I’m
not sure if it is considered appropriate or inappropriate or TMI to
share a birth story. Maybe no one cares. After all, babies are born
everyday. Regardless, I love to tell the stories of how my sons were
born. I haven’t written on my blog in a long time. Mostly because of
lack of time, but partly lack of inspiration. So I thought I would get
back into it with a story that inspires me, moves me, reveals me,
comforts me, scares me, makes me laugh and makes me cry. Here is the
story of how Isaiah was born.
For weeks I had been having contractions. This happened with my first son and he was born at 37 weeks. I started to get concerned when the contractions were getting intense and I was not yet at 37 weeks. I went to the doctor on February 28 for my regular check up. I was 3 cm. For some people this may seem like amazing progress, but with my first son I was 8 cm at my 37 week check up so I figured I had a while. The forecast showed a snowstorm for the weekend so I texted my mom “looks like we will make it past the snowstorm." My husband left for an overnight retreat, I had friends from out of town visit and life seemed normal. The next day I started to get anxious for my husband to get home. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t having contractions.
I snuggled up in bed with my 2 and a half year old to read books and cuddle him to sleep. The contractions started. I looked at my husband and said "that one was kind of intense." I came downstairs for our Saturday night routine of him reading his sermon to me. I was having a hard time concentrating. I decided to go to bed to try to make them stop. My son woke me up a couple of hours later for our usual routine of walking him back to his bed. The contractions were really intense and really close together. I tried different positions, breathing, prayer, still they came. I decided I needed to call the doctor. She said to go to the hospital. It was about 1am and snowing like crazy. I just felt like it wasn’t the real deal yet. I was not yet at 37 weeks and I did not want to think of the possibility of having a premature baby. I didn’t want to call someone to come stay with our son and make everyone wake up and drive in the snow for a false alarm. So I insisted on driving myself. As I was scraping ice off the car I wondered if that was a good decision. Central Avenue was terrible, but some of that might have been from the fog I was in. It was so surreal, was this happening? The man in the security booth in the parking garage gave me a funny look as I held my giant stomach. I got in Triage in Labor and Delivery. I was 5 cm. The nurse said "call your husband, this is happening." I called him. I still didn’t really believe it was happening.
I moved to a delivery room. The nurse wrote "March 2, 2014 Happy Birthday Isaiah!” on the dry erase board. Part of me felt like telling her she might be wrong because I still didn’t believe it was happening. 2am and I was all alone in a great big room. The same kind of room I delivered my first son in. Instead of contemplating the weight of the moment or reminiscing, I texted. Fortunately my two best friends were having a bachelorette party in Vegas so they texted back. They sent me pictures of them in a casino giving me thumbs up. I sent a picture of my sleepy, gigantic self with as much of a smile as I could make. I missed my husband. I wanted him there. And then he walked in. Pajama pants, sleepy eyes, comforting smile, calm demeanor. One of Oscar’s favorite people, the woman who babysat him when I worked, answered her phone and drove in the snow at 3am to be with him. I breathed a sigh of relief, he would be fine. My mom would come later, he was cared for. Now it was time to think about my other son.
As the nurses and doctors came in they marveled at my stoicism. Deep breaths, mantras, smiles and laughs while the monitor registered some intense contractions. “Yes I am sure I do not want an epidural." At 8am I took a picture of my husband sleeping on the couch. This was after he made arrangements for Sunday services to be covered. Of course a preacher’s kid would come unexpectedly on a Sunday morning.
8:30am they broke my water. Things started getting intense. Now I could not move or talk during contractions. Still calm though, still thinking it may not really be happening. I said to my husband "isn’t it weird that right now we are in one of those life moments we will remember forever?"
The nurse asked me to turn on my side. I did. And immediately I thought "Oh my gosh this is really happening!" I started telling her, my husband and anyone who would listen that actually I couldn’t do it. Then for some reason I started talking like my 2 year old. As I was saying the words I knew they were borrowed from him. "I can’t do this." "I need help." "I need an epidural." "I have to go to the bathroom." "I need drugs now." The nurse said "it’s too late." I said "no don’t say that, you can’t say that." Nurse: "I need you to move on your back." Me: "No way." Nurse: "I am going to grab your leg." Me: "I might kick you." In an instant my calm "mind over matter” self gave way to complete and total panic. The doctor came in. She said I was close. I heard one nurse say to the other “she is fully dilated but only negative 1 station." I had just looked up what the stations meant the day before and knew he had a long way to go. I told the doctor I didn’t believe her when she said I was close. I pushed for an hour with my first one, so I knew better.
