Laughing the Baby Out: the Birth of Rita Maureen

Despite the fact that our daughter's birth fell somewhere between the boys in terms of length of time, I have to say, this really was my favorite birth so far.  Every birth is special and unique - the first is always, well, the first, and my second son's was so rapidfire fast it is definitely memorable - but this birth.


Ahhhh.


It was just... lovely.


Exactly like my other two, I started having contractions around 3:30am Monday morning, October 1st, the feast of St. Therese the Little Flower.  I had been having BH like it was my job for weeks on end, but that familiar crampy feeling woke me up.  A little worried since Pumpkin boy had crawled into bed with us a few hours earlier, I decided to do my typical pre-birth ritual of bathing, shaving and hair-washing and see how I felt afterwards.  The contractions were very mild - noticeable and countable but nothing serious and roughly 20-30 minutes apart.

I tried sleeping through them after the bath, but ended up going downstairs around 5:00am or so and called my midwife - even though they weren't that serious, I wasn't trying for a repeat of my last birth!- around 6am.  I munched a cinnamon toast waffle, let her know how things were going and after deciding to check in with her in an hour, turned on The Man Without a Face.  I also let my birth photographer know what was up, just so she would be prepared "in case."

Still coming every 25-40 minutes, the contractions hadn't changed in intensity at all, which, frankly, was a little surprising to me.  I spent a lot of this birth "hurrying-up and waiting," actually.  So, after realizing I was dozing through more of Chuck and McLeod than I was watching, I texted my midwife to tell her I was going to try and take a nap and headed upstairs as the big boys were all waking up - roughly 7:15 or 7:30am, I believe.  My midwife joked back to me that she was all showered and ready to go, since of course, by this point last baby she was flying down the road to my house as I entered transition.

Napping was in spurts, since the contractions were *just* strong enough to wake me up, but not strong enough to really require a response, and I believe around 9am I came downstairs for second breakfast.  I felt.... antsy and a smidge uncertain - where was my contraction pattern?  Why didn't this look like my other labours?  We had planned on pumpkin patching that day, since my husband was home on a corps holiday, but the weather was rainy and dreary and our outing was cancelled.   My husband had a postal errand to run and we needed milk, so originally we planned for him to take the boys, while I did some labouring.  We also had a half serious, half joking conversation about a potential name change, should we a) have a daughter and 2) she came on that day, since the Feast of the Little Flower is too important to go unnoted.

I was squatting with contractions (still 30-40 minutes apart), stair-climbing, lunging and crawling around on all fours (the later from terror and paranoia over having a posterior baby).  But nada.  One of our priests from on post with whom I had just started spiritual direction was scheduled to come over for dinner that night, so I threw the chili ingredients into the crockpot and texted him directions - I joked to Mr. 1st Lt that if I managed to make dinner *and* have a baby in the same day, I wanted some kind of reward.

Since the contractions still weren't picking up, around 11am, I decided to be the errand-runner, leaving the boys at home, to get myself out of the house and perhaps getting the contractions to pick up.

No such luck.

I came home, had lunch, called my midwife again, leaving a message with her front desk that I was highly irritated that I was still pregnant (I knew she'd get a kick out of that), and went to take what I hoped would be our last nap, just the two of us, with my soon to be big boy.  After naptime, my boys went to the neighbors' houses delivering roses from St. Therese and Father pulled up for dinner.

Still no baby, still having 20-40 minute apart contractions plus one priest and an ice-cream cake he brought for dessert.

He apparently also brought labor dust, because after a lovely dinner, some playtime with our boys and then spiritual direction and confession, he left around 8pm, we did story and prayer with the kids and contractions picked up around 8:30.

Why yes, I did have confession *and* give birth in my home all on the same day.  I'm a little bit jealous of myself!

I started watching the clock after Father left, and between 8:30 and 9:00 had three or four contractions, anywhere from 10 to 6 minutes apart.  Once Mr. 1st Lt came downstairs after bedtime, I told him they were getting closer together, although still not terribly strong, and he said to me, "Um, can you please call the midwife now? I really don't want to do all by ourselves again."

