Birth Stories: First Child

I could hardly keep the good news to myself: I was expecting our first baby after more than five years of trying. We savored our secret for about a month so we could tell our family members face-to-face when we visited.

I had planned to wait until twelve weeks to tell our friends and neighbors about the change that would come to our family. Then I caught a cold that would not go away. After three awful weeks, I went to the clinic to see if there was anything that could be done. When I told the Physician's Assistant I was pregnant, he kind of shrugged his shoulders, as if to suggest that colds that will not go away are just part of the facts of pregnancy life.

One of my good friends is the wife of that Physician's Assistant. At community choir practice, she asked what I had found out at the clinic. After I told her they said there was nothing they could do for me, she "hmphed" sympathetically.

The next morning I got a call from her husband. He said, "I am so sorry. I think I did a bad thing!" Surprised, I asked him what he meant. He said, "I think I let the cat out of the bag!" Then he explained how after early-morning family scripture study he went back to bed to catch a few more z's before getting ready for work. He had been almost asleep when his wife had indignantly asked him why he couldn't help me get better. He told her, "I can't help her...she's pre...I mean she's sick. She's really really sick!" He told me he tried to cover it up, but he wasn't sure if he had been successful or not. I laughed and told him not to worry. The rest of the day, every time I thought about it, I couldn't hold back a smile.

I decided it was time. It was a few weeks sooner than I had planned to announce it (I was looking forward to telling my friends on April Fools Day to see if they would believe me or not), but I was ready. I called my close friend and asked her if I could stop by later. Then I went for my weekday morning walk with two other friends, one of them the wife of the PA. As it turns out, my husband and I are not good at lying. I don't remember the particulars, but the other friend who walked with us had been perplexed by contradicting information she had received from my husband and I (all I remember is that it had something to do with going to the doctor in the city--an hour away). It was relieving and exciting to tell them how our dreams were finally coming true.

My midwife recommended a couple of cold medications that were safe to use during pregnancy. I tried one and it made me upchuck. A few days later I tried the other kind and I was puking again. I called my midwife and she told me not to take any more medication. I just have to say here that I HATE to throw up. I LOATHE it more than anything I can think of. Even though I had queasy, nauseating sometimes all-day morning sickness, the fact that I only ever puked three times in my life while pregnant (all three during my first pregnancy), is something for which I will be forever grateful. And thankfully, the cold did go away after that.

I read every pregnancy book I had from cover to cover. I was constantly reading online about pregnancy. I wanted to soak in any and all information about it. So when the nausea went away precisely the day after I made it to the twelve-week mark, I thought, "Wow, the books were right on!"

I experienced heartburn for the first time in my life when I was six months pregnant. I ate dinner, and then went outside to pull weeds in the flower bed. BAD IDEA...but a learning experience. Heartburn became my companion after that, but I found that fruity Tums were a better friend.

My sister came to stay with me when the baby's due date arrived. A week later, there was still no baby and apologetically, she left to return to work. I was still pregnant when I went to church the day of my sixth anniversary, nine days after the due date. I would be exaggerating if I said that everyone asked me why I was there, still pregnant, but it seemed like I could read that question on each face even if it wasn't asked. That was the first day I could say that I was truly miserable. My body ached everywhere. I was tired because I had felt contractions the night before and had stayed up late to time them. After so long, I had come to the point where I almost believed I would always be pregnant.

That night, I made peace with eternal pregnancy (even though I was scheduled to be induced at the hospital at 6:00 the next morning) and climbed into bed. Before I could fall asleep, I felt my first contraction. It was midnight. Even though my contractions were coming only semi-regularly, I became nervous because we lived almost an hour from the hospital. I woke my husband at 2:00 am and said we should go. I had called the hospital and they said it was fine for us to show up a couple of hours early, just in case. I had contractions up until the time they put me on the monitor (about 4:00). Then they stopped. Lesson learned: I should have slept!

I made slow progress all day long. I tried to rest, but it was hard with all of the excitement (and pitocin) running through my veins. My husband was good company and had me laughing a little too hard. The contractions were becoming more painful, so I rocked in the rocking chair. After awhile, that didn't help anymore, so I tried walking. That only made me feel worse. When my midwife asked if I'd like a bath, it sounded like just what I needed.

I was on my second bath of the day (after being only five centimeters dilated for hours) when I called to my husband (who was reading a book in the hospital room) to help me get out. He came into the bathroom and in a panicked cry I begged him not to make me go through the birth without pain medication (even though I had made him promise to help me do it without the aid of drugs). I told him that I would never make it. I had so long to go and I was afraid I would never make it to transition, let alone through it.

Soon after, my midwife (who had been assisting another of her patients, who was having an emergency cesarean section of twins) returned to check on me. She coaxed me to the hospital bed. I was pleading for drugs. When she encouraged me with the words, "You can do this, you are at a ten! You made it through transition all by yourself. I am going to break your water and then you can start pushing," I cried with relief. My husband denies it, but I remember vividly that he cried too. He told me shortly after the birth that he felt sorry that he had left me to go through it alone. This moment was tender to me. I hadn't needed him until I called to him, and when I did, he was right there, but knowing that he wished he could somehow help me was a reminder of how much he loved me.

If I had known how long I was going to have to push, I would not have felt the relief I did. After twenty-two hours of labor, an hour and fifteen minutes of pushing, and so many "I can't do its" they couldn't be counted, I became discouraged and disoriented. I kept asking the midwife how many more pushes. I was so tired and in so much pain, that I forgot why I was even pushing. So when the baby was finally born, I looked at the little bundle of tiny pink body parts and said, with awe in my voice, "It's a baby." My husband still makes fun of me for that. "What did you think it was going to be?"

At first, the midwife forgot to tell us what kind of baby it was, but we discovered soon enough that a sweet little GIRL, seven pounds, nine ounces, had finally made us parents. After she was born, I encouraged her to eat, but she just wanted to sleep. My husband went home to prepare for his substitute at work the next day, so I put her in her bassinet and closed my eyes. I couldn't sleep because my body had obviously released a huge dose of mommy endorphins, but it felt good to soak in the peace of my room: my labor music playing, the lights turned low, and my whole life's desire sleeping soundly close by. When she was three hours old, I opened my eyes to look at her and she was staring at me with her tiny dark eyes open wide. I will never forget that moment. I said, "Hello, Baby," and gently picked her up and held her close to me. This experience was so FULL, I could never put it into words. It was a speck in time that overflowed with love, bliss, contentment, joy, gratitude, purity, glory, awe, and beauty--

and so much more.