I was a new mom but I was really good at researching what I needed for my pregnancy. I will never forget how amazed I was when I watched “The Business of Being Born” when I was in my first trimester. After watching and learning about how beautiful and strong women’s bodies are—and also how fully capable we are of having a natural birth—I knew I had to take the natural approach to birthing my first child.
My pregnancy was pretty easy. I went for massages every two weeks, had a diet filled with fresh fruits and veggies, and a birth partner who made sure I was drinking a ton of water daily.
The day it all started, I didn’t know I was in labor. I was home relaxing on the couch while the cable guy hooked up cable because I had family coming soon. I remember sitting on the couch having contractions. They didn’t bother me much, but they were noticeable. Later that night, my contractions were picking up and I contacted my midwife to give her the status, and she recommended I pop open that bottle of wine I had in the fridge to calm me down and let me get to rest so I had energy for the next day: Birth Day.
I tried to go to sleep around 11 p.m., but my contractions were coming faster and harder so I knew it was time to meet my midwife. On the ride to the birth center, I began listening to my Hypnobabies lessons to put me in a calm mindset while going through the contractions—and it worked!
I arrived to the birth center and my midwife checked to see if I was dilated. I could not believe that I labored at home all the way to 8 cm. She rushed to get my room together and made up the birthing pool.
Malcolm Eli
My contractions were now intense. I was asked if I wanted to have my water broken, and I said yes. I continued to labor in the birthing pool for 2 hours until I began to fall asleep listening to Hypnobabies in the birthing pool. My midwife was instructing me to push, but I wouldn’t listen because I was so zoned and relaxed. She then made me move to the bed to wake me up.
I chose to try Hypnobabies because I was into the idea of meditative breathing and self-hypnosis. After a lot of Googling and watching other moms use it for their births, I knew it was the route I needed to take to ensure that I could have my baby without drugs or interventions.
I began to feel everything—and it was intense. All I wanted to do was push out one big bowel movement. But I soon realized that it was not poop, it was in fact the baby’s head. I continued to push and take breaks when I needed them. After one big, final push, baby Malcolm arrived.
At first, I began shaking and avoided touching him because I couldn’t believe that I really made a baby who grew inside of me for 9 months. My midwife handed me my baby and we laid skin-to-skin for an hour to bond and give Malcolm warmth. It was such a euphoric feeling. I felt no more pain, I had no more shaking—just peace and a beautiful baby boy.
It all started on Friday, May 25, which coincidentally, was my due date …
I had woken up early to make it to my favorite 5:30 a.m. strength workout. I sure hoped my water would break during the workout and things would get started.
Right before the workout began, I hit up the bathroom, where I found a little blood that resembled the end of your period. I was totally freaked out, but still did the workout. Turns out I had some bloody show, a good sign labor will be happening soon (ish).
Later that afternoon, I had a midwife appointment. I got checked for the first time and was 90 percent effaced, 1-2 cm. dilated. I had my midwife strip my membranes a bit in hopes of getting things going. Jacob and I really wanted Hunter to show up that weekend.
On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I did tons (TONS – at least 1.5 hours each day) of walking and also had a few more contractions.
On Sunday afternoon, I decided to take some castor oil. Castor oil only works to bring on labor if your body is ready to go into it. If it’s not, you just give yourself the runs and feel horrible for 12 hours or so. I was willing to take that risk. We both had this feeling it was time, especially with my bloody show and the contractions I’d been having.
A cup of OJ, fresh strawberries and a shot of castor oil all blended together went into my belly around 1 p.m. on Sunday.
Jacob and I went to Fred Meyers that afternoon, and did something we never do — bought 3 movies. Then we did something else we never do — watched two in a row. We just knew something was going to happen.
At 8 p.m., about halfway through the second movie, I began to feel a warm liquid start to flow out of me. I dashed to the toilet, excited and hoping this was it. I couldn’t tell if it was my water breaking, me peeing myself, or just lots of discharge. I called my midwife, she said it probably was my water breaking, and to see how the night goes and come into the hospital in the morning unless labor progresses faster.
So we went for a walk, and one hour later, the contractions started. Jacob got the biggest grin on his face during those early contractions. It was time!
Heather
I always wondered what contractions would really feel like, and to me it felt like really, really bad menstrual cramps. Before being pregnant, mine were pretty bad, so being worse means they were really uncomfortable.
Fast forward a couple hours, and the contractions were about 1-2 minutes apart and about 30 – 45 seconds long. I was feeling kind of freaked out—how could it be happening so fast? I spent a good amount of time in the shower, letting the warm water run down my low back (which was a big part of where I felt my contractions) for a little relief. Nothing really made them change. Jacob was on the phone with our midwife a few times. We both didn’t know why they were so close so soon. Was my labor really happening this fast?
Around 11 p.m. we tried to get some sleep, knowing we had a long night ahead. I couldn’t nap, they were so close together. I made it to 12:30 a.m. Monday morning and told myself at 1 a.m. we would leave the house and head to the hospital. I could make it just 30 more minutes, right?
At 12:45 a.m. we got the bags, and were in the Jeep on our way to the hospital.
At 1 a.m., we arrived at the family birth center. I got hooked up to two monitors—one for my contractions, one for Hunter’s heart rate.
A nurse checked and indeed my water had broken — we were there to stay. When my midwife arrived, she checked to see how much I’d progressed — 3 cm., almost 100 percent effaced and he was at zero station, meaning very low, locked and ready to go!
After 30 minutes on the monitors, I was free to move as I pleased. I walked around the room a lot, spent some time in the tub, and did some hands and knees rocking. I was feeling pretty drained from the lack of sleep and began to drift off to sleep between contractions.
Typically things start to progress along in labor — longer and stronger contractions that get closer and closer together. Well the opposite began happening for me. They kept getting further apart, leaving me with 5-6 minutes of rest in between each (before they had been 1-2 minutes apart). I was even able to get an hour-long nap in, and apparently I had a 24-minute break from contractions at that time.
Although the relief was nice, I knew it wasn’t a good sign.
By noon on Monday, my midwife decided to check me again, only because my labor didn’t seem to be going the right way. At that time I was 5-6 cm. dilated. I had made progress, just slowly. We decided to give it a couple more hours to see if things picked up before talking about other options.
The nurse did some acupressure on my feet/ankles and we tried hot wash cloth nipple stimulation—both things that can help pick up contractions. I moved around the room, did lunges, got on my hands and knees. I wanted my body to do this on its own without help.
Four p.m. rolled around and I was checked again — only 6 cm. dilated. Barely a change. Since my water had broken at 8 p.m. the night before, the 24-hour time clock was counting down. Note: If a woman’s water breaks, after 24 hours, doctors often recommend interventions.
I knew what my options were going to be, and I knew I didn’t really have a choice with them, but when my midwife suggested a little pitocin, I broke down and cried. It’s not what we wanted or planned for. The lack of sleep was making me pretty emotional, and at the time I felt like a failure. Why couldn’t my body do this? Did I do something wrong? This is not what we had planned.
We said OK to the pitocin. Our midwife knew what we wanted, but sometimes things change with unexpected situations. I started off with the smallest dose of pitocin, which we hoped would kick start my body back to where it needed to be. For the next hour I got two tiny increments.
Things were starting to pick up. By 6 p.m. the contractions were much, much stronger. I could no longer walk them off. I’d instantly have to get on my knees, arms on tub, with Jacob putting hot compression on my back. It was the only way I could deal with them. There wasn’t talking, just walking then onto my knees during the pain.
Heather
I wanted to be checked again, hoping I’d be at the point of pushing. Pushing meant the contractions would soon end and Hunter would be here.
Only at 9 cm. Keep moving as much as I can. Keep things moving and get to that 10 cm.
Just about every 20-30 minutes, I asked to be checked again and I was stuck at 9-9.5 cm. It seemed like I was stuck there forever.
Contractions were back to back and I could barely deal with them. I kept saying that I wanted to push, but they knew I wasn’t ready. I wishfully wanted to push. That would mean it was over.
Stuck at that 9.5, I began to feel defeated. I kept telling them I couldn’t doing it any more. Jacob and my midwife would encourage me and get me through that contraction, one at a time. My breathing would start to get out of hand, then Jacob would start doing the slow deep breathing and I’d begin to mimic him.
In my head, each time I said I couldn’t do it anymore, to me that meant I needed drugs. That’s the thing about transition, you begin to say things you don’t really mean.
Since I kept having my midwife check me, she was skeptical about when I’d really need to push. She said there were behaviors she would see and she’d know it was time.
It felt like I was in transition f.o.r.e.v.e.r. Every check left me disappointed since each time I had not reached 10 cm. There was this tiny little lip that just wouldn’t budge.
When I switched from ‘I feel like I need to push,’ or ‘I want to push,’ to ‘I need to take a poop!’ that was the sign!
My midwife checked me once again and although I wasn’t at a 10 still, she told me to push with the next contraction and she’d see what my cervix did. During that next contraction, I pushed, she pressed that tiny part of my cervix over (holy ouch!) so he could begin to pass and it begun.
I was so glad to start pushing. Finally the end is near! My midwife saw I still had part of my bag of water in tact, so she broke it. Surprisingly there was meconium (baby’s first poop) in the bag. That meant the neonatal staff had to be there just in case he swallowed any of it, which would be bad.
8:30 p.m.
The team was intact. Me on the slightly inclined bed, my midwife there to catch Hunter, the nurse holding my left leg and Jacob on my right. It took me a few pushes to really get the feeling of what pushing was like. Honestly, it’s the same feeling as pushing out a poop. Just gotta give in to the feeling.
I’d get two good pushes out of each contraction, try to catch my breath and push for a third. Everyone was cheering me on and telling me what they could see with each push. The feeling of his head making its way past my cervix was crazy. I thought he was already out but that was just step one. Once he passed the cervix, I was in a rhythm. A contraction would come, I’d take a breath in, let it out, take another deep breath in, hold it, pull my legs back and push like crazy. Pushing was amazing. I was doing something! I couldn’t believe the lack of pain I felt during the pushes. Contractions didn’t hurt anymore.
When his head started to crown I could feel the burn begin, but my midwife used oil and helped stretch me and he began to emerge, quickly. Once his head was out, I just wanted to keep pushing, especially since it felt sooooo weird just having his head hanging out! A couple more pushes and boom he was out, face up, fist under chin and screaming like crazy.
8:58 p.m.
Just 28 minutes. That’s all it took to push out our 7-lb., 12-oz. baby boy Hunter.
Hunter
They put him on my chest right away since he looked and sounded good (the neonatal nurses left). All I remember saying was ‘Oh my gosh, oh my gosh’ and that he was so big! Jacob thought he was big, too, but apparently he wasn’t to the nurses. To us he was!
Our baby was in my arms. He was perfect. After the cord was cut and placenta delivered, my midwife was going to stitch me up a bit. I had tiny little tear, and since it was so little I was given the option to not have stitches, which I decided against.
About 30 minutes after he was born he’d already started nursing — for 30 minutes! He was a champ from the beginning.