Poor guy.

I headed upstairs for another bath and by 9:45pm, after having the contractions consistently 6-10 minutes apart, I called both my midwife and photographer to let them know I thought it was "for realsies" but not to rush or anything.  They arrived, along with the midwife's assistant, a little before 11pm and by that time, the contractions had definitely picked up.  I would stop to sway or hula my hips during them, and would bend over the sink or back of the couch.  They were by no means unbearable and I was perfectly functional in between them, but I could tell they were more serious, though still sporadically spaced.  In addition, I was starting to get a little antsy and irritable - my husband was finishing up grad application work on the computer (which I found terribly-and totally irrationally-annoying), the lights were irritating me and I was obsessively straightening the living room between contractions.

I set myself up at the end of the built-in ottoman on the sectional couch - where my last baby had been born - complete with plastic sheeting and towels, in case of water breaking and such, and waited.  I was having a contraction as my midwife walked in and I heard her say "I recognize that bottom wagging at me!" (I was on my knees, leaning on the ottoman swaying my hips).

We had a deal, my midwife and I, about how I wanted no checks.  Not only are they not comfortable but you *never* hear the right number (well maybe some people do, but unless my midwife is going to tell me, "the baby is being born" its not the right number), and that was mentally very stressful for me.  I didn't want to psych myself out.  Even though I know she wasn't a huge fan of that, she was more than happy to oblige me, so when she arrived, she just did a fetal heart check.  Baby sounded lovely, which was reassuring, since the week before I had had her come out for a little homegrown NST/heart check since I felt like baby wasn't moving terribly much and it was worrying me.

During the check, the photographer worked on lighting, Mr. 1st Lt. got set up with the video camera and the midwife's assistant set up and filled the tub.  Oh that tub.  We're BFFs for life, that tub and I.  High walls and plastic smell and all, I give 100% credit to not tearing to that tub (well and my midwife's perineal support.  Because heaven knows, my pushing style of NOSTOPPINGATALL gets no credit!).

I knelt through a few contractions in my previous birthing spot, squatted through some, hanging off the shelf overlooking the kitchen (seen below, decorated with mummies),

swayed with my husband through one or two, and ended up kneeling again.  Clearly labor was progressing because I a) completely lost track of time.  My attendants all arrived shortly before 11PM and Princess Baby was born at 1:37am, but I haven't a good recollection of how far apart things happened and 2) I was full of love hormones.  Not to sound like a hippy-weirdo, but that oxytocin was clearly pumping because I just wanted my husband to hug me and I had nothing but happy, mellow and  calm feelings about everyone who was there.

Don't get me wrong, I was still having and feeling contractions, but in between?  This birth was really like a party.

We laughed, we joked, we teased - I'd have a contraction, everyone would be silent as I worked through each one, really staying on top of the idea of "putting it in a box," focusing only on that single contraction and that one alone, not worrying about how many were to come and so on.  They were also very, very wavelike - plus, you know, the hurty part - so they would start out and sort of "climb the hill" to the peak of the contraction and then slope back down again.  I was very aware of hitting that peak and knowing that was as hard as it would be for that contraction made me able to mentally and physically focus on trying to relax into the contraction.

I had sworn up, down, left and right that I dont. like. talking. during contractions, but my midwife's soft, calming reminders during them were actually *exactly* what I needed and hadn't even realized it - just small encouragements about doing well, reminders to open my mouth, and talking me through breathing out the end of each contraction.

Each contraction put me completely into the "zone," but afterwards, I was always lucid and could pick the conversation back up again.  Later, both my midwife and her assistant told me that they didn't really believe I was in labor at first, and then, terribly far along, because I was so conversant and joking and smiling.  I was vocalizing through each contraction, and while it sounded loud to me, in my head, all those who were there and the video evidence suggest otherwise - my birth sounds were rather mild and quiet.   There was such a "hang-out" atmosphere, it didn't feel "birthy" enough for a baby to be coming in only a short amount of time.

