To my second daughter,
This is the story of your birth, but to really understand it you have to know about your older sister’s birth, too. M was born 2 years and 9 months ago, and it was sadly not an entirely pleasant experience. I was committed to a natural birth - and I got one - but it was very long and difficult for both of us (you can read all the details here, if you so desire). M’s birth taught me a lot about myself … lessons that were slowly revealed over time, that brought understanding and deep healing. I learned that it was okay to love and trust myself, to have faith in my body and heart instead of just my mind. Your sister taught me so many things, as did my journey through pregnancy with you, and I was determined to use this knowledge to make this birth better … for me and for you. I worked hard to ferret out, process and release any hidden fears or traumas that might interfere with things.
I was also determined to make the physical circumstances of your birth different. I made your experience of this pregnancy and birth my first priority. There were no ultrasounds or doppler waves to disturb the sanctity of your home. I hired a midwife and planned a home waterbirth. There would be no strangers, no bright lights, no injections or ointments. Just my hands, my arms, my chest. I wanted to make your transition from the womb to this world as peaceful as possible.
As the time drew near, I felt I had done everything I could; that I was so ready to welcome you into my arms. And then … I waited. Sometimes not very patiently, because my body was tired and my back hurt, but I knew you would come when you were ready.
My midwife had assured me that one thing we could know for sure was that this birth would be different. We didn’t know how it would be different, but it would definitely be different. And she was right. At around 12:15 PM on Wednesday April 30th, 2008 (2 days before your due date), I was lying in the recliner trying to take a nap when I felt a small gush. A tiny gush. Tiny enough that I convinced myself it was just a bit of pee, and there was no need to get up. I closed my eyes and tried to fall back asleep, but to no avail. About 45 minutes later I was still in the chair, talking on the phone, when I felt another small gush. And another. I knew I would have to investigate, and as I stood the floodgates opened, and your water poured down my legs, drenching my clothing. I was startled, as this was not at all what I had expected. Breaking M’s water was the one and only intervention I had in her birth, and it occurred when I stalled at 8 cm. I had always assumed your bag would stay intact until well into our labor, but I was wrong.
I quickly learned that this is a difficult way to begin a birth. There were no contractions, yet I knew they were coming sometime soon … but when? Minutes? Hours? Days? It was like hearing the starting gun go off, but being told I couldn’t run yet. My midwife advised me to continue about my day as normally as possible, to get rest if I could. But the constant leaking made it hard to do anything, and I quickly felt irritated and unsettled. I called your father home from work so he could set up the birth tub and finish with last minute preparations. Then I sat in a chair and tried not to soak the few remaining clothes I owned that still fit me. And I wondered about what was coming.
Finally, around 2 PM, I felt a teeny, tiny contraction. I continued to have very mild contractions, but very sporadically … every half hour, or longer. Around 6:00 PM, I had several in a row that were closer together; maybe 7 minutes apart. Finally! We were getting somewhere. I even called my midwife. But then they petered out again and spaced back out to every half hour or so, with an occasional run at 5 or 10 minutes apart. They were still laughably easy (and finally the leaking had stopped) … I could walk and talk through them, play with your sister, carry on with my life.
I started to wonder if that was part of the problem, if it was time for me to turn my focus inward to really get things going. I spent some time with your sister before she went to bed, giving her my undivided attention as a mother of one for the last time. At 8:30 PM I retreated to our birth space in the basement, lit some candles, turned on some music, and turned my attention to the matter at hand. I sank deep into my body with each contraction, welcoming it, imagining your head and my uterus working in concert to soften, stretch and open my cervix, your portal to this world. I relaxed myself completely, let my tongue fall from the roof of my mouth, let my throat be loose, swiveled on the birth ball, stood and rotated my hips in figure eights. I felt no fear and no pain. I was ready to do this work. And still the contractions stayed short and sporadic. The work I was doing felt good, but I couldn’t be sure it was productive - it felt too easy. I started to fear that I was going through prodromal labor again, like I did with your sister. I had slept terribly the night before, and exhaustion was starting to set in. I didn’t sleep for many days during your sister’s birth, and repeating that was one of my greatest fears. I was starting to think I would be up all night with these piddly contractions, going nowhere. How could I know if they were even doing anything? Despite my best efforts, I was feeling discouraged … beginning to doubt. I read through the beautiful cards and poems my friends had gifted me during my mother blessing and felt some renewed faith, but it was hard to maintain. I called some friends, seeking encouragement. They told me to rest and relax, to try to sleep, maybe even have a glass of wine. That I had to let go and stop being afraid.