We let them weigh him, give him his vitamin K shot, then he was back in our arms.
I could not believe how quickly he came out, especially being a posterior baby. All that working out I did during my pregnancy definitely had me ready for the big pushing event, which much like working out, I loved.
Jacob was amazing the entire time. He was my rock and kept me from freaking out when my contractions would get intense. I felt so much support for our choice for a drug-free childbirth, not only from our midwives (we started with one, ended with another), but the two nurses we had at the hospital as well. There were definitely some moments I didn’t think I’d make it, but once it was over I couldn’t imagine having done it any other way.
After the birth of my son in December of 2014, I told Alex, my husband, that I didn’t want to talk about having another baby for about three (3) years. Low and behold, 3 years and 2 months later, on Feb. 7, 2018, I sat on the grass in my front yard, enjoying the sunshine and my pre-delivery maternity leave. I’d had contractions throughout the previous night, strong enough to wonder whether it was the real deal but also infrequent enough to dissuade me from that notion. That morning I’d spotted a little, but contractions were only every 45 minutes or so, so I continued relaxing, eating, practicing hypnobirthing meditations, and took a seat on my front lawn in a tank top and sweats to enjoy the sun and warm, crisp February air.
While sitting on the lawn (OK, it’s improperly installed turf, but I love it), I felt a contraction coming on. I started to maneuver my top-heavy, bulbous self onto my hands and knees to achieve a more comfortable position. While in the process of this hoist, I heard a pop and then felt liquid … all over my lap. Because the wetness was body temperature, it took a second for me to register what this sensation meant—that my water had broken, a lot of it, all over me and my turf. In addition to the excitement I felt in that moment to experience such an integral part of birth (which I did not get during the birth of my son), I laughed at my good luck to have been wearing black pants (no stains) and sitting on my lawn (no clean-up) at that time. It was 1 p.m., it was on.
I started making phone calls from my puddle. First, I called Alex who shortly thereafter began to make his way home to La Selva Beach from Davenport where he works. Then I called my doula, Stephanie, who happened to be nearby and would come check on me. Then I called my midwife, Kelly, who was also nearby and would come over to do a vitals check on me and the baby.
After these phone calls, I went inside to change my clothes and to make sure that what had poured out of me was indeed my waters and not blood or something alarming (it wasn’t). At this point, I got excited and settled deeper into our decision to do a home birth and was ready to practice the hypnobirthing teachings I’d imbibed and marinated in over the past few weeks.
After about 15 minutes, Kelly and Stephanie arrived. At the time, my contractions were about 10-15 minutes apart but mild enough that I could talk during them (although I probably sounded like I was being crushed). My vitals were great. Baby was great. We all talked excitedly about various pregnancy related goos and fluids before Alex arrived. After staying about 45 minutes, Stephanie and Kelly left, leaving me and Alex at our home with the instructions of “try to take a walk,” “eat some food,” “go to bed as soon as possible and try to get some rest,” “it’s possible that you won’t go into active labor for 24-48 hours.” Just before Kelly and Stephanie left around 3 p.m., I had another solid contraction. Forty-five minutes later, Alex called them and told them to come back (during rush hour I might add)—my contractions were much closer together and were getting quite intense. Things were progressing quickly.
In the short time between Kelly and Stephanie’s departure and Alex’s follow-up phone call, Alex had a ton of work to do. Embarking on the journey of a home birth is preceded by enormous preparation. The weeks and weeks of preparation aside, Alex was immediately tasked with unpacking and organizing various kits and packs for the birth itself, and most importantly, trying to get me to eat. I recall very clearly sitting on our kitchen couch, breathing and visualizing “opening” as my hypnobirthing lessons had taught me to, while Alex tried to make me a smoothie that I could drink between contractions. A smoothie is not normally complicated or time consuming to make—but when you have to drop what you’re doing every 45 seconds to run to your wife and apply pressure to her hips (assuming the contraction subsided at all since the last), it takes a long time. The final product did turn out delicious.
Stephanie arrived back at my house shortly before 5 p.m. At that point, I had moved into my cave-like bedroom and was on my hands, knees and chest, laboring on my bed. As I would learn later, Alex had been in communication with Kelly who told him to fill the enormous inflatable birth tub in our bedroom, although based on information provided to her, we probably wouldn’t need it by the time it was filled.
My best friend, Becca, had made me a thoughtful labor package of candles, essential oil sprays and Himalayan salt lamps, and I remember the evening, starting around that time, being lit with the calming orange glow of those lamps. It still relaxes me to think about it.
Alex and Katy
Around 5 p.m. Kelly arrived. She advised me that I needed to switch positions to keep things moving, so she told me to sit on the toilet and labor there for a while. Let me say that up until this point in our 10-year relationship, Alex and I were the type of couple that kept our bathroom experiences VERY private from the other—we gave each other a lot of space and privacy in that regard. I’d always dubbed it, “Keeping the mystery alive.” That notion and era was shattered around 5 p.m. on Feb. 7. Alex held me, lovingly and without judgement or disgust as I labored through frequent and excruciating contractions, nearly naked on the toilet. The mystery died that day. RIP.
At 5:15 p.m., my midwife’s assistant, Flaura, arrived. Flaura was our doula for the birth of our son a little over 3 years earlier. If there was any panic or uncertainty in my mind about this birth or birthing at home, it fell away when Flaura arrived. My trust in her and her comforting and knowledgeable spirit put me at ease. That being said, I was still on the toilet, which I didn’t much enjoy because it made the contractions extraordinarily painful.
Around 6:10 I was back on my bed and lying on my side. To my shock and absolute glee, my midwife said my dilation was nearly complete at that point, with only a cervical lip (9+ cm), only about 5 hours after my water broke. I was so proud of myself in that moment for helping my body prepare and allow itself to dilate so quickly, especially given that labor with my son lasted nearly 38 hours and I didn’t fully dilate until about hour 37.
Kelly told me to give a couple of good pushes while lying on my side to see if she could hold the lip back while I pushed baby past it, so I could move on. It was time to push! I couldn’t believe it! Already?!? Game ON!
Now I consider myself a pretty strong woman, physically at least. I’d CrossFitted throughout my pregnancy and was bolstered by this fact, confident that I could labor and deliver efficiently, and that it wouldn’t be any more difficult than doing some of the CrossFit workouts I’d done recently with a watermelon on my frontside. However, when I attempted to push at that time (around 6:30 p.m.), I felt like I had no power, like I was pushing down on the gas pedal but a line had been cut somewhere in the engine that was draining my acceleration. Kelly told me to stop pushing, not only because it wasn’t doing anything, but because the cervical lip wasn’t moving.
A cervical lip, as I learned, is basically the equivalent of having a fat lip, but on your cervix. It can swell and possibly tear if you push or deliver while the lip is present. We would have to wait a little while and let the lip subside.
Then I started to feel “pushy.” Great timing.
In my opinion, what is commonly referred to as the “urge to push” is a bullshit misnomer. The “urge” I felt was similar to the “urge” you feel to throw up when you’re dry-heaving. Your body is in control when it’s “pushy:” It’s contracting, spasming, it’s straight up pushing. It is literally a force of nature, and it’s the boss. That being the case, I was confused and a little exasperated to learn that I needed to breathe through the “urge” so that my body wouldn’t push on its own. I needed to utterly relax my body—the involuntary spasm pushes were making my cervix swell, and I couldn’t deliver baby girl until the swelling subsided. It was 7 p.m.
To achieve this kind of muscle relaxation, I needed to blow raspberries with my mouth whenever a contraction came, the idea being that I would focus the tension on my lips so that my uterine muscles wouldn’t engage. At that point we also decided to try all the relaxation tools that we had available. First, I got in the shower with a large yoga ball. I leaned over the ball and let the water run down my back. This helped with the pain of the contractions quite a bit, and by blowing through the contractions I was able to avoid some of the pushing spasms that my body was trying hard to complete. I remember being in such a daze while I was in the shower. It was dark outside, and the bathroom was magically lit with candles and salt lamps. It was like a cave, a sanctuary. I think I drifted in and out when the contractions ebbed, coming to from time to time when I needed to bypass my body’s vice-like pushing, endure a contraction, or when someone put a washcloth under my knees or put a straw to my mouth so I could drink cold water.
I got out of the shower at about 8:35 and moved to the bed. Kelly checked me, and my cervix was still swollen, lip still present. Keep in mind that since about 6 p.m. I had been nearly fully dilated, and had now spent a few hours in an extended period of transition. {Midwife’s note: This is one of the most challenging situations in an otherwise normal labor: not pushing when your body so desperately wants to. But the risk of tearing the cervix in a situation like this could become an emergency situation or cause permanent damage. In this instance, the baby’s head was facing Katy’s hip, and position changes to help baby rotate weren’t working, so we needed the “tincture of time.”} When lying on the bed on my side, contractions would last anywhere from 1 minute, to 20 minutes, ebbing and flowing but not subsiding entirely. Being on the bed in any position was so painful and uncomfortable. I remember during those 5+ minute contractions just screaming, growing louder and softer with the rhythm of the pain—kind of like an ambulance siren. I asked for help. I asked nicely. “Please, please somebody help me.” I realized later that we should have let more of our neighbors know that we would be doing a home birth—I’m surprised no one called the police on account of my anguished cries. Despite the crying and the yelling, I was truly working my ass off to relax through the contractions, blow raspberries through the pushing, to be mindful, to feel Alex’s hands in mine, to feel his support, to know that I was safe, I was OK.
Eventually around 10:15 p.m., after trying a few more positions on the bed I moved to the gigantic neon green birth tub that fit neatly between our bed and the closet doors. Being in the birth tub, submerged to my collar in warm water, reduced the pain about 75 percent. The pushing still continued, but it became more of a practice in relaxing through the pushes rather than surviving the painful contractions. Kelly told me that birth tubs are often referred to colloquially as “the midwife’s epidural.” I couldn’t agree more. While in the tub, sitting on my knees and resting my arms and face on the side of the tub, I dozed in between contractions/pushes. Once another one began, I would work through it, supported by Alex or Stephanie, either of which would give me sips of water or spoonfuls of yogurt with honey at the end of each contraction. I was well taken care of. I actually fell in love with Stephanie at one point when we had a particularly intense moment of eye contact after a contraction and she read my mind and responded with, “Yeah, this really fucking sucks.” She and Alex let me squeeze their hands during each contraction—there were bruises.
About an hour after getting in the birth tub my mouth was starting to swell from the hours of raspberry blowing. Kelly instructed me to get out so she could check me again, although getting out was less romantic and beautiful than me simply climbing, glistening, out of tub and onto the bed, and more like a crane hoisting a wrecked car out of a lake. Once out of the tub it was discovered that my cervical lip was still present, but the swelling was way down and the lip was soft rather than rigid and impassable. Kelly told me to give a few good pushes during contractions while she held the lip out of the way. Again, lying on my side on the bed left me feeling like I had no power to push, no intensity. Moreover, Kelly was trying to hold the small lip out of the way during these pushes, which somehow peaked the pain I was feeling into an unmanageable crescendo. So I got back into the birth tub with the hopes of reducing the lip even further, blowing through contractions.
