A Very Wordy Wednesday: Joseph's Birth Story Part II

You can find Part I here.

Around 7:15AM (says the cell phone record), I told Mr. 2nd Lt. that it was time to call Donna - I definitely "needed help" during these contractions. In addition, I had him go upstairs and get the plastic sheeting and towels to layout around me in case my water broke so as to not make my nice, new, pretty red couch a hot, uncleanable mess.

This is also the time at which I lost all sense of time, because I know [sort of] what happened between then and when Pumpkin was born, but can hardly wrap my head around the fact that it was only 60 minutes. Or, perhaps that it was as long as an hour - it could have been 20 minutes, it could have been 120.

My parents called shortly thereafter; they had seen a Facebook status or perhaps heard from my sister (who saw a FB status) and were calling to check. The only reason I remember this is because a contraction started a minute after they called and I remember moaning/groaning/grunting at Mr. 2nd Lt - Stop talking! - because I found any kind of voices or noise to be super distracting. I needed to be inside the contraction, if that makes sense; the only way to get through it, "put it in a box" as our Bradley instructor used to say, was to sink down deep into it. As horribly awful as they felt.

I remember laying on my side on the floor between some of the contractions, just trying to take a breath. They were coming so fast and unlike with my first birth, they often felt like they never fully stopped - perhaps I had some double-peaks that we had learned about during our Bradley Class. If you think of a contraction like a wave - it builds, builds, peaks, crashes and hits the shore and then rolls back out again - these contractions seemed to never roll back out, but to start building again almost immediately.

Good times, good times.

I remember begging Mr. 2nd Lt., "please help me," and he sat beside me on the floor during a few contractions and held my hand. We pulled out our trusty, old "Transition Script":

Me: I can't do this, its too hard, I can't do it anymore, it hurts, it hurts.

Him: You're doing great, honey; you can do it, you're doing so well!

Immediately after this exchange, I remember thinking in the back of my head, "oh, look, we must be in transition." And then, Transition replied back, "Oh, no, last time, this took a few hours, we can't do this for that long, its too much...." And then another contraction came, so Transition was forced to shut his cranky, Debbie-downer mouth.

Turns out, it wasn't hours, because less than 60 minutes after this was 8:15AM, at which point we called Donna again to see where she was because this baby was coming. Shortly before this, I felt like I had to push in order to cope with the contractions (just as I had with John, only that was long before he actually appeared) (during one of which I went potty. ((blush)). Makes me so much more glad I was at home! Last time, I had lots of time to empty everything after contractions, but apparently, this time, not so much). Two pushes later, I felt him move into the birth canal and the infamous ring of fire, which I didn't recall from last time.

I was still in the same spot I had been this whole time in the living room: kneeling/squatting next to the couch's end, where the ottoman sticks out. The last few contractions had forced me to almost curl into myself, which I now recognize as my body trying to widen the birth canal by opening my hips more with less of a kneeling and more of a squatting position. As I felt the ring of fire begin, I heard nonsense from Donna on the speaker phone about how I needed to not push, but just breathe through the contractions. Immediately, another contraction started and of course, I pushed (I couldn't not push. It was completely and 100% on autopilot) and she told me later, as she listened to me push - ie. the grunt and groan that got louder and louder, and ended up in a roar - she thought "Oh crap, I am so not making it in time."

Then, she offered to call our friend down the street (who had a home birth with Donna a few months ago) to come be with me and all I can remember thinking was "Would everyone stop talking to me!!!!!! I am BUSY!"

That was 8:15AM. Mr. 2nd Lt. gets off the phone with her and the series of events between 8:15 and 8:22 goes something like this:

8:15AM: Awesome Push #1 - baby moves into birth canal

Awesome Push #2 - Baby crowns, with a loud *POP* like a cork popping out of a bottle. Obviously, this was my bag of fluids breaking, but his head was so far into the birth canal, there wasn't even a trickle to be felt. In addition, I'm still blown away by how fast this is happening (did I mention how I lost ability to think), so my dress hasn't even been hiked up yet. I'm trying to reach down to feel him, pushing my clothes out of the way, and had my only moment of panic when I didn't feel anything that felt hard like a head, only softer tissue. Oh my gosh, he's breech - what the heck are we going to do?? Turns out that a) I must have been touching myself all pushed out of the way and not him, because he wasn't breech and 2) even if he had been, it didn't matter because it was time for:

Awesome Push #3 - Baby's head comes out up to his eyes. I cried out for Mr. 2nd Lt. to make sure it was his head (and not his bottom), and he told me later that he could see his eyes all screwed shut, his forehead and lots of hair. Oh, and that apparently meant he was able to hike up my dress because then:

Awesome Push #4 - Baby's head full delivered. I should note that I felt each one of these results - and having the head out was so odd. It was exactly how people describe "having a bowling ball between your legs." It was new to me, because with John, I never had any sensations of him moving down into the birth canal and he came all out with one push at the end.