The doctor said "Do what I say and he will be here in two big pushes." I said "no, I can’t do it" and then I did exactly as she said. "Hold your legs, chin down, inhale and don’t exhale, push." After the first big push I looked at the doctor and said "you are going to have to do a cesarean." She said "he’s in the birth canal, let’s have a baby." Again, I did everything she said - no grunting, no yelling, just a big breath in. There were cheers, encouragement, tears from my husband and my only scream as the shoulders came out.
And then a 7lb 10oz gooey, hairy baby on my chest. He nursed for an hour. This time around no one was in the waiting room to meet him
, so we took our time. He was born at 9:57am. Isaiah was calm. When the nurse took him to clean him, my husband talked to him and the nurse remarked on how familiar he was with my husband’s voice. My whole body was shaking. I was so happy it was over. So happy to have my baby in my arms. So happy to never be pregnant again. So happy to meet sweet Isaiah.
The days at the hospital were lovely. My older son came and was so sweet and wonderful with the baby. My recovery was nothing compared to the first time. He nursed wonderfully and he actually slept, which was not our experience with our first one. The day after I came home from the hospital was when the waves of emotions started. I was so happy to have my baby, so overwhelmed with love and yet my hormones seemed to be taking control. Panic, sadness, fear, depression, elation … it was overwhelming. I knew it would be over soon, but those days were awful. I don’t know that many people talk about the "baby blues” or whatever it’s called, but it is intense. For weeks I did not write in my journal or have meaningful conversation for fear of those emotions coming back. But on Easter Sunday as we left behind the darkness of Lent for the light of the resurrection I happily shouted “Alleluia!” and gave thanks for eternal hope. I feel more myself again. Isaiah is wonderful and his brother is an amazing big brother. As my husband said “now that phase of our lives is over and we can move on to adventures as a family."
That’s my story. There are more amusing details I include in the live version. It has been very cathartic to write it out. Pain, suffering, joy and healing … this is how new life comes.
For weeks I had been having contractions. This happened with my first son and he was born at 37 weeks. I started to get concerned when the contractions were getting intense and I was not yet at 37 weeks. I went to the doctor on February 28 for my regular check up. I was 3 cm. For some people this may seem like amazing progress, but with my first son I was 8 cm at my 37 week check up so I figured I had a while. The forecast showed a snowstorm for the weekend so I texted my mom “looks like we will make it past the snowstorm." My husband left for an overnight retreat, I had friends from out of town visit and life seemed normal. The next day I started to get anxious for my husband to get home. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t having contractions.
I snuggled up in bed with my 2 and a half year old to read books and cuddle him to sleep. The contractions started. I looked at my husband and said "that one was kind of intense." I came downstairs for our Saturday night routine of him reading his sermon to me. I was having a hard time concentrating. I decided to go to bed to try to make them stop. My son woke me up a couple of hours later for our usual routine of walking him back to his bed. The contractions were really intense and really close together. I tried different positions, breathing, prayer, still they came. I decided I needed to call the doctor. She said to go to the hospital. It was about 1am and snowing like crazy. I just felt like it wasn’t the real deal yet. I was not yet at 37 weeks and I did not want to think of the possibility of having a premature baby. I didn’t want to call someone to come stay with our son and make everyone wake up and drive in the snow for a false alarm. So I insisted on driving myself. As I was scraping ice off the car I wondered if that was a good decision. Central Avenue was terrible, but some of that might have been from the fog I was in. It was so surreal, was this happening? The man in the security booth in the parking garage gave me a funny look as I held my giant stomach. I got in Triage in Labor and Delivery. I was 5 cm. The nurse said "call your husband, this is happening." I called him. I still didn’t really believe it was happening.