At about 11:30 p.m., 10 hours after my water broke and five hours after reaching nearly full dilation, I got out of the birth tub and moved to the bed once again for pushing. It was clear at this point that the lip was gone, my cervix was not swollen (although my mouth was), I was well hydrated, fueled by honey and yogurt, and ready to move to the next phase. I was physically exhausted after the hours of trying to trick my body out of its natural inclination to push. I would learn later that Kelly was only going to wait another 20 minutes or so before transferring me to the hospital, concerned that my anterior lip would be too much of an issue, or that my cervix would be damaged or seriously torn during birth. However, despite my physical exhaustion, I was ready and looking forward to pushing. Probably because of my years of CrossFit, especially during my pregnancy, I knew how to lean into the difficult task ahead, go to the “pain cave,” and appreciate that what I needed to do would end relatively soon. Again I tried pushing in various positions on the bed, but did not feel like I was capable of engaging the different parts of my body I needed to accomplish the task.
Alex, Katy, and Barrett
At that point someone suggested I switch to the birth stool, which is basically a wooden toilet on short legs that opens in the front (basically a horseshoe) so the midwife can really get in there. After moving what can only be described as a medical tarp to the foot of my bed, I got on the stool and was given instructions. It was midnight. I was on the stool and began to feel my power click on. I felt muscles engage, I felt adrenaline and excitement, I felt Alex’s hand in mine, his supportive body behind me and various voices coaching and encouraging me. I felt the contractions and felt finally free to utilize my body’s natural pushing mechanisms, I engaged with my body’s natural pushes and added my own reserves of strength to them. At 12:30 a.m. I felt a very distinct, sharp pain. I remember saying, “Wow, that really hurts!” and Kelly replying, “Well yeah, that’s why it’s called the ring of fire. She’s crowning.” A minute later Barrett was out and was immediately lifted up, plopped on my chest and started nursing, cord dangling between my legs. The three of us, Alex, Barrett and I, held each other then for a few minutes. Alex and I looking down upon her. Barrett looking back up at us, content and calm. I felt then that our family was complete and wished our son could have been part of that moment with us.
Shortly thereafter, after some quick preparation/protection of the bed, Alex lifted me up by curling his arms under my armpits while I was still holding on to Barrett, still attached to her by our cord and by cosmic mother/child connection, and pulled us back onto the bed. What happened thereafter was a bit of haze of emotion and activity, but I know I felt no pain. Stephanie asked me if I wanted anything to eat, and I replied quickly and surely, “Pizza!” which she promptly grabbed out of the freezer, cooked in the toaster oven and brought to me (which to me seemed like only seconds).
At a little past 12:30 a.m. on Feb. 8, 2018, I held my daughter in my arms, her gooey body pressed against me. After the birth of both of my kids, my immediate feeling was never what most moms describe as overwhelming love. That feeling, or at least my ability to recognize that feeling, didn’t happen for a few days. In the moments after her birth, I felt protective, connected to her, inseparable from her as if she were still living inside me, just simply transitioned to the outside where I could touch her face, her feet, her large baby belly. I smiled at Alex, so grateful for his support, energy and unwavering love, so grateful for his multitudinous contributions to this moment, for being my partner in everything. As Kelly, Flaura, Stephanie and Alex continued their various post-delivery jobs, I sat there naked with my daughter, eating pizza in my bed, relieved, relaxed, happy, complete.
The birth of my daughter almost seems abstract after three years has passed. She has grown up to become an intelligent, strong willed (aka stubborn) and confident little girl. Raising small children is the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life, and it has challenged me to become a better person through all of the difficulties.
Chad and Isla
Prior to Isla’s birth, it was hard to comprehend the reality of becoming a father. I felt a much deeper connection with my wife and fell madly in love with her beautiful pregnant body. It sounds a bit odd, but we often joke that I had developed a bit of a fetish. As her due date approached, we began to get everything organized for her arrival, but it still somehow didn’t feel real. I had not yet developed the connection that Nicole had already begun to experience through carrying her for 9 months.
We were a couple of days past the due date and were taking everyone’s advice and enjoying our time alone before Isla’s arrival. We had stayed up a bit late and I had probably had a little too much wine, I was drinking for two after all. Nicole woke me up around 2 a.m. and told me that she thought her water broke. I asked her if she was sure that she hadn’t just accidentally peed the bed. Being the good husband, I took a peek under the hood and confirmed that it was in fact probably not just urine. She tried to go back to sleep and I began to time the contractions to see where we were at. We quickly realized that we were too excited to sleep and that the contractions were getting closer together. We called the hospital and they wanted us to come in because her water had broken. They assured us that we would be able to come back home for early labor, so I didn’t even grab the hospital bag. Everything that we had learned about the first birth was that it would be a long experience.
Chad and Isla
On the short drive to the hospital I passed the entrance and had to execute a U-turn. I was clearly a little nervous at this point. We got checked into the triage room and apparently Nicole had progressed enough to need a doctor’s opinion on whether or not we would be able to go home.In the short amount of time the nurse was consulting with the OB everything began to change. The nurse came back in and looked at the strip and told us we were staying. Now I felt like a complete idiot for not grabbing the bag. No worries, I would speed home while they got her settled in. Twenty minutes and no missed turns later I was back at the hospital and Nicole was in serious pain. When I walked in she asked me for some pain medication. I waited until her contraction was over and let her know that she could do it without the meds. I’m not sure if she just needed that quick reminder or just needed to know that I truly believed in her, but that was the last time that topic came up.
As the labor progressed I had no idea what to do. The first few breaks between contractions I was offering her water or wiping her brow and asking her what she needed. I quickly realized that I was interfering with her and that I needed to get out of her way. At this point, she turned inward and I was awe struck by her amazing focus and strength. She was in serious pain and from the outside, it seemed as if she was in a trance. We were fortunate enough to have extremely knowledgeable nurses who were very supportive of an unmedicated birth. We had a shift change around 7 a.m. and Valli would be our primary nurse for the day. She showed me different ways to press on Nicole’s hips and back to help relieve the pain and it made a massive difference.
The rest of the morning is a bit of a blur as we moved back and forth between the tub and the bed. She tried several positions, but lying on her side seem to work the best while I pressed hard on the top of her hip. I was literally standing on the seat of a chair for leverage as I pushed with as much strength as I could muster. Both of our mothers were in the room for support, and at some point someone asked if I wanted breakfast. I realized that I was hungry and Nicole’s mom offered to take over while I had a quick bite. After one bite and the first contraction, it was clear that Leslie wasn’t able to apply enough pressure, so I was back in the game. Food would have to wait. Nicole’s original plan was to have as few people in the room as possible, but once she began laboring she was happy to have the support that we did. My mom has been a labor and delivery nurse for over 30 years and it was amazing to have her in the room. She had a very calm demeanor that radiated to the rest of us in the room.Nicole’s mother was in the room as well and was extremely supportive and did everything she could do to help. It’s interesting how the plans changed in the moment and how well Nicole did with little subtle twists.
Chad and Isla
Around 10 a.m., Nicole was fully dilated and it was time to push. For some reason, I thought this would be quick. Once again, I was reminded of how little I knew about childbirth. I watched as Nicole gathered everything she had to push Isla into this world and felt completely helpless as she neared exhaustion. I was overwhelmed with emotion because I could do nothing but stand by her side and encourage her. She was in the middle of the hardest fight of her life and I had to let her handle it. We tried several different positions for her to push from and ended up with her feet up on bars on the end of the bed. She was given a towel to pull on that was connected to that same bar. Her strength during the pushing was amazing.
The doctor was called in and I could tell that she was becoming impatient with the progress. She told one of the nurses to draw up a local and I guessed that she was about to conduct an episiotomy if things didn’t progress. I leaned down and told Nicole that she was almost there and that she had to push as hard as possible. She knew what was going on despite her exhaustion and that was all that she needed. A couple more big pushes and we got to meet our daughter for the first time.
It was amazing to watch her come into this world. Saying it was surreal would be an understatement. She didn’t make a peep when she came out. They immediately placed her on Nicole’s chest and there was a massive wave of relief that washed over the room. Nicole was now the mother to my daughter and I have never been more proud of her than I was in that moment.
Chad, Nicole, and Isla
The staff became a little worried with Isla’s color and the fact that she hadn’t let out a good scream. They checked her O2 saturation levels and became a little concerned that they were a bit low. My mom was an amazing resource during this time because she assured us that everything was going to be fine. I fully trusted her experience and knowledge and the conviction she had. Over the course of the next few hours, her oxygen levels drifted slowly higher to an acceptable range and everything looked good. We were in the clear and had a perfectly healthy baby girl.
The experience of Isla’s birth was profound on many different levels. I was witness to the miracle of childbirth and the amazing strength of my beautiful wife. It’s still hard to comprehend and process everything that happened that day, but becoming a father has changed a lot of things in my life. My intent is to provide the anchor that they need as they grow and explore and figure out what they want to pursue in this world. The responsibility has awoken in me the desire to accomplish more and live life intentionally. I don’t think that I have fully comprehended how much my life has and will change. It’s exciting to think about the journey ahead with this little addition to our family.
Daisy Reese was born on Nov. 23, 2017, Thanksgiving night. Her story really begins six months before she was conceived. Daisy and Juliet (my oldest) had a brother, named Madsen. I got pregnant with Madsen literally days after our eldest turned 1. I carried him for over three months, before having him at home on Jan. 16, 2017. He had one extra chromosome that caused his heart to form improperly. A month or so, after he was born, the sky opened up for a break from the rain, beholding the most beautiful rainbow. I knew it was a sign from my son. The next day I got a positive pregnancy test. Daisy was on the way. A lot of fear and uncertainty filled this pregnancy. Genetic testing put some of my worries at ease, knowing she didn’t carry the same burden. At 30 weeks and 2 days, I went into preterm labor.
This is where Madsen and Daisy’s stories come together. While preterm labor is still somewhat a mystery, it was a consensus between my medical-care team that my body was tired and still traumatized from my going into labor so early just prior to this pregnancy. It’s an honest guess amongst those studying me, and I agree with it.
While it should of scared me, I knew even if she was born 10 weeks early she would be just fine. I’d had a 4D ultrasound done just a day earlier, and I held comfort in the images that showed a pudgy baby with a full head of hair. My hospital stay was long and intense. I was able to go home for a bit between stays, with close monitoring, inevitably back in labor and delivery a total of five times. Dominican Hospital took wonderful care of us, the NICU team is sensational. I felt a deep gratitude every day I stayed pregnant, as I watched the other NICU parents and babies fighting for growth and health just down the hall.
I loved the genuine comments of surprise of me still being pregnant, every check-in and hospital visit, from the doctors and staff. Id grown to be friends with these ladies.
