Birth Story

I've had a few requests on other sites to give Leah's birth story, so I'm posting here to make it easier to get to!

On Friday, September 19th, I woke up just before 7:30 am. As I got up from my bed, I felt a gush, and instantly knew that my water had broken. It wasn’t a big gush, and since it was my first pregnancy, I doubted myself. I called my sister, who is also a doula, and she recommended that I call the Birth Center and have them check to see if it was indeed my water that had broken. I called the Birth Center and made an appointment for 8:30 am. I took a shower and prepared myself to go into labor. I was extremely excited and could hardly contain myself! My mom went with me to the appointment, and we were both elated when they confirmed that my water had broken. I was dilated 2 cm, and was instructed to go back home and wait for active labor.

I did have a bit of concern, though, since the Birth Center (in order to keep their doors open) requires you to be in active labor within 24 hours of when your water breaks. This can put a lot of stress on a soon-to-be-mother!

I headed home and called my husband. I told him he didn’t need to leave work just yet, but I would call him if I was having regular contractions. Some time passed and I tried to start contractions. I walked, did Bradley exercises like squatting, tailor sitting, and pelvic rocks. Still, my contractions were not coming very strong or very regular. I called my husband and told him that if he could get off, to go ahead and do that so that he could help me through first stage if it ever progressed.

The midwife had instructed me to call at noon to check in and let her know what was going on. I informed her that my contractions came only as I was walking or moving, and stopped as soon as I sat or lay down. She told me to take castor oil, and take it again in two hours if contractions were not strong & regular. After downing the awful stuff twice, I called the midwife at 2:30 that afternoon, and since my contractions still had not started, she gave me the “ok” to start taking Black Cohosh. I took ten drops every two hours for a total of four administrations. Still, not much happened.

But by 7:30 pm, I was actually beginning to see the signs of first stage labor. My contractions were coming a little more regularly and stronger, even when I lay down. As we had been instructed, we prepared to go to the Birth Center and meet with the on-call midwife, who would perform a non-stress test to see exactly how active my labor was becoming. Almost as soon as we started to drive, my contractions stopped, and did not start again until we got to the Birth Center, and even then, they were not as strong or as regular as they were at home. The midwife instructed us to get some rest and come back in the morning, and she would check to see if I had dilated.

At about 1:30 am, my contractions were coming strong and almost regular. I was no longer able to talk through them, and I was turning inward. It seemed to be the signs of late first stage, and my husband said we should call my sister and have her come down in case we had to leave quickly. I called my sister, my mom, and my mother-in-law. Everyone sat around in our room, making sure I rested, timing my contractions, and keeping me in a positive mood. The contractions continued until 7:00 am, when it was time to leave for the Birth Center again.
However, when I got into the car, my contractions stopped almost immediately. When I got to the Birth Center, my contractions still were not coming. I was checked and the midwife told us that I was still only dilated 2 cm. 4 cm is considered active labor, and I had not met the deadline.
When the midwife told us that we had to be transferred to the hospital to be induced, I cried. This was not at all the birth I had hoped for—or planned for. I had done everything right! I had eaten right, done the exercises, practiced relaxation, read the books, gone to class—and part of me wondered if it was all for nothing.

We arrived at the hospital at about 8:30 am. We checked in and I could feel my stress rising as we waited for a room. Once we were in a room, I was immediately put on a fetal monitor, and soon the nurse was putting in my IV drip of pitocin. During this time, the doctor on call had also changed, so the doctor I had originally picked as my back up was not going to be there for the birth, so I also had a new doctor that I had never met before.

After starting the pitocin, I was checked, and was still only at 2 cm. I was, however, having very regular contractions, and they were stronger than the ones I had when I was at home. These I was able to handle with relaxation, and for a long time, I was still able to talk through them. The mood in the room was light and I knew my family was attempting to stay positive about the situation, though in my mind, I was scared, angry, and disappointed.