I dragged myself upstairs and poured a glass of wine. I would drink it and lie down in the recliner to see if I could sleep. I wasn’t hopeful - my experience with your sister told me these contractions were just irritating enough to keep me awake - but I felt I had to at least try. I settled into the chair around 10:30 PM, and as expected, being in a reclined position made the contractions more difficult to deal with. I desperately wanted to lie on my side in the bed, but I knew my hip and back pain made that impossible. I decided to stick with the recliner and tough it out for a bit to see if I could rest. After a few contractions, I realized they were coming closer together. I had steadfastly refused to do anything more than guess at the frequency of contractions up to this point, but I finally relented and started looking at my watch. I needed to prove to myself that something was actually happening. For an hour, contractions came every 10 minutes on the nose. Perhaps the wine relaxed me just enough to let go and allow things to proceed. But as predicted, sleep was impossible, and at about 11:45 PM I finally threw in the towel. I would return to the basement, return to my focus, and make the best of the situation. If that meant being up all night with easy, short contractions spaced at 10 minutes, well so be it. There was nothing I could do about it. I sat and talked with your father for a while, and then he went downstairs with me to help get me settled. At 12:30 AM, I sent him back upstairs to get some sleep.
I was trying to trust the process of this birth, but I couldn’t help but worry about your posterior position because I knew it could contribute to a pokey labor. My back was bothering me a little during contractions but not between, so I didn’t have classic back labor. But I decided maybe I should encourage you to turn anyway. I kneeled on some pillows and leaned forward on the birth ball, rocking lightly through contractions, which seemed to help a little with the back pain. It also dawned on me that they seemed to be more frequent, maybe lasting longer. Again I consulted my watch, and many of them were now 5 minutes apart, some lasting as long as a minute. But they were still very manageable. More intense than earlier, yes, but I was still able to relax and welcome them, sink into them and work with them. I did not feel that dealing with them was particularly challenging. Earlier, my midwife had told me that she would come whenever I felt I needed support, but that she definitely needed to know when the contractions became hard enough that I was having to “recover” in between them. I was feeling neither of these things, so I decided to just continue on, knowing this could last a long time. I didn’t want to bother anyone, and I was doing fine.
A little after 1 AM, things kicked up another notch. The contractions were getting longer, although they were still mostly manageable except at the very peak. For those few seconds I started having thoughts like, “I think I’d like to get in the tub,” or “maybe I should get your father down here.” But then I would slide off the peak, feel immediate relief, and tell myself I would work through a few more before doing anything. He needed his sleep, and I was afraid I would slow things down by getting in the tub too early. I was still not convinced that things were really happening. I was making low, humming vocalizations and smelling my lavender oil to stay centered, but it still seemed too easy, especially compared to your sister’s birth. This couldn’t possibly be “real labor.” (Apparently, my benchmark was not a good one.)
By 1:30 AM, I still felt that I was handling things well, but I knew it would take your father a little while to top off the tub and I wanted to make sure it was ready by the time I needed it. I called him and asked him to come down and help me.
By 2 AM the tub was ready, and I made a final trip to the bathroom for a Hibiclens wash (I was GBS+). I was supposed to do them every 4 hours, and I wanted to make sure I could stay in the tub for as long as possible. I asked your father to note the time so I could tell the midwife when the last wash had been. I gingerly got one leg into the tub, and realized that it was far too hot. It was so hard for me to get in and out, though, that I went ahead and pulled my other leg in and stood in the scalding water, knowing I didn’t dare lower my body into it. I urged your father to hurry up and drain some water out and get things cooled down. I was definitely feeling the need for the water now. As he scurried about trying to get a siphon going, I leaned my hands on the side of the tub and swiveled my hips through contractions. They were starting to challenge me now, although I still felt like I was coping well.
The cold water was coming into the tub at a trickle, and I was mad at how long this was taking. I yelled at your father to turn it on full blast and he ran off to comply. It was still too hot, but I didn’t care. I lowered myself into the water and felt instant relief (this was most welcome, since the water had not helped me much during your sister’s birth). The contractions were still hard, but it took the edge off and I felt that I was handling things again. I was beginning to wonder if it was time to call the midwife, though. I still felt that I was coping well and not feeling that I had to “recover” in between contractions, but things were definitely picking up. I continued to be uncertain, so I asked your father to time contractions so that we could provide her with some additional information that would help us determine if it was time yet. I was hoping to get a good 20-30 minute stretch timed to make sure we were in a good pattern. But your father was still running around, trying to get hot water out of the tub, cold water into the tub, cold washclothes to place on my neck, and timing contractions on top of that proved to be too much. The few that he managed to get down told me they were now 3 minutes apart, and anywhere from 40 seconds to a minute and a half long. I was still coping well and not yet feeling like I had to recover in between. At 2:30 AM I asked him to call the midwife anyway, even though his sporadic timing meant I wasn’t satisfied that we had managed to show there was a consistent pattern. It would have to be good enough.