With a great deal of medical assistance, medications and modified daily activity, we kept Daisy cooking all the way to 39 weeks, to the day! The night before she was born I started having very intense and regular contractions. We called Sutter Maternity, our local birthing center, and they were full. I felt so discouraged and angry. I had finally made it past 36 weeks (the limit for delivering at Sutter), and I couldn’tdeliver there like I had hoped! I chose to stay home and wait, which was brave given I’d been walking around at 6.5-7 cm dilated the last 24 hours.
I kept visualizing having my baby in the car, on the way to the birthing center. I doubted my knowledge of my body a few times. Though, through, and through I knew, I knew my body. Truly. We made it to the next morning. My water started a slow leak around 6:15 a.m.—it was Thanksgiving morning. I knew It was time to go.
Dreadfully, I called Sutter. They were COMPLETELY open! How was this possible?! We were admitted into a room right away. Only one other mama was laboring in the whole birthing center. Nothing was really progressing, so I was put on a very low dose of pitocin, still just coasting. My water fully broke around 10:55 p.m. and Daisy was born at 11:10 p.m. So. Gnarly. Those last few centimeters felt like a train through my hips.
I only had to push a few times, I knew my body and what it needed, the pushes were so effective and brought relief. In between my second to last, and last push, Daisy began shimmying her way out on her own. My midwife looked at me and asked if I was pushing, I said no. She said she had never seen a baby do that in all her years. I felt proud. She was strong and a fighter. During the last push, as her chest fully emerged, she let one mighty cry out. My husband delivered Daisy himself, what a victorious and healing moment. My midwife could not get over how big she was, 2 oz shy of 9 lb.
After all the fear of preterm birth, it was a great moment to see a plump babe. She latched on right away, and we’ve been nursing like champions ever since. Her natural nursing skills were so impressive the lactation consultants came just to watch. Jokingly, they asked if we could teach a breastfeeding class. Difficulty breastfeeding was one of my biggest fears with preterm birth. It was greatly appreciated praise to receive. My sweet booby baby. Our family brought us heaping dishes of Thanksgiving food. It was the best Thanksgiving of our lives.
On Wed., Sept. 6, I went to prenatal yoga. I had been waiting months for it to be my turn for the class to chant to me. The class will chant to any mama who is close to her due date to help get things going. It rarely ever works, but I had been chanting to women for almost nine months, and I was so excited—it was finally my turn. While everyone chanted to my cervix and yelled for Wyatt to come out, I tried to relax everything and visualize everything opening. There was a another gal who we chanted to who was past her due date and I was hoping I wouldn’t be like her and need another round of chanting—but I was pretty convinced our baby was coming early.
At 4 a.m. on Thursday, Sept. 7, I woke up for my millionth time to pee and there was a little bit of blood. I was so excited because I knew that, unlike losing your mucus plug, this meant things would be happening within the next few days at most. As soon as I saw the blood, I started experiencing real contractions. They were very mild, but definitely not Braxton Hicks anymore. They felt like sustained period cramps in my lower abdomen. I didn’t want to wake Joe because I knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep and he would need his rest if this was going to happen soon. I told him I couldn’t sleep and was going to read in the other room. I anxiously awaited his 6:15 a.m. alarm so I could tell him the exciting news. I tried to sleep but couldn’t, I was just too excited. I waited for Joe to get up and make his coffee and then I asked, “Are you ready to meet your son this weekend?” He was definitely taken by surprise. I told him he should still go to work as we were probably still a ways out from anything happening, but he didn’t want to be away so he worked from home.
The rest of the day I just relaxed, finalized my birth bag, updated my family and my doula. I spent time on the birth ball doing a lot of circles to open up my pelvis. We went for a short walk in the neighborhood, but throughout the day my contractions were really far apart and not really gaining in intensity. I decided to try and lay down for a nap in case things picked up in the night. I slept in the nursery in the guest bed since it’s darker in there. Joe turned on the two-way monitor so I could call for him if I needed anything. I was laying on my side, trying to calm my thoughts so I could finally get some sleep when I felt a gush! I called out to Joe so he would hear me on the monitor. It felt like he took forever to respond. He came upstairs with a towel—I didn’t want to have to change the sheets and I could tell it hadn’t hit the bed yet. I rolled out of bed and was shocked that the water just kept coming! It was a lot, but then stopped as I went to the toilet. I was concerned because my doula had told my husband (who mentioned to me but wasn’t supposed to) that it can be more painful to labor naturally if your water breaks so early in the process.
I sat on the toilet while my husband called the doula. She said to call Kaiser and see what they say to do since my contractions were still sporadic and not intensifying. Kaiser has you come in even if you sneeze funny, so of course, they wanted me to come in. By now, my contractions were getting uncomfortable and it was better to breathe through them, but I didn’t HAVE to. I had made a day-of packing list and taped it to the front door, so while Joe loaded the car I paced outside. I was nervous to go to the hospital so early in labor, I knew we weren’t close, but I wanted to make sure our little man was OK.
Just before leaving, we folded a large beach towel so it was 3 in. thick for me to sit on as I was still leaking water. Once we were in the car, I kept getting more gushes of water. I’m talking gallons. I quickly soaked through the towel, onto the car seats and was puddling on the floor. I was sitting in a puddle of water. No one ever said the gushes keep coming! I kept asking Joe to look to see if the fluid was clear—didn’t occur to me that he should focus on driving. He stayed so calm and I was convinced there was an odor (which is a very bad sign) but Joe kept reassuring me. He later said he too was freaking out because it was so much!
We made it to the hospital around 6 p.m. and I put on my hypnobirthing script as we walked in to stay calm and focused. I started crying when I saw that Nurse Kathy was on duty. We had seen her the last two times we had to go in for having too many Braxton Hicks contractions. She switched with another nurse to be assigned to our room, which was awesome. I got hooked up and the midwife confirmed that I was having good regular contractions but she didn’t want to check me and risk infection since my water broke. Wyatt was handling the contractions well and she said she wanted to admit me. I told her I wanted to leave because my plan was to labor at home until I couldn’t talk between contractions (I wanted to do as much at home as I could). She said they would leave me alone to labor as long as I wanted if I stayed and I was torn. We called our doula and she said that if the midwife wasn’t trying very hard to convince me to stay, I should leave. We decided to leave, and the midwife was really great about letting us go, we just had to sign an AMA form. Kathy and her both said they would see me later. They also told me which midwives were on duty and even though mine wasn’t, the next shift was being covered by a midwife I had seen a few times and I really liked her.
Tawny during labor
I was nervous to drive the 25 minutes home, because I didn’t want to deal with the drive back when I was further along, so at 7 p.m. we went to my sister-in-law’s house to labor there as she is 10 minutes away. By now my contractions were more regular and definitely much more intense. I told Joe to stop the car at a right-hand yield turn because I could feel a strong contraction coming on. He wouldn’t stop because there were cars behind us, and I remember being so mad in the moment. After that, he drove so well! When we got to Meghan’s (my sister-in-law), she had the downstairs dark and quiet, with the best pillow nest I’ve ever been in set up on the couch. I was so worried about leaking water on her brand new couch, but she kept assuring me she had covered everything. Our doula met us there and I was finally able to relax and rest in the pillow nest and we settled into a rhythm with the contractions. I started toning—making a low tone—throughout each contraction. I told Joe I needed him to make the sound with me, and from that moment on, he moaned through EVERY contraction with me for the remaining 18 hours of labor!
I tried to rest in the pillow nest, and then we went for a walk in the neighborhood. The doula had me walk with one foot on the sidewalk and one in the gutter to open my pelvis, which was more awkward than uncomfortable. We labored on the birth ball, on the toilet, and tried all fours for a bit on the yoga mat but that wasn’t very comfortable. For some reason, I would burp at the end of every contraction. I couldn’t control it, and my poor husband had to deal with me burping in face as we breathed together. The contractions were stronger, but still not very close together and I was still able to talk in between them. I decided around 11 p.m. that I wanted to get to the hospital so we could get in a groove there. I was nervous that the car ride would be too uncomfortable if I got much further along and I knew it would break my focus. I just wanted to get to the hospital ASAP so we could regain our groove. I was also afraid I was going to throw up, so I clung to a bowl the whole drive back to the hospital.
When we checked in to triage, I begged them not to make me pee in a cup and do the whole check-in routine again since I was there four hours earlier. The clerk said I had to, but Nurse Kathy came to the rescue again and just took me straight back to a triage room. I got hooked up and my contractions were showing stronger and I was ready to be admitted. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to walk to the labor room, so they were nice enough to wheel me in the bed to our labor room. All throughout the pregnancy I had visualized the labor room as having the window on the left side of the bed (I think that is what I saw in the tour) and when we got in, Room 209 had a window on the left and I thought, “I can do this, the window is on the left.” It was surprisingly comforting. Our nurse introduced herself to us but said she was going on break for a bit and introduced our temporary nurse. She let that nurse know that I had refused to get the IV saline lock (I just didn’t want that to distract me, and my team had been keeping me hydrated). The temporary nurse didn’t like that and then took one look at my contraction tape and started spouting off about how worried she was and how awful the baby was doing. Keep in mind, everything looked fine in triage and we had just transitioned to a new room and bed. She ran off dramatically to find the midwife. I told our actual nurse that we were planning to have a calm birth environment and that I didn’t like that nurse’s tone. I told her we needed to find someone else, and thankfully, we never saw that lady again. I changed my position and the baby responded better to the contractions. After that, we hunkered in and got back in our rhythm of breathing and changing positions every so often.
Tawny during labor
We tried all kinds of positions—all fours in bed, hanging over the back of the bed, standing, yoga ball, toilet. I had no idea that the first contraction in a new position was alway more intense, so it took some convincing from the doula for me to change positions. I kept my positive birth affirmations playing on a loop and would tune in to certain phrases throughout labor. We held off on getting checked because I didn’t want to get too hung up on the number. Eventually, I was concerned that I could still talk in between my contractions, which I was afraid meant I wasn’t very far along. I told myself that if I wasn’t a 7, I would get the epidural. The midwife checked me and said I was a 6 but she could stretch me to a 7. I was so disappointed because I was so close to my target number. My doula was great about keeping me distracted and said we would call it a 7 and just kept me moving along through positions.
At some point, the baby just wasn’t recovering fast enough after my contractions and the midwife said the best way to support him was IV fluids and oxygen. At this point, I didn’t want to risk stressing him out further and needing serious interventions, so I got all hooked up and he responded well to this.
We kept on laboring and I still could talk in between contractions, which kept freaking me out. I thought I had so much longer to go because everyone said they knew they were in active labor when they couldn’t talk in between.
At one point, I actually nodded off in between contractions and I remember dreaming about the Mindy Project—which I had been binge watching while on leave. I remember waking up and thinking how strange it was to be thinking of that at a time like this.
I told everyone to chant the number 8 through the next several contractions and everyone did! I asked to be checked and if I wasn’t an 8 I was going for the epidural—the process was just feeling endless. I was a 9.5! I was so excited that I was in the home stretch … or so I thought! I wasn’t fully effaced, and the doctor said there was still a “lip” of my cervix that was in the way of his head. She said she needed to manually flip the edge of my cervix out of the way. The kicker was, she said she had to do this DURING my contractions and that it would take several tries! This sounded like the worst idea ever, but I was ready to be done, so the next contraction she got to work. I don’t remember it being that bad, and eventually she got it cleared and it was time to start pushing—around 9 a.m.