Hours passed and the contractions became stronger, one on top of the other. I was at 28 milli-units of pitocin, and was still able to handle them with relaxation. I was focused inward, no longer able to talk through contractions, and the pain was pushing me towards asking for meds—but I was stubborn and I endured through them with the relaxation methods we had learned in the class. I breathed deep, made sure that not one muscle was contracted, and if necessary, moaned through the pain. My husband wiped my face with a cool cloth and spoke encouragingly to me as my sister (the doula), my mom, and my best friend massaged me. They called my attention to tense muscles when a contraction started, reminding me to relax, and helped me to breathe through the contraction, releasing the pain as I exhaled.

At one point I really wanted the medication, I was nauseas, I repeatedly said that I couldn’t do it and that I didn’t want to do it, I had mood swings (including swatting at my husband), and I even wanted to push. But I didn’t say anything, because I was afraid that if I mentioned that, the nurse would check me and tell me that I wasn’t dilated enough to push yet. But still, all the emotional signposts of transition were there.

Soon after this turning point, the doctor came in. Even at double the amount of pitocin that it normally takes for a woman to be in active labor, my contractions stopped when he entered, showing quite obviously the emotional stress I was in. He checked me, and my sister asked him not to say anything unless it was good news. After checking me, he said nothing but looked at the nurse. He went to her and told her quietly that I was only at 2.5 cm.

My sister, who, being the doula, had become the liaison between us and the medical team, spoke to the doctor outside. He told her that he wanted to let us keep waiting, but because of the ruptured bag of waters and the risk of infection, and because I was still only at 2 cm, it was looking like it might end in a c-section. My sister knew this was the last thing I wanted, and suggested to him that they try an epidural to relax me. He agreed to it, and they came to me with that option. My sister, being a great advocate of natural unmedicated birth, was the one to give me the news. I asked her if she would do it if she were in my position. She said she would, because I would have to get an epidural if I needed the c-section anyways, and it was worth a try to avoid the c-section. I agreed to it, and again I cried as I waited for the anesthesiologist to come in.

The pain of the needle in my back was far worse than the contractions, even on pitocin. While I was able to breathe, relax, and simply moan through the contractions, I screamed when I felt the needle go in. Soon after, I lost feeling in my legs and no longer felt the contractions. I did, however, feel another gush similar to the one I had felt that morning. I also felt shaky and cold, a side-effect of the epidural.

Ten minutes later, the nurse came in to give me a catheter. While she had me “open”, she checked me as well, and lo and behold, I was at 10 cm! She called the doctor in and before I knew it, my mom and sister were holding my legs up to support me (as I could not move them myself), and the nurse was watching the monitor for a contraction so I could know when to push.

Within three pushes, my daughter had been born. Moments after, she was on my chest, skin-to-skin, and a few moments later, she was nursing. She was pink, alert, and happy to be in my arms.

Overall, the experience was not at all what I had hoped for or planned for, but the class was worth taking. Because of the class, I was able to strive for what was best for my child, including waiving certain perinatal procedures like the vitamin K injection, eye antibiotics, and the Hepatitis B immunization. I knew what to ask for, what to reject, and how to deal with the situation, because I was informed. I was educated in how to relax through pain, and I knew the effect of different medications and treatments, and was able to choose which ones to accept. I am grateful that my daughter was born in a safe place, and that neither of our lives had been threatened during the ordeal, but now I know the effects of emotional stress that is put on me due to the deadlines required. I know my body even better than before, and I am looking forward to my next birth. Now that I know how I labor, I believe a home birth may be better suited to me, as there are not as many restrictions or deadlines as there are at the Birth Center.

