In the first few days following
Elliot's birth, I couldn't quite bring myself to write out his birth
story. It was still too fresh—to raw—to re-live it in such
detail. So I waited, and now, two weeks later, the events of that
morning are already beginning to blend together and become slightly
hazy in my mind. Yet despite the softening of time, whenever I think
back on that morning, one word always comes to mind: intense.
* * *
Elliot's due date was April 28th.
But from the time we began announcing the pregnancy, I insisted upon
telling people he was due to arrive in early May. And sure enough,
April 28th came and I was still pregnant. But at that
point, I was just barely recovering from a nasty cold and hadn't
really wanted to be coughing and pushing at the same time. So, I
wasn't too heartbroken that he hadn't decided to make an early debut.
The last week before he was born, I
actually was feeling really great. No cold, my pinched nerve had
dramatically subsided, I was getting in some naps during the day, and
life seemed to be on hold—almost as if it would continue on like
this indefinitely. It didn't quite seem that any day a new little
person would be joining our family. And even though we wouldn't be
“new” parents, I still couldn't imagine what life would be like
when he finally would arrive.
Friday night, we ran some errands and
picked up some fast food as a “last hurrah” kind of treat. The
sun was shining and we ate outside, Charlotte wearing a bib and
enjoying the freedom to come and go as she liked between bites of her
meal. I had my first post-dates testing appointment set for the next
morning since I would be 41 weeks along, but felt at peace that this
baby would likely come before the dreaded 42 weeks when I would risk
out of the birth center. After Charlotte fell asleep, Mitch and I
decided to watch one of the online PBS specials before we hit the
sack. We got ready for bed, but after crawling under the covers,
sleep quickly seemed like the better option. When I woke up the next
morning around 4am to use the bathroom, and came back to bed feeling
a strong-ish contraction, I remember feeling grateful we hadn't
stayed up late.
I dozed back off, and somewhere between
5 and 5:30am contractions started coming stronger. I wasn't
completely convinced that this was real labor, because the
contractions felt different than I remembered them. Stinging is the
closest word I can think of to describe them...but it doesn't really
describe them at all. I began mentally planning what needed to be
done, just in case this was the real deal. “Pull the food out of
the freezer, chop up some strawberries, breakfast for Charlotte...”
Once I couldn't lay down during the contractions anymore, I began to
think that this was really it. During the contractions, all I wanted
to do was hop up and run to the toilet, which was crazy to me,
because I couldn't stand to be sitting when I was in labor with Charlotte. Mitch woke up with
me getting in and out of bed every 15 minutes, and I told him I
thought I was going into labor. I was actually pretty convinced since
there had been blood and all systems seemed to be flushing out,
getting ready for a baby to head on through!
Mitch started timing contractions on
the iPad and I was having a hard time finding a comfortable position
to deal with them. I tried kneeling and crawling—no dice! Rolling
around ungracefully on the exercise ball helped a bit, as did
squatting and swaying my hips. I decided to call my mom, just so she
would be here with Charlotte and when things really started picking
up we wouldn't have to worry about her getting here on time. I was
going to wait to call the midwives, but after I got off the phone
with my mom, I figured it probably wouldn't hurt to give them a call
just in case it took awhile for the answering service to reach them.
In a few minutes I got a call back from Karin, one of the midwives. I
told her my contractions were coming 5 or so minutes apart and
lasting for a minute each. Then a contraction hit and I had to stop
talking to focus on it. We talked about when to meet up at the birth
center. I suggested 8am, thinking that maybe any earlier would just
be too early. Karin wisely said, “I don't think there is any need
to wait that long. When will your mom be there?” I told her in
about 15 minutes. “Let's meet at 7:30, okay?” I agreed.
Charlotte woke up then and Mitch went
to get her and tell her that baby brother would be coming soon. She
was unimpressed. What she was impressed by was my “dancing”
in her bedroom. She came in with me and raised her hands in the air,
laughing and twirling around. The second time I began “dancing,”
however, I was making a little more noise which Charlotte was not as
charmed by. When she started crying, I hollered out to Mitch to come
get her. One baby was all I could focus on at a time!
My mom showed up and we finished
gathering up our bags and food, went over important details like
where to find Charlotte's sippy cup, and I had a few more
contractions—contractions which made me very grateful Karin had
suggested meeting at 7:30 and not waiting until 8!
I was a bit nervous for the drive over,
but the roads were empty and I only had one contraction during the
entire ride—and it was conveniently at a red light where I could
easily turn around and hug the back of my chair. And try not to make
eye contact with the teenage boys in the car next to us.
We made it to the birth center at
exactly 7:30am. When we walked in, the midwives were laughing and
thanking me for waiting till the morning to go into labor, since they
were actually able to get dressed and brush their teeth. It sounded
like there had been several births that week, one in particular for
which there wasn't much advance warning. Karin was also delighted to
finally meet Mitch and have her morning cup of coffee with him
actually in person! Tommi, the intern, then checked my progress. I
was surprised to hear I was already at a 7. “Aren't you glad we
didn't wait until 8 o'clock?” Karin laughed. “I know! Good call!