I moved to a delivery room. The nurse wrote "March 2, 2014 Happy Birthday Isaiah!” on the dry erase board. Part of me felt like telling her she might be wrong because I still didn’t believe it was happening. 2am and I was all alone in a great big room. The same kind of room I delivered my first son in. Instead of contemplating the weight of the moment or reminiscing, I texted. Fortunately my two best friends were having a bachelorette party in Vegas so they texted back. They sent me pictures of them in a casino giving me thumbs up. I sent a picture of my sleepy, gigantic self with as much of a smile as I could make. I missed my husband. I wanted him there. And then he walked in. Pajama pants, sleepy eyes, comforting smile, calm demeanor. One of Oscar’s favorite people, the woman who babysat him when I worked, answered her phone and drove in the snow at 3am to be with him. I breathed a sigh of relief, he would be fine. My mom would come later, he was cared for. Now it was time to think about my other son.
As the nurses and doctors came in they marveled at my stoicism. Deep breaths, mantras, smiles and laughs while the monitor registered some intense contractions. “Yes I am sure I do not want an epidural." At 8am I took a picture of my husband sleeping on the couch. This was after he made arrangements for Sunday services to be covered. Of course a preacher’s kid would come unexpectedly on a Sunday morning.
8:30am they broke my water. Things started getting intense. Now I could not move or talk during contractions. Still calm though, still thinking it may not really be happening. I said to my husband "isn’t it weird that right now we are in one of those life moments we will remember forever?"
The nurse asked me to turn on my side. I did. And immediately I thought "Oh my gosh this is really happening!" I started telling her, my husband and anyone who would listen that actually I couldn’t do it. Then for some reason I started talking like my 2 year old. As I was saying the words I knew they were borrowed from him. "I can’t do this." "I need help." "I need an epidural." "I have to go to the bathroom." "I need drugs now." The nurse said "it’s too late." I said "no don’t say that, you can’t say that." Nurse: "I need you to move on your back." Me: "No way." Nurse: "I am going to grab your leg." Me: "I might kick you." In an instant my calm "mind over matter” self gave way to complete and total panic. The doctor came in. She said I was close. I heard one nurse say to the other “she is fully dilated but only negative 1 station." I had just looked up what the stations meant the day before and knew he had a long way to go. I told the doctor I didn’t believe her when she said I was close. I pushed for an hour with my first one, so I knew better.
The doctor said "Do what I say and he will be here in two big pushes." I said "no, I can’t do it" and then I did exactly as she said. "Hold your legs, chin down, inhale and don’t exhale, push." After the first big push I looked at the doctor and said "you are going to have to do a cesarean." She said "he’s in the birth canal, let’s have a baby." Again, I did everything she said - no grunting, no yelling, just a big breath in. There were cheers, encouragement, tears from my husband and my only scream as the shoulders came out.
And then a 7lb 10oz gooey, hairy baby on my chest. He nursed for an hour. This time around no one was in the waiting room to meet him
, so we took our time. He was born at 9:57am. Isaiah was calm. When the nurse took him to clean him, my husband talked to him and the nurse remarked on how familiar he was with my husband’s voice. My whole body was shaking. I was so happy it was over. So happy to have my baby in my arms. So happy to never be pregnant again. So happy to meet sweet Isaiah.
The days at the hospital were lovely. My older son came and was so sweet and wonderful with the baby. My recovery was nothing compared to the first time. He nursed wonderfully and he actually slept, which was not our experience with our first one. The day after I came home from the hospital was when the waves of emotions started. I was so happy to have my baby, so overwhelmed with love and yet my hormones seemed to be taking control. Panic, sadness, fear, depression, elation … it was overwhelming. I knew it would be over soon, but those days were awful. I don’t know that many people talk about the "baby blues” or whatever it’s called, but it is intense. For weeks I did not write in my journal or have meaningful conversation for fear of those emotions coming back. But on Easter Sunday as we left behind the darkness of Lent for the light of the resurrection I happily shouted “Alleluia!” and gave thanks for eternal hope. I feel more myself again. Isaiah is wonderful and his brother is an amazing big brother. As my husband said “now that phase of our lives is over and we can move on to adventures as a family."
That’s my story. There are more amusing details I include in the live version. It has been very cathartic to write it out. Pain, suffering, joy and healing … this is how new life comes.
No comments:
Post a Comment