I would encourage anyone who reads this not to be discouraged and to assume that because this one birth did not work out the way we had hoped, that it is useless or a waste to take a Bradley class. The information and techniques we learned in the class were vital, and because the doctor knew that we had taken the class, he adapted his normal routine and was willing to adapt it to our preferences (such as fewer vaginal checks, and allowing as little intervention as was safe). The Bradley class we took with Kyla was invaluable, and I am sure we will be taking it again when the next one comes along. That one, we think, will be a home birth. :)

Thankful, Not Guilty

"I'm about to collapse," I told him. "My body is just so tired!" My husband dutifully took our daughter from me and ordered me to bed. "Let me take her and you go sleep," he told me. I trudged back to the bedroom feeling relieved, but also feeling guilty. Wasn't it my job to take care of her? Am I a failure as a mother because I can't handle this stage of hers?

You see, the last couple of weeks, Leah has been draining my energy (in a good way, of course) and hasn't been going to bed before 11:30. Well, I'm ready to call it quits around 10:00, but she just doesn't want to go to sleep. So the past week or so, I've been leaving her with Mitch and he will put her to sleep later while I catch up on sleep earlier.

I felt a little guilty. The title of "full-time stay-at-home mom" was weighing heavily on my shoulders. I felt that if I showed any weakness or allowed myself to "indulge" in an extra hour of sleep (be it needed or not) that I wasn't doing my job. "He shouldn't have to care for her," I would say to myself. But he hasn't had work the last few weeks (over a month now, actually), and he stays up late anyways, so why not allow him to take care of her so I can catch up on sleep? He is completely capable of caring for her, and many times, he's quite efficient at getting her to sleep. Not only that, but he is just as worthy of spending time with her as I am. Allowing him to spend time with her before bed, and putting her to sleep, gives him a chance to bond with her and to actually be a dad, as opposed to the sidelines observer that he tends to become when I monopolize on her care.

Mitch did not have the luxury of learning to care for children at a young age. I became an aunt at ten, and cared for my nieces many times over the years. I volunteered in the church nursery, and I babysat for friends of the family. I have a great deal of experience when it comes to babies and kids, and mothering is very natural for me. Mitch, on the other hand, never had those experiences, and he is still getting used to the idea of being a dad and how to change a diaper, burp, soothe, and entertain the baby. He still frets when she fusses for no apparent reason (perfectly natural for a baby her age), or when she won't go to sleep right away when she's obviously tired (because babies can't self-soothe at this age, and can't figure out how to fall asleep).

It's adorable, really, and I'm glad he's so willing to care for her, even if he doesn't put the diaper on the way I like it--and even if he questions my parenting knowledge and abilities. And it's those times when I must humble myself and admit that even though this is how I learned to do it, there may be another way. Even when I know that I've been caring for children much longer than he has, and have even taken child development classes and the Red Cross babysitting course, and--and--

And I realize that the one thing they can't teach is how to really love your child. I love my nieces, but it's nowhere near the love I feel for my own daughter. And that love can teach you what no class can. The love my husband feels for our daughter is a better teacher than all the courses I've taken and the experience I've had. It has taught him to put another above himself, to calm himself when he sees that his own panic and stress affect her mood, and to allow himself to be taught by someone who knows just a little bit more about basic infant care (namely, me). There is no substitute for a parent's love. I can teach him how to give her a bath, but only he can love her like he does.

Those times when I hand her over so that I can have a break he sees as his opportunity to love her and to be her dad. Those times when even my own motherly love won't give me enough strength to last another hour waiting for her to go to sleep--when I am truly honest with myself and realize I can't always be a martyr and I do need to sleep in order to be a good mother--those are the times that he cherishes and he sees as his chance to be with her, play with her, comfort her, and love her.

I'm thankful for his love, and I refuse to feel guilty for allowing him to be her dad. Because I love her so dearly, I have to allow her to have a dad as well as a mom. I can't be the only parent, and she needs his love and care as much as she needs my own love and care. I could go on and on about this, but I won't. I will simply leave it at this: I am thankful for my husband, and the love he has for myself and our daughter. I am thankful.