I didn't think I was this far along,” I replied. “Well, I heard
you during that contraction,” Karin responded. Tommi then got me
hooked up to the IV so I could get a round of antibiotics since I
tested positive for Group B Strep. The antibiotics were done really
quickly, and then Karin asked me if I wanted to hop in the tub.
Ahhh, the tub. It's official, I love
laboring in water. The tub felt great as I was able to float my body
during the contractions and really take the edge off them. Everyone
was still pretty chatty and Mitch was cracking jokes and keeping the
ladies entertained. They kept on saying that he should have been a
comedian, not a meteorologist. I remember thinking somewhat wryly to
myself how I fully had the right to be annoyed by all the laughing
and joking around, but that luckily I wasn't!
Tommi checked my progress after what
seemed like only a few contractions, and I was shocked to hear that I
was almost fully dilated. She suggested that they could break my
water which would help the baby's head put more pressure and get rid
of that final bit of cervix. I asked what would happen after the
water broke, and she said that there would be a lot more pressure and
that it would be time to push soon.
That was when it hit me—I was almost
there, to that dreaded second stage of labor, the part I had been
anxious about in the back of my mind this entire pregnancy. I started
to feel so scared and Tommi could tell. She told me it was okay to
cry and my face scrunched up and the tears started trickling down my
cheeks. I said I didn't think I was ready for my water to be broken
and that I'd like to wait a few more contractions. After a few
contractions, I decided that I was ready and Tommi broke my water.
They asked me if I wanted to try pushing. So I gave some pushes but
felt so unsure of myself. The water was starting to feel less and
less relaxing and I was having a hard time finding a comfortable
position to push. But I wasn't sure if I should give up on it so
soon. Then Karin asked me if I wanted to get out of the tub. That
sounded like a good idea to me. With some help getting up and out of
the tub, I headed over to the bedroom. Karin put a birth ball on the
bed and I kneeled and rested my arms and body on the ball. Mitch was
on the bed next to my side and the midwives were behind. “This is a
great position to push out a baby!” I remember someone declaring. I
was glad to be upright on the bed and hoped this would bode better
for me than last time!
No such luck.
It becomes difficult for me, at this
point, to distinguish a timeline in my mind. Everything seems to
blend together in my memory with certain moments that stand apart
from the rest. I remember only pushing on my knees for a short while,
and I believe it was because my cervix had “un-dialated.” They
told me that I was now back at an 8-9 and so we were going to need to
change things up to get fully dialated again. I believe I laid on my
back and pushed while Karin tried to hold the lip of the cervix back.
But it didn't seem to be working very well. Then it was onto my side
and I was told not to push. Laying there just enduring the
contractions felt like agony to me! I mumbled something about how I
wondered if this happened because we broke my water. Tommi reassured
me that it didn't happen because of that and she still thought it had
been a good move to make. Then it was back on my back again and
still, that darn cervix wasn't completely open. And all the while, I
was facing this inward battle, knowing I needed to push but shrinking
from it. Because the harder I pushed, the more it hurt. And unlike
contractions, which I could mentally and emotionally work through,
pushing is doing. And it felt like a losing battle. After each
push, I would look up into the eyes of the women around me,
desperately looking for affirmation, feeling like I was making no
progress. At some point, I noticed Felicity, another midwife, in the
hallway watching. (I found out afterwards the on-call shift ends at
9am). After a bit, she came in and handed me one side of a
bungee-like rope with a handle and she held the other. Then she told
me to pull and push at the same time while she pulled on the other
end. After a few pushes doing that, it was onto my side again. That
cervix.
This time, the side-lying about did me
in. I was moaning and crying each time a contraction began. It hit
me at this point, that I had forgotten to get a
blessing from Mitch.
We had meant to do it on Sunday, but the day got busy and I just had
forgotten. Lying there, I felt so much regret that I had forgotten
–how I needed that extra reassurance and comfort right now! My
moans were starting to evidence my growing agitation, so Felicity
told me to keep my vocalizations deep instead of high-pitched. That
helped me gain control to some degree, but in-between contractions I
begged to be able to move. “I would give anything to be able to
stand up right now,” I moaned, feeling so desperate, while Mitch
rubbed my forehead and tried to reassure me. In-between contractions,
I also kept saying sorry. “What do you have to be sorry for?!”
Tommi asked. “I just feel like I'm being such a whiny!” I
replied. Everyone laughed and told me I was doing great. Then
Felicity told me I could go ahead and try standing up, which I was so
relieved to hear. I got up towards the end of the bed and grabbed the
footboard and tried to move through the contraction and push. “This
doesn't feel as good as I thought it would!” I said, feeling so
dismayed. After a few contractions, someone suggested we try the
birthing stool.
I had never seen a birthing stool
before and I thought it would look more like a wooden stool or
something. Imagine my surprise when they brought in an old-lady
walker turned on its side! Okay, not really, but that is what it
reminded me of. I straddled each side and held onto the grips behind
me. And pushed. And after a bit, yes, it was back to the bed.
