my birth team that wasn’t already a friend (or friend of a friend) prior to me getting pregnant, but that didn’t stop us from chatting about GMO’s in between contractions. She was totally in tune with me and didn’t miss a beat when I randomly blurted out “I like lizards.” Yes, I was borderline hallucinating at that point. At least I wasn’t back in Smurf Central like with Katie’s birth.

By 4:00 am (23 hours since my first early labor signs) I was exhausted. I’d worked hard, puked harder, and I was ready to know if it was getting me anywhere. We called Dr. Cindy and asked her to come check me. I thought I should be a 6-7 by then (okay I was really thinking 8 . . . I had worked hard!), so when she told me I was a 3-4 I was crushed. All that work for a THREE?

Since Cindy is also a chiropractor she gave me a quick exam and identified the problem. Babypotamus’ head was engaged deeply into my pelvis, which is usually very good. Unfortunately, it had engaged at a weird angle that was thwarting my ability to progress yet spurring my body to continue to try.

If I ever have another baby I am going to get adjusted immediately when I go into labor. I wasted 24 hours on contractions that were only partially effective. If that is going to be the case then they should hurt half as much! Since I don’t know how to work that kind of deal I want full payment for my pain

Cindy adjusted my hips and gave me two options:

A) Keep going despite being up for over 24 hours.

B) Take a Benadryl or 1/3 cup wine to help my body slow down and rest before it geared up again.

Since I obviously had a long road ahead, I opted B for Benadryl. I really wanted the wine (I LOVE red wine and I’d purchased an organic, sulfite-free bottle just in case), but I only wanted to take one shot at sedation and Cindy thought my body would be more responsive to the Benadryl. We sent our birth team home and settled into bed for a few hours rest.

It didn’t work. Baby’s head was too deeply engaged to allow the contractions to stop. I tried sleeping on the bed . . . no dice. Sitting backwards on the toilet. Nope. My attempt to rest ended up with me yelling deliriously in the background while Daniel dialed Cindy’s number.

She arrived a few minutes later and recommended we try the birthing tub. The morning was spent laboring in a deep pool of warm water, which compared to everything else up to that point was heaven, but compared to everyday life is ahem, much more like the other place.

Like the Breathe Right strip???

Breathing through a contraction

Despite having succeeded before, by this point I lost confidence in my ability to finish birthing Babypotamus at home. I could not seem to get on the same page with myself . . . either I was resting while my body tried to labor or vice-versa. To help things keep moving (or at least give this thing a fighting chance) Dr. Cindy coaxed me out of the tub and got me to try some new positions.

Between each contraction I kept hearing the phrase “transport” in my head. I imagined the OB cutting me open and pulling a big flap of my stomach up to get my baby. I thought of my baby entering the world while I layed on an operating table, unconscious and unable to be an advocate for him. I imagined the dingy cast of flourescent lights and rough, impersonal hands enveloping our baby. I imagined goop being slapped in his eyes and needles in his body while a nurse whisks him to the nursery to give him a bottle of Lord-Knows-What.  I wish I could say my mind never went there, but it did.* To be continued . . .

Pardon the guest blogging interruption, but I wanted to share this story while it was still relevant to all of you. I don’t want to capitalize on the guest blogger’s time any more than I already have, so look for Part Two of Micah’s birth story this weekend for the dramatic conclusion and surprise ending!

To read part two of Micah’s birth story, click here

* I know this is not what every cesarean is like, but it was my imagination of the worst-case scenario. The only doctor I trust was not within range and therefore I would be stuck with a complete stranger had we needed to transport. That scared me.Similar Posts:

• Micah’s Birth Story Part 2
• Birth Story
• My Winter Solstice Waterbirth

Hey mamas! After Micah was born I found myself reading his story over and over, but Katie’s sat untouched in a dusty corner. It’s was a “just the facts, ma’am” catalog of timestamps and pushing techniques . . . pretty much a total yawner. Now, I LOVED her birth, it was just that my story didn’t do it justice. So here is my second attempt: Elvis and Smurfs included for dramatic effect

In My Bedside Table . . .

There is a calender with your conception date circled on it. That is a fact. Doing the potty dance in the Walgreens checkout line while holding a pregnancy test was just a formality . . . I knew you were there three days in when I ate an entire jar of olives and drank the juice!

This story has moved to another page.Similar Posts:

• My Winter Solstice Waterbirth
• Micah’s Birth Story Part 1
• Micah’s Birth Story Part 2