I have thought about being a mother for what feels like a very long time, imagining rocking my baby and softly crooning the lullaby "All Aboard for Blanket Bay" like my mom used to sing.
But I never spent too much time envisioning the actual birth.
I know some women have a very defined idea of what they want their birthing experience to be like, but I tried not to think about it much. It has always been a source of anxiety for me. I think it started in college when I was forced to watch a video of women around the world giving birth for a Human Growth and Development class. It traumatized me for years. I still remember looking away as an African woman squatted to birth her baby, shrieking in a jungle, and a different mother in a tub turned as beet red as the surrounding water when her bundle of joy ripped out of her.
Let's just say that I never was a fan of TLC's "A Baby Story" after that.
I thought my fears would subside since I had Dan, my rock, to support me in the Labor Class we took during my eighth month, but he was as squeamish as I was. The instructor showed a birth video and when the woman passed the placenta, Dan gasped and hissed, "What the f*ck is that??" After watching the thirty minutes of a woman writhing in agony, I realized two things: 1) I wanted a drug-fueled childbirth. and 2) Well, there's no second thing. I just really, really wanted an epidural. I could reason that women have been birthing babies since the beginning of time, but after a marathon Googling session of "episiotomies" and "forceps", I was still terrified as I'm sure countless other women are. While I could marvel at the mamas who choose the all-natural route, I knew that it wasn't for me.
About twenty days before my due date, though, my OB, Dr. Porsche, (who turned out to be a total nightmare, but that's another story) called me. On a Friday night. It seems she had just been looking over test results and just realized I officially had thrombocytopenia, a condition that causes low blood platelets. Once she explained that this didn't affect the baby and I calmed down slightly, she continued with, ""If your blood platelets don't increase, you will not be able to have an epidural." I started to feel an edge of panic creep in as she continued with jargon, jargon, jargon..."need to put you on steroids to help the blood platelets to increase."
A few weeks later, my platelets had happily gone up to 89,000. I requested to have an anesthesiologist consult to see if I could have an epidural. The anesthesiologist was baldly honest with me.
"I have absolutely no problem giving you an epidural as long as your levels are above 70,000. But there is one doctor who wouldn't at that level because he never does any epidural for under 100,000. His name is Dr. Murphy. He's on call several days next week. If he's the anesthesiologist, I guarantee he will refuse to give you an epidural."
He concluded by looking at me and saying this word for word quote: "Keep your legs crossed on Sunday. He's on call then. Hopefully you won't have 'Murphy's Law'."
So that freaked me the hell out. Then, if that didn't already add to my growing fear, my doctor bullied me into scheduling an induction for 7 am the day after my due date just so we could avoid that bastard Murphy being on call and because she didn't know how long the steroids' effects would last. She rolled her eyes at me and snapped, "Blame the litigious nature of patients!" when I questioned the unprofessional conversation I had with the anesthesiologist, about why I could have an epidural if I happened to go into labor on one day but not another. Inducing labor simply because of the anesthesiologists' schedules seemed wrong, but I went along with the plan, although I Googled way too many stories about horribly painful contractions because of Pitocin during induced labor.
The day before the scheduled induction, Dan and I did absolutely everything we could to get labor naturally, from sex to the old wives tale eggplant recipe and spicy Chinese take-out to walking up and down hilly parks. No dice. By 9:30 pm, though, we resolved ourselves to setting our alarms to get up at 5 am so we could be on time to the induction. I was feeling crampy and anxious and finally drifted off to sleep several hours later.
Until my water broke at 1:00 a.m.
To me, it was like a champagne bottle popping, all "noowwww it's time to party!" From there, things moved very fast. I was screaming in delight and calling out, "Let's have a baby!" and throwing my overnight bag over Dan's shoulder. My mom didn't have time to put her contacts in, and we all jumped in the car.
By the time I was in my nightgown and connected to an IV, I was at six centimeters, 80% effaced, and time was measured by pain level.
By 2:30 am (level 7), I was projectile vomiting and sprayed Dan's hand.
By 3:30 am (level 8), I was writhing and white-knuckled, gripping the sides of my bed. Mom and Dan obliged me with total silence, rather than chanting "breathe! breathe!"
By 4:00 (level "ready for this shit to end"), I was practically putting a bulls-eye on my lower back for the epidural needle.
The nurse refused at first because she said the lab people were still counting the platelets. I was so proud of Dan when he growled, "It's been three hours since her blood sample was sent down. Whose cage do we need to rattle to get the epidural faster??"
Apparently, the squeaky wheel gets the blissful, pain-blocking medicine. Minutes later, we found out my platelets were blessedly still holding, and the anesthesiologist put in the catheter and medicine. I was at 9 centimeters and 100% effaced by the time my legs went all numb and floppy.
A happy girl once the epidural took effect, enjoying my lemon icy.
Posing for pictures while we waited the hour it took to dilate to 10 centimeters.
At 5:00 am, Rebecca, my nurse, had turned down the epidural, so I could start pushing.
It was like a sitcom birth episode for the next hour.
My mom held her breath with me, almost puked, and had to excuse herself to the bathroom.
A nurse who looked like a supermodel came in, and her one contribution was to simply croon, "You can do it, mama. Go, mama..." over and over again.
Rebecca straddled me, and we played tug of war with a towel at one point.
It was like a sitcom birth episode for the next hour.
My mom held her breath with me, almost puked, and had to excuse herself to the bathroom.
A nurse who looked like a supermodel came in, and her one contribution was to simply croon, "You can do it, mama. Go, mama..." over and over again.
Rebecca straddled me, and we played tug of war with a towel at one point.
6:00 am- I was exhausted and trying to dig in. The doctor finally entered and asked me if I wanted to watch the progress by having a giant mirror set up. Dan and I both responded, "Nope, there are some things you can't unsee." He had been staying above my head the entire time since we agreed that neither of us needed to have the visual of a stretched vag haunt us like the labor video had.
"Are you sure?" the doctor asked. "It might encourage you."
"I guess I could try it," I responded while Dan was furiously shaking his head.
I gasped "Oh, gosh!" when the mirror was set up which made all the nurses laugh. Dan and I couldn't look away. I could see his dark hair, which I know is a completely gross visual to write about, but to me, it was so inspiring. He would be here soon! Our son would be here!
And that's how I, a complete wimp, ended up watching every second as I pushed for the next hour. Dan was tearing up and kissing me. Mom was strong and so excited. Everyone was chanting.
At 6:55 am, the doctor said, "Give it all you've got", and then he was in the world so fast and they plopped him on me all warm and slippery and he took my breath away.
His cry was beautiful, even if it sounded like he was underwater. The doctor let me continue to hold him while she worked on me. Then, my mom and Dan had their turns. We sang "Happy Birthday". We all cried.
Our first family picture (or at least the first one that did not inadvertently have my vagina in it. Mom was on the pictures- ha ha!)
Second family picture, taken by the hospital photographer. We all are exhausted (only one of us is adorable and without bags under his eyes) from this very exciting night!
While I won't sugarcoat the process of recovering from labor, I will say that I am incredibly grateful for this night. So grateful for family. So grateful for this little boy.
The moment that sums it up for me is when we were finally alone as a family the next day. Dan turned to me with tears in his eyes and whispered, "I'm so happy. He's finally here. He's FINALLY here."
Welcome to the world, sweet Coleson.