Catching Up

Yes, I finally did give birth. It was long and not the birth I had planned, but now I have a beautiful daughter to hold in my arms, and despite the let-down I felt at having to birth at the hospital instead of the birth center, and having to be put on pitocin and eventually receiving an epidural when I wanted a meds-free birth--despite all that, I am glad she's come and it was totally worth it.

So what's happened in the last month that I haven't posted anything new? Well, besides giving birth, I've had to adjust to not only being at home almost all the time, but also to being a mom. I've never been a mom before, and regardless of how much time I've spent babysitting, in the nursery at church, or just hanging around my nieces and nephew, being a mom is still very new. Of course, the basics I perfected (or at least got used to) while babysitting, etc.--like diapering and playing and soothing a baby--are helpful. But there are many new aspects to mothering that I had never experienced, and one can never know these things unless you've been a mother. Things like nursing, and the incredible feeling you get when you look at your precious child and realize that she is the little being that was inside of you for 40 weeks--and that she's just so perfect! Or when she's crying (and though with other babies, if you pick them up, there's a 50/50 chance that they'll keep crying, because they want Mommy, and you aren't good enough, no matter how many animal crackers you give them!), and you just pick her up and talk to her softly, and suddenly, she's calm--just because she's with Mommy.

I've learned the art of nursing in public. It's still a work in progress, but we're getting there. And I've learned the importance of napping, and getting a shower whenever possible, because you never know when you'll be able to shower again! I've discovered the beauty of staying in bed until 10:00 (albeit nursing and such during that time), but I've learned that it comes at a price: only sleeping about 3 hours the night before. I've also experienced the utter amazement that lullabies (or any song sung softly) really do work!

There are times, though, when I don't want to be a mother for a few minutes. Like last night, when I'm trying to get in a good meal, and knowing that my daughter nursed just half an hour before, and hearing her cries of hunger once again. Or there are those nights every once in a while, when I really don't want to get out of bed (even though the crib is just 3 feet away...), but my daughter needs me and she's relying on me to feed her, to change her diaper, and to comfort her. Or on those nights when I just break down and cry because I'm tired and I just want to sleep, but she won't stop fussing, and no matter what I do, she won't go to sleep, and she's being picky with eating, and---

But those times are precious, too. Because I learn from them. I've learned that parenting is so much more of a sacrifice than I ever imagined--and I'm only 4 weeks in! I've realized that from that moment, at 6:33pm on Saturday, September 20th, I was a different person. True, I've been a mother since she was conceived, but at that moment of her birth, I really became a mom. A diapering, nursing, sleep-deprived, worrying mom. My role as a housewife and stay at home mom became real. I had been staying home for weeks before she was born, and I probably should've gotten into my role a bit earlier, but now that she's born, I have just a bit more gumption and willingness to clean the house, make dinner, take care of bills, and make sure that my husband's needs are taken care of. Unfortunately, I can't do as much of that lately, since she's been eating like there's no tomorrow, and gassy, and fussy, and just needing my attention.

But eventually I catch up. Eventually, I'm able to get a load of laundry in, or fill up the dishwasher, or fix up dinner...

And my writing is another subject. It hasn't been touched in weeks. I've been a bit preoccupied, and I know most people would excuse me for that, but I worry. I worry that I'll never be able to get back into it. I mean, from here on out, there's only going to be more and more--she's never going to sleep as much as she did this month. She's (probably) never going to be as easily entertained as she is now. So what hope is there for me and my writing? Well, God said it would happen, and I just have to trust him. He didn't say when, so I could be waiting until I'm 50... but hey, I'm almost halfway there, so that's not so bad, right?? Right...

But I'll catch up. One of these days when my daughter is sleeping, and I'm well rested, and the house is clean, and my husband is still at work, and it's mom's night for dinner... on that day, I'm sure I'll catch up and work on my books a little... if I have the inspiration and don't have writer's block...

I'll catch up... eventually.