This time, I think we were starting to
finally get somewhere, when I heard the dreaded, “He's just having
a hard time getting past the pubic bone.” It was the same thing
they said with Charlotte. No! Not again! Things were getting more and
more intense and Felicity's instruction to “push out my bottom”
was helping me get somewhere. “Get angry!” she encouraged me. I
tried to fuel my frustrations to good use. “Come on baby!” I
yelled, putting as much energy into my pushes as I could. The
announcement that this boy had a head of hair also was encouraging. “
Oh good! I'm so glad!” I smiled. But despite the fun news, I was
wearing down fast.
I could feel such pressure in my face
when I pushed, as well as everywhere else. I was getting so tired.
The pain felt so strong and I felt so much more present during it
than with Charlotte. Rather than being in the blurry realm of
labor-land, I was much more aware of each sensation as well as in
charge of the process. Rather than a monitor telling everyone when my
contractions were peaking, it was my job to know when to push. Which
meant I had to hone in to each contraction and then make the decision
to push. And each time I had to grapple with myself—how hard to
push, how long to push, how committed was I going to be? And all the
while, I was finding it difficult to believe that anything was truly
happening. Amidst the pain, I remember whispering in desperation,
“Help me. Heavenly Father, please help me.” The one bit of
comfort was being able to rest my head back on Mitch's chest (he was
lying behind me) in between pushes.
Again, it was suggested that I move
back to the birthing stool. This time I felt like my pushes were much
more effective, and to my surprise, they actually were. His head was
almost crowning when the midwives told me I needed to get back on the
bed because I would tear badly if I gave birth in this position. “I
can't!” I exclaimed as I literally could feel the baby between my
legs. “Yes you can!” came the replies. And somehow, between
shouts of pain from me and a lot of help from everyone else, I made
it back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The next contraction hit. After several
hard pushes and a lot of pain, his head was out. And then, nothing.
My contractions stopped and his body wasn't out yet. Everyone was
yelling at me to keep pushing. Both midwives were shoving on my
stomach and Mitch, with an urgency in his voice that let me know it
was serious, shouted, “Natalie, you need to push. You need to push
now!”
I gave it my all admist such pain and
intensity. And then, just like before, it was done. But this time, a
heavy warm body was placed right on my chest amidst surprised
exclamations of “What a big baby! We've got a big boy!” The first
words out of my mouth, as I looked at his wet purple body, were, “Is
he okay?” Even after the reassuring, “Yes, he's fine...the cord
was just wrapped around his neck,” I kept repeating it several
times: “He's okay? He's okay?” Felicity rubbed the baby with
towels and he started crying loudly. He was having trouble pinking up
so they brought over the tiny oxygen mask and let him breathe it in.
I was still feeling dazed as I stared at this person I had just
brought into the world. “He has my ears,” I smiled as I
recognized the bigger ears and detached lobes.
After a few minutes and another round
of oxygen, the baby was looking better and everyone was exclaiming
over his size. “I'm betting 9 pounds 6 ounces!” Victoria, the
birth assistant, declared after giving him a good look. Tommi and
Felicity agreed that he was likely somewhere in the 9-pound range.
Even with him lying on my chest, I thought everyone was crazy and
figured they were probably just gauging his size wrong. Surely he
wasn't 9 pounds!
An hour later, after some snuggles and
breastfeeding, Tommi came in and put the baby on the scale. And sure
enough, Victoria had hit the jackpot! 9 pounds 6.5 ounces. 21 inches
long. I could hardly believe it.
At 10:24am on May 5, 2012, after
roughly 5 hours of labor and 2 hours since I had begun pushing,
Elliot Lincoln came into our lives. 4 short hours later we were home.
I was still dazed from it all. And though I was happy, I wasn't on
the cloud-nine high that I had experienced with Charlotte. It had
just been so intense.
36 hours later the tears came. But not
the joyful ones that I had been expecting. Instead, I could barely
hold them back when I saw Charlotte for the first time. Could this
big girl be the baby that I had left with my mom only a day and a
half earlier? I had prepared myself that she might have a difficult
time adjusting to a new baby brother, but I had never dreamed that my
heart might feel so torn, that I would suddenly mourn the loss of our
old life and the attention that I would now be dividing between two.
Over the next several days the tears
continued to come, gratefully only intermittently, yet at times when
I least expected. I knew they were in large part due to hormones, but
it didn't make the emotions any less real or painful. I felt so
shell-shocked. Why hadn't the endorphins kicked in after his birth?
Why did I feel such conflicting emotions? Why couldn't I just be
completely happy?
And then one day, we were sitting on
the couch nursing. He finished drinking, opened his eyes, and gazed
deeply into mine. And there it was. Those beautiful blue-grey eyes
penetrated my soul and it was as if we were really seeing each other
for the first time. And not just seeing each other, but seeing each
other again. I could almost hear him saying, “Remember me?”
“Ahhh,” I sighed in recognition, “My Elliot.”
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| Mitch taking good care of me. |
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| Meeting for the first time. |
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| Fresh as they come. |
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| Happy he's here. |
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| Father and son. |
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| Me and my boy. |
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| Welcome home, Elliot! |
