Elliot's Birth Story

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 28^th. 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 28^th 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.”

Mitch taking good care of me.

Meeting for the first time.

Fresh as they come.

Happy he's here.

Father and son.

Me and my boy.

Welcome home, Elliot!