As he was dialing, I was suddenly gripped by a strong contraction, stronger than I had felt all labor. It left me panting and gasping, exactly the sort of “recovery” my midwife had spoken of earlier. I could hear him answering her questions, and was rocked by another hard contraction. I yelled out for him to tell her the last two were “doozies” … I was no longer wondering if it was too soon to call. He hung up. She was on her way.
Another contraction rolled over me. I was staying on top of things, but just barely. I moaned loudly and smelled my lavender. It dawned on me that this was finally the real deal, and it could still last for a very long time. I did not believe that the hours leading up to this had done much, and was sure that at best there were still hours of this ahead of me. I started to get afraid.
I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my stomach, and grabbed it with my hands. I was in between contractions, so that wasn’t it. I felt like I was being poked, kicked, and I wondered if you were changing position. In hindsight, I realize that whatever it is you did, it was in preparation for launch.
The next contraction was stronger still, and I felt that I was losing my ability to cope. My mouth opened and I started groaning, still trying to maintain a low pitch. I gasped out that if I had another one like that he was to call the midwife back and tell her to hurry. Another contraction came on, and did I? Was that downward pressure? Was I imagining things? My mind still questioned, but I opened my mouth anyway, “Call her back. Tell her to hurry.” I didn’t mention the pressure, afraid that I might be wrong. Your father secretly rolled his eyes, wondering how often our midwife must hear this line.
The next contraction came, and suddenly I was a tiny ship tossed into the maw of a giant hurricaine. I was lost, utterly lost. I threw the lavender to the floor, gripped the side of the tub and howled. The small part of me still controlled by my brain was consumed by utter terror. The rest of me was turned over to the primal power of birth. There was nothing to do but hold on for dear life. But the pain … oh the pain. I was rocked again, and yet again, with barely a moment to spare in between. I was upside down and inside out, I didn’t know how I could go on and didn’t know how to make it stop. A fourth contraction hit, and I knew, knew it was coming, could feel the freight train in the distance. I was completely terrified, but it didn’t matter. Halfway through the contraction my body took over and I suddenly felt my uterus turning inside out. I was screaming and growling and managed to yell out, “I’m puuuuuussssshhhhhiiiinnnngggg. CALL THE MIDWIIIIIIFE!!!!!” Your father had already dialed and had her on the phone. It was 2:38 AM. I’m fairly certain I went through transition in less than 8 minutes.
And oh, it hurt. Pushing your sister out had been a breeze compared to this. I’d had no urge to push, and while the contractions hurt like crazy, the rest was up to me. This … this was entirely different. I had another contraction and felt you barrel down my birth canal. I reached my hand down to feel your head as it landed on my perineum. “BABY IS COMING!” I yelled, and steeled myself for the next contraction. My mind was whirling, knowing the midwife would never make it, but my body told it to shut the hell up, there was work to do. I was on my knees, leaning forward onto the side of the tub. I held on for dear life with one hand, and kept my other hand on your head. The contraction hit and I felt the top of my uterus crush downward. There was no “breathing the baby out,” no panting and gentle easing to allow for stretching. You were coming. Now. I felt myself stretching, stretching, and your head grew bigger, bigger and bigger still in my hand. There was a brief pause and my uterus pressed down again. The burning was agonizing, and suddenly your head was filling my hand, my fingers were wrapping around it, and then the sweet relief of release. Your head was out, the contraction ended. I stroked your silky hair with my fingers, amazed at how soft you were. “The head is out.” There was stunned silence, and then, “Are you serious?” Your father, on the phone with the midwife, had no idea just how far things had gone. I knew you were coming on the next push. I knew how to handle a water birth, to not put you back under once your face had touched air, but your father didn’t. I was still on my knees, and worried what he would do. I had seconds until the next contraction. I screamed, “Ask her what to do! Ask her what to do!” The contraction started and I was instantly in agony. It felt like he had grabbed you and was pulling you upwards. “ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?!?! DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TOUCH MEEEE!!!!” He assured me he wasn’t, and I suddenly knew it was your shoulders as you spun inside me. My body pushed and you slid out. The next few seconds are a blur. I don’t know how I did it, but I must have hooked my fingers under your armpit. I pulled you down between my legs as I simultaneously came up on my knees, rotated and sat back against the wall of the pool. As a woman who has been crippled with back pain for several months, hobbling about like an invalid, I must say I admire the grace I mustered in that moment. It was 2:42 AM.