8:19AM: Awesome Push #5 - Mr. 2nd Lt. catches the baby and slides him to the floor beneath me. I looked down at him and he didn't cry for a second or two, just looked at me. And then, he screamed just as loud and as beautifully as his brother did 2.5 years ago.

Then, at 8:22AM, Donna called back because she hadn't heard from us and Mr. 2nd Lt. says, "Uhh, the baby is here." I'm cooing and crying over my new little man, crouched on the floor as I pick him up in my arms, desperately wracked my brain for the list of things you're supposed to do when this happens unassisted (skin to skin, blanket the baby, don't deliver the placenta, don't cut the cord, etc. But, at that moment, all I could think was "I know I know what to do, but for the life of me, I cannot remember a single thing!").

In the literal second that Donna said on the speaker phone, "Do NOT deliver the placenta," it fell out onto the floor. As in, slid out of its own accord. With John, it was a few minutes later and it took a contraction and push or two, but not this time.

Turns out, Joseph's cord was only 10 or so inches long (for comparison, he was 22 inches), so the midwife thinks the weight of the baby actually pulled the placenta out behind him. And, his cord was so short that if I had been laying back, I wouldn't have been able to put him to the breast - he wouldn't have reached past my stomach. Luckily, I was scrunched down real close to him on the floor, so he reached just fine.

So, Donna had Mr. 2nd Lt. check as best he could to make sure I wasn't having too much bleeding (I was fine) and then walked in the door. At the same moment, Johnny walked downstairs, having just woken up, to meet the best present we could ever give him. His timing was beautiful (I am eternally grateful he slept through the whole thing. Eternally.).

Donna's timing was providential. While I would never have chosen to have an unassisted birth, and wouldn't do so in the future (the risks are too high, in my opinion), everyone's guardian angels took excellent care of this one, and it was definitely still a beautiful experience.

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As if delivering at home weren't rewarding enough - no worries about childcare, getting in the car, laboring and pushing where I wanted with no one to bother me - having my afterbirth experience at home would be enough to sell me on homebirth. Donna helped me get cleaned up, cooked me breakfast (its the least I can do, she said, since I missed the actual baby!), stitched me up on the floor of my living room while I snuggled my sweet baby and my big Boyo watched Toy Story (truly the highlight of his day - tv before nap time!), situated me on the couch, and checked my newborn right there in front of me.

It was heavenly.

Also, it was a little surreal. (Know what else is surreal? Having a placenta in your freezer. I'm just saying...)

I mentioned that I tore - same as before, 2nd degree. Last time, I was disappointed in myself, because I didn't slow down my pushing after the head. Rushing him out with one big push was a recipe for tearing.

This time, I did pause between head and body, and thought I must have done better, but Donna thought that there just wasn't enough time to stretch everything out. And, perhaps if someone could have supported my perineum during the pushes, it might have prevented it from tearing as bad. That being said, I have no regrets or disappointment this time, simply because those counter measures were 100% out of my control. I paused in my pushing and I pushed how I thought would be most natural - squatting - not because I thought it out, but because my body just did it without being told to turn over in the bed.

All in all, I loved my birth, even with the unexpected surprises, the stitches and the parts that, you know, hurt like a big ol' bear. Hopefully, the next one will be just as lovely.


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I've written before about the spiritual and sacrificial elements of childbirth. With my first birth, my two biggest "regrets," which, really, is too strong a word, more like "things to focus on doing differently next time," were my pushing position (semi-reclined inside of upright/squatting like I thought I wanted) and my prayer during labor. I had John during Lent and wanted the labor to be both physically and spiritually my Lenten offering. Physically, I think I hit the mark, but spiritually, I got so caught up in the laboring, I forgot to try and be conscious of offering up the pains. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I was aiming for quietly and meditatively praying the Rosary or you know, praying the Mass, or anything lofty [or crazily ambitious!] like that, but just leaning on Christ more and myself less.

I'd thought about it more beforehand, and got some good advice about just saying parts of prayers - "hail Mary," "Jesus, I trust in You," "For the sake of His sorrowful Passion," - and during my time spent squatting and kneeling by the couch, I think I did a much better job of focusing on that, at least until transition and then pushing came along and your higher cognitive thought literally shuts down. Or, at least, mine does.

I'm not trying to pat myself on the back or anything, just noting that because I was more "prepared" beforehand, I didn't have to think of things to "do," persay, they just came more naturally. So, instead of pathetic whimperings about nothing, I was pathetically whimpering to God, which I'd like to think made those moments a little more grace filled.

And, I'd like to think that grace carried me through the final stage of labor and the peace and joy - truly the fruits of the Holy Spirit - that bubbled up in my heart as I looked at that little man on the floor beneath me, the tiny person whom God had slowly and carefully knit together deep inside me over these many weeks, made my homebirth that much more beautiful.