Happy Birthday Elliot!
In honor of 'Baby Brotha's' First Birthday... I wanted to share the actual story of his birth...
My dear little boy, Elliot, was born on January 17, 2011. I woke up on my own that morning feeling wide awake and David got off to work pretty early. I sat down with a cup of coffee and turned on the news. I had hoped that 'little boy' would already be here by now... I was so uncomfortable. Waddling from place to place, waking up every night in a panic because I could hardly breath (or roll over for that matter) and withstanding the worst case of indigestion that is humanly possible for several weeks prior... I was ready. All of these wonderful symptoms had me praying the 'any day now' prayer... even though I was still a week from my actual due date.
As I sat there, sipping my coffee, the newscaster solemnly announced that not only was it MLK day... but also, Jan. 17 was officially the saddest day of the year. I don't know how they come up with this stuff... something about the 'holiday cheer' wearing off... and realizing just how much money you owe on said 'cheer'. I thought to myself 'please don't go into labor on saddest day'... but literally before I could complete the thought (or my coffee) I started feeling some contractions. I sat there for about 30 minutes... and realized that they were pretty predictable and getting stronger. I could tell almost immediately that 'this was it'.
As I heard Evangeline waking up, I grabbed my camera to take a few morning shots of my Doodle before she became a big sister. I love the pictures from that morning...
I got a warm bath just to see if that would slow things down... which it didn't. I rode out the contractions for another hour or so before calling David. Once he got home... we packed our bags (yes, I'm a last minute kinda girl)... and once the contractions were only a minute apart... off we went, in the gloomy January cold, to the hospital. (I would've stayed home longer... but because I was GBS positive, wanted to make sure I got the antibiotics in time).
We got to the hospital around noon and my midwife checked me... "Hmmm... you're barely 3cm., so we'll just give you the antibiotics and let you go home." she said.
"Are you kidding me?!" I thought. (If you think I'm getting back in that car and driving all the way home... you're crazy!")
I quickly filtered all the drama and curse words... and ended up saying something like, "I'd really prefer to stay here if at all possible."
My wonderful midwife was so understanding and said that she really wanted to go by my 'mother's intuition'.
Once we got checked in... 'real labor' soon followed. I would have really strong contractions, really close together... then a long pause. My labor never really 'stalled', but it seemed slower than what I was expecting. She said that it was probably just his position and once he got his little arm out of the way, things would pick up.
Labor is painful. How do we forget the pain... then voluntarily put ourselves through this again?! Because of all the metal holding my lower spine together, I feel tremendous pressure on my back and especially in my tailbone. David was amazing... he would push on my lower back to counteract the pressure through every contraction. Despite the immense pain... it was pretty quiet and peaceful the whole time. The midwife didn't even have to be in there very much at first... then, when she did feel the need to stay close she sat in a rocking chair in the corner and knitted. I felt very in control the whole time... much different than with my first labor.
Each time the contractions worsened, I just remember thinking..."Why do we do this to ourselves?! ... and willingly?!"
"I am never doing this again! We'll just have to adopt."
Each time the midwife would check me, I thought... "O.k. this is it we're almost there." Then she would inform me... "Looks good, you're 5 cm. now."
"Oh my gosh, this baby is never coming out!" I remember having these random thoughts, but David would tell you how calm and under control I was the whole time. He says I'm even sweeter in labor than in real life. I took that as a compliment at first... but upon further consideration, decided to take offense to such a comment.
After several hours, I asked if I could get in the tub. They wanted to wait until I was in transition... or ready to push, but my back pain was so intense, so they hesitantly told me I could 'try to get in the tub'. So this is where things start getting interesting. I was open to having a water birth, but never really thought it through. I just wanted to go with the flow. Looking back... I wish I would've given it a bit more thought... mainly, my wardrobe.
First of all, I am an extremely modest person... modest meaning... my stomach has never seen the light of day. I don't use the bathroom in front of people and I don't even change clothes in front of my sisters.
But, let me tell you, all sense of modesty goes out the window when you're in the late stages of labor. As I made a bee line for the tub, like a race horse out of the gate, I remember slinging any remaining articles of clothing across the room and throwing myself into the water. I can only imagine the elation that a beached whale must feel when it's finally pushed back to it's rightful place in the ocean, where weighing a ton simply doesn't feel so big.
Once I got used to moving in the water and dealing with the contractions in a different environment, I felt a little better about the thought of actually having the baby, but not much.
My only panicky moment happened during, what I can only assume was, transition. I was in the tub, hanging over the edge, and David was outside of the tub, leaning over me to press down on my back. The longer the contraction would last... the longer he would push... and the lower my my face slid into the water. I remember feeling like I was being lowered into a watery grave, but not having the words to ask him to stop. In a single and final attempt to save my own life, I remember thrashing my arms in every direction and beating my poor husband until I could breath again. I am proud to say... this was my only 'I'm gonna die' moment.
This was also around the time that our dear nurse decided to pick up our camera because she 'thought it'd be nice' to have a few intimate shots of me in labor. Beached whale... enough said.
At some point, I remember David discreetly asking the midwife how much longer she thought I'd go. She 'quietly' told him 'just a few more hours as she left the room, I pretended not to hear, but secretly vowed that 'I'd prove HER wrong'.
Not even 30 minutes later, with only David and I in the room... I heard my water 'pop' and immediately started pushing. David called out in the hallway and the nurse and midwife rushed in. They discovered that there was meconium in the water... so they asked me to get out of the tub. But it was too late... Elliot was already coming... so they told David to lift me out of the water as I finished pushing. It was not the peaceful water birth that I had envisioned, but I was just glad he was out. They held him up for a second... he was completely gray and limp. Not at all how I remember Evangeline's birth. My heart sank as they rushed him to the other side of the room and called a team of doctors, who rushed in immediately. David assured me that he was fine... but I knew that he wasn't really sure. After what seemed like forever... we finally heard his little cry. He was completely fine. Perfect. They brought him to me and my heart just melted. It's amazing how you can just love someone so much in just an instant.
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