I knew you wouldn’t try to breathe until you felt the air touch your face, so it was safe to keep you under for a few moments. I wanted your transition from womb to this world to be as gentle as possible. I cradled your head in my hands and let you float under the water. I stared at your face and you opened your eyes and gazed back at me through the water. It was just for a moment, but felt like an eternity as I sank into your beautiful dark eyes. I will never forget it for the rest of my life. I slowly lifted you and let your face break through the water, letting your body stay under. You floated peacefully, but made no cry, no effort to breathe that I could tell. I lifted your limp body and realized the cord was wrapped loosely around your neck. It was a little short and I didn’t want to tug on the placenta, so your father helped me untangle it. I brought you into my arms and gently rubbed your back, saying, “Hi baby, breathe for your mama.” You finally let out a tiny cry and started to pink up. We had done it, Sophia, just you and me, our bodies entwined in an intricate, beautiful and intense dance that has been perfected over the milennia.
I could hardly believe it. It was only 12 minutes since I had decided contractions were getting hard and it was time to call the midwife. A harrowing 12 minutes to be sure, but I was in complete shock that I was actually holding you in my arms. After a few minutes, I realized we still didn’t know if you were a boy or a girl. I had been convinced even since before conception that you would be a boy. Almost every single person in my life felt the same way. I carefully moved the cord aside and could not believe my eyes when I saw you were a girl. I even called your father over for a second opinion, to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. I was absolutely thrilled that I had given M a sister.
And that is the story of your birth, little one, although it wasn’t exactly what I had planned. I have always admired women who choose to birth unassisted although I have never felt personally comfortable with what I perceive to be the risks. But I’m guessing you - the baby who didn’t even like being listened to with a fetoscope - planned it this way all along. I have learned so much on this journey through pregnancy and birth with you. You reminded me over and over to trust myself, to listen to myself, to care for myself. You had faith in me even when I didn’t. There were moments of doubt during this birth, but in the end I followed my body and my heart, and they led me straight to you. I am so proud of myself. I worked so hard to prepare for this birth, but I could not forget how brutal your sister’s birth was … could not entirely let go of the fear that birth would be like that no matter what I did. That all of my healing and preparation would be rendered useless in the face of such an overwhelming force. But now I have learned the truth - birth does not have to be brutal. Was it painful? Yes. Were there moments of fear? Yes. Was it incredible and amazing and powerful and would I do it all again in a heartbeat? Yes, yes, yes!
I thank you for sharing this journey with me, my beautiful Sophia, and for all that you have taught me along the way. I am honored you have chosen me to be your mother, and I am so excited about the life we are starting together. Oh, and you were 8 lb 4 oz, and 20 3/4 inches long. Absolutely perfect.
Love,
mama
+++++
Some final notes …
Due to the speed of the birth, I had a decent tear and am on bedrest trying to get that healing started. I wanted to do a lying in period anyway, so this has forced me to take it easy and just spend my time falling in love with my new girl. Overall I am feeling really good, though, and more than 48 hours later still feeling an intense birth high. What an incredible difference compared to M’s birth, when all I could think was, “I don’t ever want to go through that again.” I cannot say how ecstatic I am that this birth was an enjoyable, empowering experience. It is very healing.
My milk came in last night and Sophia is nursing like a pro (no nipple pain either!). This is such a departure from my experience with M, and it’s a true pleasure to nurse a baby and not feel like I’m torturing her. I am feeling so much more confident this time around too … I didn’t realize until now that I lived in a certain amount of terror after having M (no doubt exacerbated by her birth trauma issues). It is the early days still, so all she does is eat and sleep, but that is fine with me. I love watching her face while she dreams … she purses her lips, wrinkles her forehead and smiles. I can’t tell for sure, but it looks like she might have dimples. She already holds my heart in her hands.
M is a bit unsettled, which is to be expected, but she seems to be making the adjustment well. She loves to hug and kiss her little sister, but she’s not so keen on all the attention we give her. She insists that I put Sophia down and hold her instead, and whoever is slinging Sophia should be slinging her instead. I try to see beyond her behavior and focus on the feelings that are driving it. I put words to those feelings for her, asking her if she feels replaced, and talking about how hard it is to see her mama giving all her attention to someone else. I reassure her that we both still love her very much, but I know it will just take time for her to grow into her role as an older sister.
It melts my heart to watch Mr. Gearhead with his new daughter. He makes faces at her and tickles her nose. He whisks her away for diaper changes and I can hear him talking to her in the other room. I can practically see the love oozing out of his pores.
I look at Sophia and simply cannot believe she was inside my body just a few days ago. What a radical transformation for all of us, but I welcome this new stage of my life with open arms. I was sitting in the recliner with her yesterday and M crawled in to be with us. They laid, one on each side of me, and gazed at each other across my chest, M leaning over to kiss Sophia on the forehead, nose and eyes, and offering her a toy. I wrapped my arms around them and held my girls. My two girls. A new adventure has begun.