I remember at one point, looking up from laying on the floor between contractions (for each, I would get up on my knees and put my head on a pillow), and asking if the tub was ready yet.  Finally it was, and oh mercy was that wonderful.

It really made a world of difference.  The contraction intensity, while more so than earlier in the day, stayed pretty consistent and the timing never evened out.  Mr. 1st Lt. told me that sometimes I would have them 2-4 minutes apart, and then they would go to 5-7 minutes, sometimes 30 seconds long, sometimes over a minute.  But, it never felt that long.  Always  before, those long contractions were like some kind of mental torture - not just physically painful, but some sort of horrible mindgame about how long could I last inside that contraction until I lost it and juuuust as I would start to think I might, it would begin to end.

But not this labor.  I did mostly hands and knees contractions in the tub, and during I would let my legs sort of float behind me (froggied, to fit inside the tub), so that my belly could be in the water.  At one point, my midwife fed me strawberries and apple juice and I made a few comments questioning "Why are we still doing this?" and "Why is this baby not born yet?"  The lack of discernable pattern and my ability to talk and still focus on things (sort of) were really throwing me in terms of gauging labor progress.

I had two or three contractions of increased intensity - not quite transition feeling, but definitely borderline and did some "test pushing," or "cheat pushing" as I called it, trying to gauge whether or not it felt good slash better to push during the contractions, like it had with my oldest.  Once the midwife heard that, she had me get out of the tub for a check and by this point, I agreed because I really couldn't tell where I was by how I felt.  I was preparing myself for all sorts of horrible news, like, maybe a five or six, but after I layed on my side, she told me I was completely soft, and a 9/9.5!  At first, I doubted her, because she's notorious for telling mamas what they want to hear, but she assured me that the baby's head was right there, behind a bulging bag of waters.

First, she offered to hold back that tiny bit of cervix during the next contraction, to which I promptly replied "No! Get out!" and then she mentioned if she broke my bag, the baby would pretty much be born.  I was back on hands and knees and as I rocked and she rubbed my bottom, I told her to "Get behind me Satan," holding out that bag breaking temptation like that, which I knew I didn't want because contractions hurt worse with no water cushion.  But oh, that whole "the baby would come right now" idea, was so tempting!

I was offered the tub again, but couldn't muster the energy or mental strength to move the 18inches required to get back and was resigned to birthing right there on the floor again, when I heard her ask for "goo."  I thought she was asking for something for perineal massage, and my reason for water birthing, ie not tearing, popped back into my head and gave me the burst of motivation needed to haul my giant belly back to the water.  Turns out, she had actually asked for the blue goo, the stuff used to listen with the doppler, but I'll give my guardian angel credit for my mishearing since it saved my perineum!

After I got back in the tub, I had two, maybe three contractions, leaning my arms on the birthing stool.  Transition had arrived because suddenly I mentioned how I wanted to be done, I couldn't do this anymore and had a contraction that literally took my breath away and made me anxious because I felt like I wasn't going to be able to breathe.  They still weren't on top of each other and I had a chance to recover between each one, which was a true blessing.  It was at this point that I tried my hardest to focus on Divine Mercy, trying to concentrate just enough to let Him help me with the contraction, to get up and over that peak, and to just let this baby come out already!

And then, on the Feast of the Guardian Angels, at around 1:30am, my midwife had me come kneel at the side of the tub and hold on to the handles.  I whined because I didn't want my belly to be out of the water and she told me that the baby was going to come, so I needed to get over there and get it done (I love my midwife).  She put her hand down to check where the baby was and told me he/she was right there.  Naturally, I thought she was lying and told her so - she swore up and down the baby's head was right there and even I could feel it if I wanted to.  I tried to reach down and touch, and I still don't know what I felt, but kept calling her a liar - jokingly, not upset - because all I could feel was my own self, certainly not a baby!