I had heard that pushing without an epidural could take up to 2 hours, but I was determined to get him out and be done with this process. My doula said that the first push will push him forward, but then he will retract a bit. The second push is where you make progress, and if you can get a good third push in, you will hold our progress. I felt like I could only get two good pushes per contraction and I was just faking the third. We tried pushing in several positions: squat, on the toilet, on my back and side. We got out the squat bar, but it was too intimidating so I didn’t use it. The new midwife checked me after pushing for a while and said that Wyatt was getting stuck on my pelvis and in order to clear that part I needed to push flat on my back. We pushed for a while here but eventually I just needed to change positions. We think I eventually cleared the pelvis while pushing on the toilet.
I pushed for a long time on my side, but would get a horrendous cramp in my hip the minute the contraction was over. There was a peanut-shaped exercise ball they put between my knees after each contraction, but I felt like they could never put it in place fast enough and I would scream for the peanut ball until they got it in place and I could rest.
At one point, a nurse wheeled in a tray that was covered and I thought for sure this meant I was close to delivery. But, they kept it in the back of the room FOREVER and I kept wondering when it would be time. The midwife kept checking in on me and every time she came in I would ask, “Are you going to stay until the end?” I thought each time she entered, “This will be it.” But then she would have to leave and I knew I wasn’t close.
Eventually, Nurse Cynthia said it was time to massage me and get me ready for delivery. I’ve come to learn that no part of any “massage” in the hospital is fun. While she massaged the birth canal, she’s chatting with me in between pushes and asks if I do CrossFit! She said my glutes were in the way and that I have a really strong pelvic floor. Not the conversation I expected.
When the midwife came in next, I had been pushing for 4 hours and she was concerned that, because my contractions were still 5 minutes apart, this was just taking too long. I was getting tired, and so was Wyatt. She suggested giving me pitocin to speed up contractions. I was worried because I thought this would make things more painful, but the contractions actually didn’t hurt much at this point and she said it shouldn’t cause more discomfort—just less rest in between. I asked if we could try a few more positions and we did for 30 more minutes, but not much progress came so we started the pitocin. I don’t recall things picking up. But apparently my contractions got to 2 minutes apart. The midwife asked if I wanted to watch in a mirror and I said yes, even though I was unsure. At first, I could not see his head at all—everything looked the same down there and nothing like my vagina. But eventually I saw him and it was so motivating and incredible to see him pushing through. Because he went slightly back in after each push, I was determined not to let him go too far back so watching really helped me focus. I touched his head, but I felt like it broke my focus, so I kept my hand behind my legs to push.
Seeing him come into this world was the most incredible thing I have ever seen. They put him right onto my belly as soon as he came out. I went to pull him to my chest, but the midwife said to wait. Apparently the umbilical cord was pretty short, so he couldn’t reach my chest until the placenta came out. I rubbed him and talked to him, it was such an incredible moment. A few minutes later I did a short push and the placenta came out and I was able to pull him to my chest. The way he looked up at me melted my heart—it was the greatest feeling ever. He wasn’t interested in eating just yet so I just held him and talked to him and we just stared at him in awe that he was finally here.
Click the image above to watch the video of Dreyer’s birth
The Struggle
Oh boy, where do I even begin this story? I guess at the beginning … or maybe even a little before Mr. Dreyer was in the making. Early in 2016, Darson and I had determined we were ready to take on the next chapter of our lives: parenthood. We began actively trying to get pregnant in May 2016. Fast Forward nine months and that dreaded little pee stick finally had two lines … PREGNANT!
Those nine months were exciting at first, thinking about making a baby, having fun with that week window, and dreaming of how we’d announce our pregnancy to everyone. But then as any couple who has had trouble getting pregnant knows, with every negative pregnancy test comes the letdown, the fear, the sadness. I know our story ended with a happy, healthy little boy and not everyone’s does. To those of you whose story hasn’t ended in such a way, my heart goes out to you, and I can’t begin to try to understand how you feel.
As we neared the nine-month mark of no pregnancy, we began the steps of infertility testing. Me, always the worry wart, feared the worst. Darson, always the positive one, wasn’t worried. We had Darson checked out … swimmers are good to go, wahoo!
I had a hysterosalpingogram, a test for blocked fallopian tubes, which by the way is super painful. They tell you it’s going to feel like period cramping … ugh no … it’s like a knife in your gut! Anyway, thankfully everything was normal so we didn’t pursue any further testing or interventions at this time. We were told that the hysterosalpingogram sometimes increased the chance of pregnancy because it opens up and clears out your tubes.
Darson and Sarah
During that next cycle, I was trying to be patient and wait to pee on a stick until I had more of a likelihood for it to show positive, but if you’ve been in my shoes you know it’s so hard to wait. So one day, even though it was early in the process, I had this feeling like maybe I should take a test today. It wasn’t even early morning or my first pee of the day. I decided what the heck and took the test. My heart skipped a beat as I saw that first positive. The second line was so faint I almost didn’t believe it. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to my friend, Ashley. She agreed with me that there was a second line! I can’t even explain to you how excited I was, but also very nervous and trying not to get my hopes up, which was next to impossible. Ashley offered to bring me another test after she got off work. I think I ended up taking three tests that day.
Finally pregnant … now what? I wanted to wait to tell my husband for his birthday. I spent the day looking up fun ideas on Pinterest of how to tell him. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t wait. I ended up running to the store before he got home to get a baby photo frame, wrote a note on it: “Baby Grantham Coming Fall 2017,” and put it on the table with another note that said, “Happy early birthday, Daddy.” When he got home that night, I videotaped him coming into the house. I had little notes with silly hints posted as he came in the door. Seeing his face and the tears of joy in his eyes as he realized what it was all about made me so incredibly happy! One of the many precious moments to come.
The Pregnancy
Ohhhhh pregnancy … I have a love/hate relationship with you. It was the most incredible, worst, hardest, most amazing thing I have experienced in life. I was super sick for the first four months and had to take medication until 18 weeks just so I wouldn’t throw up all day. One of my many memorable vomit experiences was while driving down I-80. I had just dropped a friend off and was headed home when I started to get that feeling … you know the one … I tried to pull off the interstate, but I didn’t make it off the off-ramp before … yep, there it came in all its glory as I’m pulling up the off-ramp to a stop light. Thank goodness I had a large cup in the cup holder, that caught most of it, and my lap the rest. Ugh!
People kept telling me, “Oh, you forget the sickness. You won’t even remember how bad it was.” Wrong people, wrong. I remember all too well! Those days I didn’t feel like I could go on, laying on the floor telling Hayden, my one-year-old niece whom I babysat daily, I was so sorry I couldn’t play with her because I couldn’t lift my head up. Don’t get me wrong it’s SO worth it, but I haven’t forgotten how hard it was.
Sarah during labor
Pregnancy is also the most amazing thing I’ve ever done and experienced. There is nothing in the world like hearing that heartbeat for the first time. I remember being so nervous as we went in for our nine-week appointment. I was a wreck until I heard that heartbeat come up. It was funny because I automatically let out a sigh and the ultrasound tech heard me and said, “Ah, we can all relax now.” She read my mind. And then when you start to feel those little baby movements, hiccups, kicks and rolls inside your belly. There are literally no words I can use to explain the crazy, weird, awesomeness. I know it’s cliche, but pregnancy truly is a miracle.
I knew early on in this pregnancy that I wanted to do things, as we do most things in our lives, a little outside the norm. I knew there would be some controversy if we chose to do what I call “hippie things” such as having a home birth, using a midwife, encapsulating my placenta, choosing not to circumcise, and not vaccinating, but what I didn’t realize is that I would receive such aggressive personal attacks.
Sidenote: I refer to myself and these things as “hippie” because to me, that word signifies living outside the box and not allowing society to dictate life decisions without being fully educated.
This controversy and the personal attacks fueled my passion to learn as much as I could about all of these things, educating myself on the pros and cons of both sides of all these topics, and being vocal about our decisions in an effort to educate others and bring light to all of the choices women have that most don’t even realize.
I could talk all day about the things I learned and why I’m so passionate about the holistic, natural-care route that we chose, but that’s for another day. What I will say is that I am so grateful that we found our midwife, Dana Ericson, doula, Virginia Traxler, and the close-knit community here in Des Moines that focuses on holistic care. There have been so many awesome resources sent our way from connecting with this community from our birth class instructor, Amy Brooks-Murphy, to our lactation consultant who saved us on Dreyer’s Day 2, Angela Swieter. It has been an incredibly supportive community and we feel so lucky to have found it.
The Birth
Now to the good stuff: the birth! I thought pregnancy was the most incredible, worst, hardest, most amazing thing I had experienced in life, but then came giving birth!
Thursday, Oct. 12, 2017, 40 Weeks pregnant. The planning was done, the prepping was complete, but no sign of baby. I had the list of supplies tucked neatly away in a laundry basket in Dreyer’s room. We had gotten all of our midwife’s medical supplies and tucked them away in our bedroom corner. Everyone knew our plan and was ready for our all-natural home birth.
Sarah just after giving birth to Dreyer
As we patiently (most of the time) awaited our little one’s arrival any day now, this mama tried every wives’ tale and trick in the book to try and get things moving. I ate an irrational amount of dates and pineapple, had awkward sex (I mean, come on, if you’ve had sex at 40 weeks pregnant, there is just no other way to describe it), went for long walks, ate spicy foods and jalapeños, rested, chiropractic, acupuncture, you name it and I probably did it. My decision is that these are exactly like they are named: tales. Like fairy tales. They’re just not true and they don’t work!
Monday, Oct. 16, 2017, I had another uneventful day of relaxing, baking cookies, and waiting for the babe. I was 40+4 weeks gestation, and in all honesty, I still felt great. I decided to go to the chiropractor in the afternoon and then I went for a walk around a nearby lake. I walked the entire way, just over 2 miles, in hopes that it would put me into labor. Well, it did … sort of. I began having some mild contractions during my walk. I assumed they would stop after I had rested for a time as they had in the past so I didn’t get too excited. I sent my husband off alone to teach our Financial Peace University class that evening and I rested on the couch.
The contractions continued through the evening, and by the time my husband got home, I was certain that this was the beginning of early labor! I sent off a message to my midwife, doula, and photographer updating them so that they would have a heads up if things progressed in the night.
My midwife instructed me to go to bed, get some rest, and call if I was in active labor. I went to bed for a bit, but soon after, I got up and went to the couch so that I didn’t keep Darson awake with my contractions, which had increased in frequency to around every 3-10 minutes varying in time. Contractions every 10 minutes or less … you know what that meant for mama: no sleep. But I was OK with it as I was excited that things had finally started!
