Birth Stories: Second Child

Because my second child was conceived by "basting," we had the treat of two early ultrasounds at the fertility clinic. I have decided that an ultrasound at ten weeks is the most fun. I loved being able to see the whole baby (instead of the typical, "This is the head, this is a foot..."). My child looked like a squirmy little Kewpie Doll and he/or/she was absolutely adorable.

I assumed pregnancy the second time around would be easier. After feeling sick for most of the first half of the gestation, I had given up on the nausea giving up. Thankfully, at twenty-two weeks, it started to subside. At that point, I wanted to eat everything in sight because food finally looked good again.

I had an appointment with the midwife on my due date. There weren't any sure signs of the baby coming soon, so she told me to come back in a few days. The contractions started early in the morning the day after that. They came every seven minutes, so at 3:00 a.m. I got up to take a shower. I french braided my hair while I timed contractions. A little after 4:00, the contractions seemed to stop and I felt tired. Because I had learned my lesson from the last time, I decided to go back to bed. The contractions woke me up every fifteen minutes, but I did manage to get a little bit of sleep (or should I say some little bits of sleep?). My three-year-old daughter joined me in the bed around seven and I told my husband he might as well go to work and I would call him if I needed him. So he did.

My daughter and I snuggled and snoozed until about 9:30. After I was up and moving, I tried to do some housework. I talked on the phone. I wrote down how far apart my contractions were and how long they were lasting. In the afternoon, the contractions were still between ten and fifteen minutes apart. However, by this time, the contractions were so painful that I had to get on the floor on my hands and knees to make it through them. Noticing my strange behavior, my daughter started to mimic me, blowing out slowly as she swayed on her hands and knees by my side.

By 2:00, I couldn't take it anymore. I called my husband to come home. He still had one class left to teach, but someone covered for him. He arrived home and anxiously gathered the bags, the laboring wife (who was trying to finish the dishes), and his little girl into the car. Within the hour, our daughter was playing at a friend's house, and we were on our way to the hospital, almost an hour away.

I hadn't predicted how uncomfortable that car ride was going to be. Each contraction threatened to send me through the roof. I wanted to get into the back seat, but I knew it would be impossible to get my swollen body back there without stopping the car--and there was no way were were stopping the car!

When we got to the hospital (about 4:00 p.m.), my biggest fear was that they were going to send me home because my contractions were still ten minutes apart. When the nurse checked my dilation and declared in a somewhat surprised voice that I was already to an EIGHT, I almost let out a happy squeal.

The nurse called my C.N.M., who was just on her way out of town. She arrived a short time later, checked my dilation and accidentally broke my water. While I was on the monitor, my husband entertained me by going through the bag to see what I had packed. Among other things, there was a bag of Western Family jerky for him. He read from the package: "Inside awaits the most tender beef jerky you'll ever eat!" Then he opened it and tried to bite off a piece. His head vibrated as he applied all of his tooth pressure to take a bite. I laughed so hard it hurt. Maybe you had to be there, but it was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I guess it was just meant to be because every piece after that first one was tender.

When they were finished monitoring the baby, I got up to walk around the room. Labor became quite difficult. I was disappointed I could not get into the bathtub (because my water had broken). As I transitioned, I rocked in a rocking chair, with my husband holding one hand and my midwife holding the other. The rocking chair was obviously not a good place for me because I was in so much pain that I wasn't breathing correctly and my hand started to go numb.

They put an oxygen mask on me. By 7:00 I was fully dilated. I was helped onto the bed. Although it seemed like an eternity, I only had to push for eleven minutes. My midwife guessed I was going to have a big baby boy, so when she saw a nice round head crowning, she encouraged me to push HARD. I did, and the feeling of my baby passing through me in one sweep is indescribable.

I listened to hear if it was a boy or a girl. My midwife said something like, "Boy, look at how short this cord is!" In a small voice I asked my husband, "It's a boy?" He then looked at the baby, and the midwife said, "I forgot to look!" (I don't think doctors or midwives are used to announcing the gender anymore because most parents find out before birth.) She looked at the baby and said it was a girl. Then I said, still breathless, "It's a girl?" (At least I didn't ask if it was a baby!)

She had a nice loud cry and a perfect round head. And fat rolls on her legs. A baby sister (I couldn't wait to tell my daughter)! Seven pounds and fourteen ounces of pure sweetheart (Coincidentally, she was also born at 7:14). My labor (from the start of the contractions) was seventeen hours: five-and-a-half hours shorter than with my firstborn.

When I replay that night in my memory, the only word I can find to describe it is LOVE. Love multiplied by infinity. Instantly, I was able to love TWO children with my whole heart, and that love expanded out into the world: I felt love for all of the infants (every one of them as pure and holy as my new baby). I loved them too, and I cried when I remembered that many of them were cold and hungry and unloved. I kissed my baby girl on her soft head, clothed her, wrapped her tight, and promised her I would try to be all she deserves. And then I said a prayer for all the mothers on the planet. I know that is a big prayer, but I also know that God heard it.

I missed my oldest child all night long. I couldn't wait to see her again. When she came quietly into the room the next morning, with pigtails and a gentle smile, I was so happy to see her. Thankfully, even though my baby had been born the night before, they let us leave the hospital by early afternoon. My mother-in-law had sent matching fleece blankets, and the girls slept under their soft comfort the whole drive home. When we arrived, we carefully took them out of their carseats and laid them on the warm floor of the front room, covered them with their new blankets (what good sleepers!), and ran for the camera.