The Waiting Game

So here I am, 39 weeks and 4 days pregnant. I am definitely looking forward to the birth of my daughter. Not only because I am looking forward to meeting her and holding her and all that good stuff, but also because, quite frankly, I'm a little tired of being pregnant. I'm sure there are other moms-to-be who feel the same, and that's why I'm not afraid to admit it. You see, about the middle of your third trimester, you're bigger than you've ever been, you have heartburn and swollen feet, and you're just close enough to your due date to think, "Ok, we're almost there!"

And then, once you hit 37 weeks, it's all downhill. You see, from then on, you can safely deliver, and the baby is considered full term. So at 37 weeks, you start telling your baby, "You can come any day now!" But then they don't listen to you (do children ever listen to you??) and you're sitting at home, bored to tears because you've already quit your job, unable to drive because they took away your driving privileges (all because you passed out while driving once...) and you're doing almost everything you can to get that stubborn child out of you already!

You're walking, taking herbs, doing squats, and praying so very hard for that child to come out. And when you feel a slight contraction, even though you don't want the pain, you still want it to be just hard enough for it to be considered a "real" contraction and not just one of those annoying Braxton Hicks.

So you wait... and wait... and wait... And you listen to everyone asking, "Have you had the baby yet?" And you dolefully answer them, no. Then there are those friends who have you all hyped up with their predictions. I had a whole group of people from church telling me that I would have her on September 16th. Well, it's 5:30pm on September 16th, and I've had only Braxton Hicks for the last week--no real contractions. It takes at least a few hours to get those started, and to have them regularly, and a few more hours to progress into active labor and finally have the child, so the chances of me having her tonight are slim to none. But there is still that anxious hope, wanting all my friends to be right, and wanting it to happen right... now. Ok, now. Now? Nope.

So while you're waiting, you have all these annoying pains in your hips, and pressure in your... ok, I'll leave that one alone. And you're trying to create symptoms and signs out of little things, hoping that it's the start of the real thing--but it's not.

Now, do you suppose that when Paul said in Galatians 4:19 that he labors in birth until Christ is formed in the Galatians, that perhaps he was speaking of the waiting time, as well? The whole process of labor includes not only the actual pushing and sweating and being in intense pain part, but also the waiting, the nesting, the eagerly trying to move it along, and the mild contractions that you think are doing nothing, but are really preparing you for the real contractions. It's a lot more than people realize, and I think that God gave Paul, an unmarried man who most likely never really understood the actuality of labor, a special understanding of the process. Even though most people think of labor as the most dramatic, painful part, it's also the waiting. And Paul was waiting for the Galatians to grow in Christ and to see Christ in them. I don't think it's a coincidence that he used those words, or that I thought of them when I was writing this. I hadn't planned on connecting this particular blog with any scripture, but I suppose that's what happens when I just write and allow the Spirit to move me in any direction He wants.

Ok, so we found that connection--what's the lesson? What do we learn from this? Well, I suppose we learn that even though our works may seem in vain, and though our ambitions and our hopes of leading people to Christ, or of doing a particular ministry--though they may seem to be going nowhere--sooner or later, it will happen. I know that no matter what, somehow, at some point, Leah HAS to come out! She can't stay in there forever! Just as new Christians can't stay in their baby stage forever. They can't stay in the warm, comfy, familiar womb of their discipler forever--they have to grow, and they have to move out. It's just the way God designed it. It's the same with ministry--you may not see any growth, but sooner or later, it has to come to fruition. If the Lord is in it, and the Lord has ordained it, then it will come to pass. So don't give up. It's a lot of waiting, but in the end, it will be worth it.

I can't wait for the day when I can hold my baby, and I can truly understand the meaning of this:

"A woman, when she is in labor, has sorrow because her hour has come; but as soon as she has given birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world." (John 16:21, NKJV)

But in the mean time, all I have to do is wait. Be patient and wait.

Leah