By Tuesday morning I was exhausted. Contractions started to space out a little to maybe every 15-30 minutes. This allowed me to get some rest. My midwife came over that morning to check on me. She listened to baby who sounded perfect, checked my blood pressure, and looked me over. All checked out so she said to keep resting and we would wait for things to progress.
I had Darson stay home from work that day thinking, this is it! He later reminded me that when he asked me if he should stay home from work, I said, “You better if you want to see your child born.” Ha, little did I know I was getting my panties in a bunch. He could have worked until Thursday morning!
As you can imagine, by Tuesday evening I was not a happy camper when nothing seemed to be progressing, but the contractions continued on. I remember thinking as the sun was setting, “I can’t do this again,” referring to going all night with contractions and no sleep, but that’s exactly what happened.
As soon as the sun set, my contractions picked back up. This night they were only around 3-8 minutes apart ALL NIGHT! I couldn’t bear this alone again all night so I stayed in the bedroom and Darson woke with me during the contractions. As each contraction passed, he reminded me to close my eyes and try to rest between. For those of you who know what contractions feel like, even early ones, you know how hard it is to sleep through them. At least it was for me. I would start to doze off and be rudely awakened with the feeling of my insides forcefully tightening up and being twisted (that’s the best way I can describe it).
I’m not sure if it was the lack of sleep or if the contractions really did get stronger through the night, but I was so exhausted that every contraction felt more unbearable than the last. I got in the bathtub a couple of times, which seemed to help with the pain, but I nodded off and almost fell asleep in the bath water. Then came the lovely contraction to wake me up and I had to pull myself up to a sitting position to bear it. Oh yes, and this was the night I lost my mucus plug. To this day, I will tell you that this was the grossest thing out of the whole birthing process. That’s all I’m going to say about that. Eek. Losing my mucus plug brought me more hope, though—it meant that we were getting closer and things were finally progressing!
After a VERY long night, we had made it to Wednesday morning and it felt like an eternity had passed. Again the contractions spaced out. I think they were more like every 10 minutes again at this point. My midwife came over again to check on me. This time she checked my cervix: 1- 1 ½ centimeter dilated and 75 percent effaced. All I could think was, “Seriously? Two flipping nights of contractions and I’m only at 1 centimeter?!
However, my midwife said something that sounded like music to my ears after she checked me: “Let’s have this baby today.” I was like, “YES, LET US.” We decided to bring out the big guns at this point and call on the dreaded castor oil. I took the first dose mixed with some OJ and ice—not so bad. About 30 minutes later, I threw it all up … gross. We waited awhile, took a walk, and then took another dose. This time was just plain yuck! OK, here we go, this has got to do something.
Wednesday, Oct. 18, 2017, noon, I feel a gush. Yep, my water broke! My heart leaps! Here we go, FINALLY! I run (OK, waddle) to the bathroom to make sure it is my water. My heart sinks—I see green fluid in my pad. For those of you who don’t know, that means there was meconium (baby’s first poop) in my water bag. I automatically knew what this meant. We would have to transfer to the hospital due to the concern of respiratory complications for the baby. There goes my plan, there goes my home birth. I was crushed. Mind you, I was going on 48 hours of no sleep so I was exhausted and very emotional.
As I walked out to the living room to tell my husband, I remember tears just welling up in my eyes, the same as what’s happening this moment as I’m reliving it while I write this. I took a deep breath and sent a picture to my midwife. She confirmed that it was meconium and said she would call me shortly. Those moments as we awaited her call I was a mess. My husband was so sweet, talking me through it and being so supportive. I knew we needed to go to the hospital for the safety of the baby, which was the most important thing to me, but I also could not help feeling all the emotions going through me and all I could think at that moment was, “I wanted this so badly. What about all those people who didn’t believe I could do it? What about our plans? What about the birth banner and Christmas lights I hung up? This was supposed to be perfect.” With the support of my husband, I began to come to terms with what was happening. Above all, I knew it was for the best and I knew that this had been a possibility all along.
My midwife called us and we discussed options for transfer. We decided to transfer to Broadlawns Medical Center to the care of another midwife, Rebecca Schleuger-Valadao, who had recently started practice there. We feel so blessed to have been able to transfer into her. She was amazing and the staff at Broadlawns were wonderful. I felt good knowing that I was going into the care of a midwife whose background was home births. I knew she would understand and respect my wishes for a natural birth. So we quickly loaded up and headed there. On the way, I let my doula and photographer know the plans.
When we arrived at the hospital around 1:30 p.m., my contractions were getting much stronger and I could barely walk. I remember the 10-minute wait in the registration area seemed like forever. I hated being out in the waiting area where everyone was walking by. There was no privacy as I was wriggling around in pain trying not to make any sounds that would draw more attention to myself. Once we got to our room, I began to feel more comfortable—not as in having less pain, that continued to increase. But I was at ease with the transition.
The transfer into the hospital was fairly smooth. The staff came in and introduced themselves, the nurses, the midwife, the pediatrician, the residents, etc., which was great and they were all very nice, but it was so distracting to me. I was trying to zone out and concentrate on making it through each contraction and in the middle of one, someone would walk in and tell me who they were and explain that they would be there for the birth and why. Honestly, at this point I didn’t care who was in the room during the birth, I just wanted them to get the heck out of my room so I could get through my contraction. It was so frustrating at that moment. I was trying to be patient with them, though, because I’m a nurse so I know that they are just doing what they are supposed to.
Rebecca was wonderful. She gave me a warm welcome and talked me through my options, giving me the rundown on how things would progress, but I have to tell you, I about lost it again when I heard those dreaded words: “We will get the Pitocin started.” I mean, I knew that I didn’t have a choice at this point but to be induced due to my bags of water being ruptured and meconium in the fluid. I knew I was now on the clock, but to hear it out loud and know that it was real, I had to take another deep breath and come to terms with the fact that this was all in my baby’s and my best interest, and even though I had my heart set on an all-natural birth, this was best.
Sarah and Dreyer
We started Pitocin around 2:30 p.m. and I continued to labor. My husband, midwife, and doula were all with me helping me through each contraction. I had to be moving to make it through them, sitting on the birthing ball, moving my hips in a circle, or dancing with someone. I just had to move and breathe through them. They became so strong that it took all my energy to get through them. I was going on three days with no sleep and constant contractions. It’s an understatement to say that I was exhausted.
My team of support kept me going. They were incredible! I honestly don’t know how I could have done it without them. Baby’s heart rate stayed perfect—he’s a champ! So we continued on. My midwife and doula were huge advocates for me. They got the staff to bring in the water tub. I got in that for a while and continued to labor there as long as I could.
Around 7:30 p.m., I was having very strong contractions and my bloody show. We decided to have the nurse check me again thinking I would be around complete. My heart dropped when the nurse said I was only at 6 centimeters dilated.
I thought, “OH MY GOSH, how the hell am I going to do this any longer?” I was so exhausted and the contractions were so strong. If you don’t know anything about Pitocin, it can make the contractions bigger and stronger than normal contractions. I don’t know for certain, but I truly think that is why my contractions were so strong and almost unbearable … well that, and simply because my body was SO tired.
Dreyer Lee
After I had been checked, and it was determined I was only 6 centimeters dilated, my midwife questioned an epidural. Up until this point we had not even talked about an epidural because everyone knew that it was not what I wanted. My midwife, being so incredibly wise as she is, knew that I was exhausted and needed rest in order to gather the strength to push this baby out. We all discussed it. No one pushed it on me, we simply talked about the pros and cons. At one point, I even turned to Darson and asked him if I should do it. His reply was, “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but if you do it, you’ll be so mad at yourself.” His reply wasn’t wrong at the time. After talking it through with everyone, I decided I needed to have an epidural. I think I had the sarcastic thought at one point, “Might as well, everything else has gone the opposite that I planned.” I knew that my midwife was right, though, and I’m so grateful for her knowledge. I needed to get some rest while I continued to dilate in order to muster up some energy to push.
I cannot even explain the relief I felt when that epidural took hold. I hadn’t realized how tense my whole body was until I felt the release when that medicine kicked in. I think that is why I wasn’t progressing. It was around 9 p.m. by this time. Everyone except my husband went home, and we settled in to get some rest. It may not have been the best sleep I have ever gotten, but it sure felt like it to me.
By 3 a.m., I was complete (my cervix was fully dilated)! YES! From then until 8 a.m., I labored down (meaning we let my contractions do the work of bringing the baby down further before doing active pushing). I continued to rest feeling only some pressure during contractions.
Sarah, Darson, and Dreyer
At 8 a.m., everyone had returned to the hospital and it was time to push. We decided to turn my epidural down so that I could feel the contractions and have more effective pushes. When the medication started to wear off and I began to feel the contractions and pressure again, I thought to myself, “Why the hell did I do that? I was so relaxed before.” I am so glad that I did, though, because I felt everything as I birthed my child. I felt so strong and powerful as I felt his head crowning. I don’t know how to explain the pain and experience in any other way than an out-of-mind experience. It was more pain, stronger pressure, and different than anything else I had ever known, yet my body knew exactly what to do and it took over. I knew I couldn’t stop the pain and I knew I had to get through it. One of the most vivid and memorable moments to me was feeling my baby move through my birth canal and into this world. They say you forget the pain, but I don’t think I will ever forget that feeling. It was incredible.
Thursday, Oct. 19, 2017, at 9:39 a.m., Dreyer Lee Grantham was born! In the midst of all the unexpected and all the unplanned is where all the beauty of it is. Dreyer did not have any respiratory trouble from the meconium. He was a perfect little baby. I only had a second-degree tear, was healthy through the incredibly long week of prodromal labor, and with the rest from the epidural, I was able to push Dreyer out in just an hour and a half.
Everything was perfect in all the imperfections. We couldn’t have asked for a better ending to a perfect story!
It was March 5, 2018—my due date. I’m pretty sure I had been complaining for most of the day that our baby boy hadn’t come out yet. Somehow I got it in my head that he was going to be early. I even ended up at our local birth center at the 36-week mark thinking my water had broken. Turns out, it was actually urine and I had peed my pants a little bit and not realized it. So that was a fun visit.
Truth be told, I was MISERABLE for the last few weeks of my second pregnancy. Around 35 weeks, I came down with what can only be described as the plague, and subsequently popped a rib out from coughing so hard. So even though I wanted so badly to be done with the pregnancy, I was also dreading labor with a bad rib. Luckily, Ellis decided to stay put for another few weeks, which gave me time to heal.
The evening I went into labor, my husband, Chad, and I were reading our daughter, Isla, a story before bed around 7:30. It was the last special memory we would make as a family of three. All of a sudden, I felt an indescribable pain shoot around my midsection. I let Chad know that we should call my mom since she was going to come stay with Isla while we went to the hospital if this was, in fact, really “it.”
I waddled down the stairs to get my phone and all at once felt my water break and my mucus plug come out. I went to the bathroom just to be sure—definitely not urine this time.
My mom was on her way, but I felt we needed to get to the hospital ASAP so we called a neighbor who came to stay with Isla until my mom arrived, and off we went to deliver the newest Peyton.