Well, she who laughs first, laughs last, because the contraction came and oh the pressure!  I grabbed onto my midwife's arms and buried my head in her chest and pushed.  I pushed and my body pushed and no amount of her saying into my ear "Blow candles! Lina, you have to slow down, you need to blow candles. Blow candles!" could change it.  I pushed, took a breath, yelled at her to "SHuuuuttttUPPPPPP!" and pushed again.  I felt every part of me bear down, including my mouth, and only in the nick of time - again, guardian angels at work!- did I stop myself from *biting* my midwife!

That poor woman.

I'm not sure if I had two contractions on top of one another, or just one with a double peak, but unlike with my previous birth of 5 distinct pushes, this time, I pushed because I had to and suddenly felt first, tremendous pressure, then, the ring of fire, and then, a brief thought of pausing for minute before my whole body bore down again, and her blessed head came all the way out.

My reaction: "Praise Jesus.  Ohh, praise Jesus."

 Literally, I was praying my gratitude and not blaspheming - I was so eternally and perfectly and totally grateful her head was born.

Then the contraction started again, with only seconds between, and my midwife tried to tell me to lean back, to slow the push down, but the thought of that position sounded horrible and I yelled NO! and oop, there came the baby, right into the water.

Good thing the water was there to catch, since the last child just plopped onto some towels.  I'm not sure how other mamas do it, but I am way too busy *birthing* the baby to be able to stop and fiddle with catching them!

Then I leaned back and scooped her up out of the water and brought her to my chest.

I had two thoughts - the first was, oh mercy, I just hope I didn't tear upwards and the 2nd was, let me just enjoy the baby for a second before I check and see if its a boy or a girl.

Right as I scooped her out, she cried! Oh she cried!  A couple of good, loud ones and then quiet, which she has mostly been since.  She had hair like her older brother and was my waxiest baby, vernix all over her back and oh, how tiny!  They always seem so small, but at 6lbs2oz, she is actually my smallest baby of the three.  After a minute or two, I finally checked to see and started to cry - "Oh Mr. 1st Lt., this is Rita!"

As I put her to breast for the first time, my midwife noticed that she had a true knot in her cord - a miracle baby for sure and perhaps why I had thought she seemed slower than her brothers the last few weeks.  After a few more minutes, I hadn't had any more contractions so I got out of the tub to go lay on the couch to see "the damage" and wait for the placenta to deliver.  It finally came and after spraying me down with lidocaine to check things out, the second best news of the night  was announced - no tears!  Some skid marks, black and blues and nicks and scrapes, but nothing stitch worthy and I about cried in relief.

The placenta was full of miracles too.  Not only were there calcification spots, indicative of much older placenta, that my midwife attributed to the knotted cord, but I also had a velamentous cord insertion, in which the cord is attached at the edge of the placenta, rather than the middle.  In addition, rather than having the amniotic sac attach to the placenta itself, part of it came off of the right side of the cord instead.  You could notice a thinner, less flexible cord on the part to which the sac was attached.  Thus, I was extra grateful I hadn't agreed to an AROM!

Around 2:30, Mr. 1st Lt went upstairs to wake the biggest brother - we had talked about him cutting the cord and even tho he sleeps like the dead, I wanted to offer him the chance.  Sure enough, he wouldn't wakeup enough to do it (he just laid himself out on the floor when my husband set him down), but managed to perk up enough to smile hello at his new baby sister before he went back to bed.

Before the midwife and crew left around 3:30 or 4am, she made me cheesy eggs and toast, did the newborn exam, threw in a load of laundry, cleaned up the tub, the mess and the whole downstairs while I sat on the couch with my new sweet girl and enjoyed her newness.  Papa got some skintoskin time with his new daughter while mama did her first postpartum bathroom run and got her uterus all situated.

And then, we were done.  We hugged goodbye, my midwife tucked me into bed, and we closed our eyes for a brief moment before two little boys tumbled into our bed at 7:15am the next morning to meet their new sister.

Truly, it was lovely.  Every last part of it, which is a change from the previous births.  I loved those ones too, but I never enjoyed myself as much as I did this time.  I was so calm, so relaxed and so filled with joy.  I really felt like this birth was full of love - truly a labor in the spirit of the Little Way.

And, I can't wait to do it again.

In, um, a couple of years, at least.