Chad, Janet (my mother-in-law), Ellis and I
I had a couple incredibly painful contractions during the car ride, and by the time we arrived at the birthing center, they had me skip triage and go straight to a labor room. “You’re definitely in labor,” one of the nurses had said, “no doubt about that.”
I gave birth to our daughter at the same birthing center and I remember moving around a lot. I went from the bed to the bath and back again several times. This time was different. I gripped the bedrail and thought, “I’m just going to hang on and endure this until he comes out!”
I had tested positive for Group B Strep when I was around 37 weeks pregnant and was told I’d need antibiotics during labor. My initial thought was that I would refuse the antibiotics as I’m not a fan of using them unless they are absolutely necessary. And the last thing I wanted was to mess with the gut health of our brand new baby since the antibiotics would reach him as well.
I did some research on Group B Strep and the articles I read were nothing less than terrifying. The concern of infection was less for me and more for our new baby. If he was to contract an infection, some of the possible complications could be pneumonia, meningitis or sepsis (a blood infection). Though rare, these complications could be very serious, even fatal. I was horrified at the thought that this bacteria—one that is naturally found in the digestive and lower reproductive tracts of men and women—was harmless to me but could hurt our baby so badly. I knew I had to get the antibiotics. I hated the decision. I didn’t want an IV during labor. I didn’t want antibiotics in me or our baby.
My doctor told me that in an ideal world, there would be time for two doses of antibiotics, which, I was told, would mean I’d need to be in labor for at least 4-6 hours. As soon as we arrived at the birthing center, I went from hating the idea of an IV to telling whoever was in front of me that I was Group B Strep positive and needed an IV stat in hopes that I would get those two doses. Well, that didn’t end up happening. There was only time for one dose, but thankfully, nothing was passed on, and our baby is healthy.
The really interesting thing about Group B Strep is that it can be found intermittently in the same person. For example, I tested negative when I was pregnant with my daughter. I may have even tested negative if they had done the test on a different day during my pregnancy with my son. It’s that unreliable and unpredictable. In hindsight, I’m happy with my decision to get the antibiotics, but boy did it mess with my head. The articles and forums I perused terrified me, the doctors didn’t say much in the way of comforting my fears, and in an instant, my hope for an intervention-free birth was gone. Still, I’m grateful this was the only intervention I would endure.
The nurses are amazing at our local birthing center, Sutter Maternity—one of whom was my mother-in-law, which maybe not everyone would love, but it was truly a comfort to have a familiar face as a nurse. Our main nurse was a sweet, lovely woman who goes to our gym, so we were lucky to be surrounded by two familiar faces and lots of friendly ones.
I moved around from one side to another, laid on my back, tried all fours. Nothing felt good except holding onto that bedrail. I felt much more in control of my body the second time around. I took a huge breath with every contraction—and I swear this decreased the pain by about 40 percent. It felt like it was taking so much energy to take that breath every time, but the pain relief was worth it.
After a couple hours of contractions, I felt the urge to push. I never felt that urge with my daughter and I welcomed it with open arms this time. “Yay, it’s almost over!” I thought. Our nurse called the doctor in to check my cervix, and when she did she said, “Hm, you’re not quite ready.” As soon as she left, I told our nurse I was going to push and she said, “You do what you gotta do.” So I did.
Ellis was 7 lb., 14 oz., and 21 in. long
With the first big push, I literally felt my baby moving downward in my body. It was the weirdest sensation. Before I knew it, he was crowning and I was about to meet him!
I felt his head start to emerge but with one big inhale I breathed him back in. I was so scared to tear while I was pushing him out. This went on for a few more minutes: he’d come out a little, and I’d breathe him back in a little. My voice was shaky with each inhale. Finally, I gave one final push and he came flying out. No joke, it was fast. It was 10:22 p.m. Labor lasted just under three hours. It was incredibly intense and superbly painful, but oh so worth it. The feeling I had when they put him on my chest is absolutely indescribable. I was altogether happy, relieved, excited, exhausted, scared, and euphoric.
The hours that followed were peaceful and serene. I looked forward to my daughter visiting the next day, and the rest of my family meeting Ellis Grey Peyton.
Isla and Ellis
I am beyond grateful for the rock-star birth-support team I had with me. Chad knew exactly what I needed when I needed it, whether it was counterpressure on my hips, a sip of water, or just to be left alone. The nurses encouraged me to listen to my body even when conventional medical advice was to the contrary, and my friends and family were waiting in the wings with congratulatory messages and so much love.
After my second—and hopefully last—time giving birth, my respect for the birth process grew exponentially. Even now, nine months removed, I am in awe of what my body did when I look at our kids everyday. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to carry and give life, and also for all of you who continue to share your birth experiences with me. It is a circle of life and love that I intend to keep growing.
For most of my pregnancy with my first child, I was planning a natural hospital birth with midwives present. At about 24 weeks, when I was supposed to take the gestational diabetes test, I started to have second thoughts. I had done a lot of research and took all my at-home blood sugar monitor numbers to my midwife (all of which were totally normal), and just because I refused the test, they marked me as having a high-risk pregnancy and tried to guilt me into taking the test anyway. I didn’t feel respected or supported, and I didn’t want to have to feel that during my birth, or have to advocate for myself that strongly. When my husband and I met my home-birth midwife, Sarah, the first time, it just felt right. She had the right mix of an evidence-based scientific approach, and an ease about her that made me feel comfortable. We talked through all the scenarios that might cause me to have to go to the hospital, and what it would likely look like if I did.
I called into work on a Monday morning, two days before my due date, and said I wanted to take a half sick day from home. I wrapped some things up, and started to get some light contractions by lunch time. I tried to take it easy during the day, but it was in the middle of a weird late-September heat wave in Chicago with record high temperatures and I hadn’t slept in four nights. After I went to bed, I was getting contractions about every eight minutes. I knew I should try to sleep, but I was on my phone tracking contractions, and jumping up when I had them, and leaning against the wall because I had a sharp feeling in my tail bone. I was up every eight minutes all night, while my husband remained asleep next to me. I woke him up at about 4:30 a.m. as I was about at the point in which I needed labor support to get into different positions. We waited until about 6 a.m. to call my doula and my midwife, when my contractions were about five minutes apart. Then we went downstairs, and I threw up.
My doula arrived first, and was helping me manage the pain by making noise through the contractions. We had shopped the night before for labor food, and she was making me eat anything that sounded appetizing, which I think was just a smoothie and coconut water. When Sarah arrived, she talked to me and did an exam. I found out that I was only at 3 centimeters dilated. This was devastating, and I was exhausted. She told me to stop making noise and that I needed to rest. She gave me the option of either having a glass of wine or taking a Benadryl. I chose wine, and she said to drink it and get in the bath. She was doing this to slow down the labor so I could get some rest. She also told everyone to go home so that I wouldn’t feel pressured in any way. I had the wine and the bath, and pretty quickly the contractions went down to every eight-10 minutes and were less intense. I laid down in a dark room, on my side, with about three pillows under my top leg because I was still getting that sharp tail-bone pain. Shockingly, the next eight hours seemed to go by pretty quickly, just trying to rest and taking it one contraction at a time.
By 4 p.m., my mom and my mother-in-law were there, and it was time to call the doula and midwife again. Contractions were back to five minutes apart, and felt much more consistent. My doula, who arrived first, was really focused on making me drink coconut water with every contraction, I think I went through about 8 liters that day, and she helped me to breathe more deeply.
Baby Connor
I was trying to bargain with her. This was really hard, and I said I think I could do it if it would be over in the next few hours. She replied, “You are doing it,” and assured me that the baby would come before the end of the day. Sarah was back, and this time I was at seven or eight centimeters dilated. I had some leaking fluid, but the midwife tested it and couldn’t tell if my water had broken yet or not. I was still resting on my side during contractions, but she wanted to play with different positions to intensify the labor. I had to be ready to work now, resting was over.
I turned to the other side, and she had me put the other leg up and push against her during a contraction. She asked how it felt, and I said much worse, to which she replied, “Let’s do that for the next three contractions.” Then she suggested I get in my bath. I was worried that it would slow down the labor again, but she said that at this point, there was no going backward. It was really intense in the bath tub, and she was making me lean over the edge so that I was above my baby during contractions, and then lay down to rest in between them. Everyone was really cheering me on. At one point my sister came in and heard a contraction and started saying, “Aww, poor thing,” and I said I didn’t want that kind of energy. It needed to stay positive.
I got out and I asked to be checked again. I was almost there, 10 centimeters with a little flap still in the way. She said to wait to push until it felt like I couldn’t not push, like my body was just bearing down. I pretty much did feel like that. We tried a few different positions for pushing, but what felt the most comfortable was sitting down on the toilet with my legs on the squatty potty. I had visions of squatting my baby out, but not exactly like this.
My master bathroom is large and from the 70s, and all the walls are mirrors. We had a soft red light in there, and I had nine people in there. I was pushing, and I could feel the head moving down. Pushing on the toilet, I felt like I could be done in a couple more contractions. Sarah asked me to move to my bed to push for a bit. I laid down on my back and pushed, but I didn’t feel nearly as much movement from the baby as when I was on the toilet. I felt like I was wasting my time there. The assistants were bringing in hot towels and putting them on my perineum (which now I am so thankful for because I didn’t tear at all).
Soon we got to move back to the toilet, and everyone was gathered around. Then my water broke, and splashed into the toilet. It startled me and actually splashed a few people. And within a few more pushes, my baby’s head was out. Sarah gently held his head in me while I got off the toilet and got on all fours on my bathroom floor. I actually asked if I could have a few minutes before I could push the rest of the baby out. I looked at Sarah and she was kind of laughing and saying “no.” Oh, just a few more pushes, but I was exhausted. He came out with his hands up by his neck, and he was handed to me and I leaned back to hold him. I walked to my bed with the cord still attached, and tried to latch him. He was very alert and he started to breastfeed.
Just after Connor was born
While breastfeeding was supposed to help bring on the contractions for the placenta, that didn’t really happen. I just said that I didn’t feel anything. I got a shot of pitocin about 20 minutes after Connor was born to help stimulate the placenta. Still nothing. I got another shot about 40 minutes later. Still nothing. I wanted it to be over, I just wanted to be with my baby.
Everyone was cleaning up around me and eventually they weighed and measured the baby. Sarah got everyone out of the room and had my husband hold the baby next to me so I could focus. I wanted to talk about what had just happened and how amazing my baby was. I never really felt contractions for the placenta, but at one point, over 90 minutes after the birth, I said I felt some pressure and they had me push. The placenta came out, thank goodness, because apparently I was really close to having to go to the hospital for that after my natural home birth.
I had a lot of support at home. My mom stayed over for a couple nights to help out, and both my doula and midwife came back over for the next few days to check on things. I felt really supported, and it was a great way to welcome my baby to the world.
I want to start by saying I had grand romanticized notions of childbirth, and this overachieving idea that I would write my birth story while in labor and keep a journal for my son to read one day as a way to give him insight into his arrival and birth into existence. I would journal the days leading up to his birth and during the time spent waiting in the hospital for his emergence, chronicling his first few hours of breathing in his own oxygen, as if I was some kind of Nat Geo journalist. Well, it turns out I was a bit more preoccupied than I had anticipated.
There’s a lot they don’t tell you about giving birth … a lot. We are now approaching three months postpartum, or as the mama boards say, 12 weeks, and I have barley scratched the surface of my Nat Geo journalism experience. I will say, however, after my flower rupturing experience, I think they should start sex ed at two days postpartum and go backward.
My life partner and I are both in the horse world and have participated in more than a few horse births, so this being our first child, our experience with giving birth to a human was native at best. Lets put it this way, when horses give birth, there’s not a whole lot of screaming, cursing, or threats of physical harm.
I use the term “life partner” rather than “husband,” “partner,” “baby daddy,” or “sperm donor,” because after the last 14 months, you better believe, for better or worse, he’s in this for 18 to life.
Throughout my pregnancy, I was under a great deal of stress. I am a self-proclaimed workaholic, go-big-or-go-home kind of person. Yes I was pregnant, yes I was growing a life, but I also had deadlines. I waddled from business meeting to business meeting, took care of horses, lifted bails of hay six days a week, and became frustrated with the increase in my yoga pants size. (Side note: I don’t do yoga. I just like being able to go through my day knowing if I choose the big mac and milkshake for lunch, my yoga pants will accept me and adjust instead of constricting with judgement like my jeans.)
I went through my pregnancy not giving much thought to the big day. I mean women have been doing this for quite a long time, since the beginning of time in fact. I had this idea that I would be in and out. Baby knocks, door opens, baby comes out. We all celebrate, back to work.
This … was .. not … what … happened.
Callahan Alexander’s eviction notice was sent on July 1, 2018, two weeks earlier then our 40-week due date. (By the way, 40 weeks is much, much longer then nine months.) It took him almost 52 hours to concede to the demands. It was much like a hostage negotiation.
On the morning of July 1, I wasn’t feeling myself. I had experienced high blood pressure since the 20th week, and was being closely monitored by my doctors. I had my OBGYN, and two specialists on our team, all three of whom warned us to be prepared for a preterm delivery, and advised us to get a blood-pressure machine and test at home on top of the four times a week they had us in the office for testing. We got the BP machine, but did we pack our hospital bag? Nope. Denial is a powerful thing.
On July 1, I went through my workday but came home early and decided to check my blood pressure: 190/87. Well, that could not be right, I mean anything over 150 was not good, there must have been a glitch, so I took it again: 192/97. Hmm, OK, well the anxiety of the first read must have made it go up. Wait, that means the first read was accurate, I thought. I called my LP (life partner) into the living room and showed him the reading. I’ve never seen his face go so white. We began the mad dash of waddling to the car and off to the hospital we went.
I was admitted into the ER and my BP was taken again: 187/92. Oh good! Improvement! I wish I could have freeze framed the look on that ER nurse’s face. An EKG was ordered and the staff started moving very quickly around me. The decision was made to move me out of the ER and up into labor and delivery. I wasn’t having contractions, our baby’s tests had always come back normal, including the ones they just took, so I figured it was just going to be another baby welfare check and we would be good to go home in an hour or so.
Spoiler alert: This is not what happened.
It turns out my BP levels were that of someone likely to have a stroke or heart attack in the near future, and my body’s decision to totally overreact like a Kardashian who lost a shoe, was endangering my life and thus our unborn baby. The only way to eliminate that threat and get my BP under control, was to change my baby’s title from unborn to born. The attending OB on the floor that night looked at my chart and introduced himself. Our exchange went as follows:
Doctor: “Hello, Mrs. Michelle We’re going to have a baby!
Me: Hello! You are not my doctor.
Doctor: I am tonight
Touché, doc … touché.
I was then hooked up to all kinds of monitors. I was given medication to lower my BP out of the red zone, and medication that notified my son of his impending eviction. I was put on bed rest and my LP was told it was safe to go home and pack the hospital bag we should have packed weeks ago. I imagine the scene at our house was much like the scene in the movie Blow with Johnny Depp, as he frantically packed his wife’s hospital bag—only without the drugs. We were not ready mentally or physically. We had both been living in this world of denial and now that D day had arrived, we were both terrified and feeling very unprepared. We kept saying “we’re not ready” to anyone within ear shot—nurses, cafe delivery employees, people who mistook our room for a loved one’s—pretty much anyone we came into contact with. Their hellos were greeted with “we’re not ready.” I was in the midst of a huge negotiation with millions of dollars on the line. I needed to close this deal before I locked myself away with my new baby. I definitely wasn’t ready!
I called my best friend, took a deep breath, and started in on my laptop. I had some pressing business emails that needed to be sent, and then, all of a sudden, I too received the eviction notice. That hurt!
Three hours later, my laptop had been closed and flung across the room, I had sent numerous texts to my sister demanding she put her Starbucks down and get to the hospital, and more than a couple threatening texts to my LP.
One of our nurses came in to check my cervix. My LP reached our room just in time to see the look on my face when my dilation was checked. Ummm. WOW. I was not expecting that. It turned out that after three hours of minute-long contractions, one minute apart, I was barley 2 centimeters dilated. This is right about when the realization and gravity of our situation started to sink in. This was going to take more than just a knock on the door—more like a sledgehammer. We were going to be here for a while, and my schedule no longer mattered.
Thirty-six hours in with no sleep, and still 2 centimeters dilated, they upped my pitocin … again. This time, however, I insisted the nurse who had the smallest hands check my dilation. No joke, I made my attending nurses line up and show me their hand sizes. I wasn’t messing around with that again.
My water broke around the 28th hour, but still lots of contractions and not a lot of progress. I asked Nurse Thorn (yes, her name was Nurse Thorn) why I wasn’t progressing? Apparently the drugs they had me on to keep me from stroking out, counteracted the induction drugs I was on. They were slowly increasing the induction drugs hoping they would overpower the drugs working to keep my BP regulated. With 20 being the highest level they could go, we were at level 18 of pitocin.
On the morning of July 4, 38 hours in, I had had enough. One way or another, this baby was coming out today! After threatening to find a scalpel to cut him out myself (that seemed to get the nurse’s attention), Nurse Thorn came into our room and announced she had given away her patients for the day. She then told me to get up because we were going to have a baby today! Damn right! It’s the Fourth of July, I’m not missing out on giving my son free birthday fireworks for life! Besides no one wants to party on the fifth.
She gave my LP and I the opportunity to take a warm shower together … it was the best shower. Ever. As I was getting dried off, I realized my water had broke again, this time for really reals. Apparently, it can kinda break and then REALLY break. Another one of the many things they do not tell you.
Things began to happen very quickly after that. I was put into another room with a fake blue sky on the ceiling. By the way, the fake blue sky doesn’t help, not one bit. I was feeling OK, and then they put my pitocin up to 20. Everything seemed OK until it was NOT. All of a sudden, I had a contraction come through that made me freeze. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. After it passed, I look at my sister and said, “What in the hell was that?!” It was such an intense pain, something I had never felt before in my life. And I’ve been thrown off a lot of horses! As the next one rolled in and the one after that, and the one after that, I remember asking the nurses, “Is this what dying is like?”
Having an epidural was always in our birth plan. My feeling is to each their own, but if you slice your arm open let’s say as big as 10 centimeters, for me, I’m not going to look at the ER doc and say, “Nah, no numbing drugs, just go ahead and stitch it up like they did in the Civil War days.” Nope, not me. Give me the drugs! Then I got hit with the big kahuna contraction. My sister looked at me and said, “Do you want me to ask them to call for the epidural?” I said, “No, let’s see how the next one goes.” My sister, who has four kids, looked at me and said, “You know they are not going to be getting any better, right?” The next one hit 68 seconds later. As I watched the monitor climb to the highest level, that was it. In between the swearing, I started screaming for the drugs! The anesthesiologist came pretty quickly and during his list of possible side effects, when he mentioned paralysis, I screamed, “I hope so!”
In a matter of four hours we had gone from 4 centimeters to 8 centimeters, to “Dear, God, where are the drugs?!” During transition, as the tears streamed down my face and the nausea that I hadn’t experienced since my sophomore year in college kicked in, the epidural started to waiver a bit, and I started to feel the “feels.” Every time a contraction would build, I felt like I was having PTSD symptoms. At one point, one of the nurses started to roll out a mirror. I quickly told her to, “Put that away! The only one of us who needed to see that is the guy who caused it!”
My LP was given the opportunity to catch our son and hand him to me. I hadn’t slept in three days and all I could think was, “Dear, Lord, please don’t let me drop my child.”
On July 4, at 4:44 p.m., after 10 pushes, Callahan Alexander Bruner took his first breath. The doctor commented that I only had a minor tear and that I only required three stitches. Ummm … her idea of a “minor tear” was MUCH different than mine. After the nurses weighed Cal and handed him back to me, I looked at my son for the first time, really looked at him, and said out loud, “Oh thank God we didn’t have an ugly baby.” The nursing staff once again held back there laughter from my ridiculousness. At 7 lb., 13 oz., Callahan Alexander had sky blue eyes, wisps of platinum blonde hair and lungs like his mama.
Cheers to the nurses at Twin Cities Hospital. You put up with me for over a week. Without their help, expertise, and sense of humor, my birth story would have been much different, with potentially a much unhappier ending.
Callahan is now a happy bouncing blue-eyed baby boy who loves ceiling fans, his daddy and early morning snuggles with mommy and daddy. And dear, God, this kid can eat! I am extremely grateful I get to forever be his mommy. He is our whole world and the only deadline now is story time.
P.S. No, he is not sleeping through the night. I’m going to get a T-shirt that says that so the next person who feels the need to ask me won’t.
I pushed for a long time on my side, but would get a horrendous cramp in my hip the minute the contraction was over. There was a peanut-shaped exercise ball they put between my knees after each contraction, but I felt like they could never put it in place fast enough and I would scream for the peanut ball until they got it in place and I could rest.
My life partner and I are both in the horse world and have participated in more than a few horse births, so this being our first child, our experience with giving birth to a human was native at best. Lets put it this way, when horses give birth, there’s not a whole lot of screaming, cursing, or threats of physical harm.
I was then hooked up to all kinds of monitors. I was given medication to lower my BP out of the red zone, and medication that notified my son of his impending eviction. I was put on bed rest and my LP was told it was safe to go home and pack the hospital bag we should have packed weeks ago. I imagine the scene at our house was much like the scene in the movie 
In a matter of four hours we had gone from 4 centimeters to 8 centimeters, to “Dear, God, where are the drugs?!” During transition, as the tears streamed down my face and the nausea that I hadn’t experienced since my sophomore year in college kicked in, the epidural started to waiver a bit, and I started to feel the “feels.” Every time a contraction would build, I felt like I was having PTSD symptoms. At one point, one of the nurses started to roll out a mirror. I quickly told her to, “Put that away! The only one of us who needed to see that is the guy who caused it!”
