Birth Stories: Third Child

Third time's a charm. And it was. Everything about my third child was easy. Well, pretty close to easy anyway, when compared to other pregnancies/births/babies, not when compared to things like pie or pieces of cake. During pregnancy, morning sickness paid a short visit, heartburn was kept at bay by my fruity friend, and I had loads of energy. What a blessing that was, since I was in the process of chasing my daughter who had just learned to walk.

We had moved to a new town with a hospital (and an OB clinic) within walking distance of my house, which was a nice change. Many days I put my daughters in the double stroller and walked to my appointments with the doctor. I was a little apprehensive about having to switch doctors, especially after all the attention I had received from my excellent midwife. But I decided that I could be big (no pun intended), and do this whole pregnancy and childbirth thing pretty much by myself.

I liked my new doctor a lot. He was friendly, patient with my girls (who came to most of my appointments), and efficient. He used my name when he spoke to me, and was supportive of my personal preferences. When I saw the doctor on Monday, five days after my due date, he told me to make an appointment for a couple of days from then. When I talked to the receptionist to make the appointment, I asked her if I needed to cancel this appointment if I had the baby before then. She said no, that she would automatically do it if I had the baby. Even though there weren't any signs of the baby coming soon, I think I knew then that I wouldn't be making that appointment.

My bags were packed. I had a little pink and a little blue, and unfortunately, a whole bag of cough drops. I had a head cold that I was hoping to kick before the birth of my baby, but it didn't seem to be working out the way I had planned. The next day, my contractions started at 2:00 in the afternoon. This was unexpected, since my contractions began in the early hours with my first two children. I waited until my husband was done teaching school before I called him. I set things up with my close friend who was planning to watch my girls. I tried to put my house in order.

At 8:00 that night, I brought my girls to a sleep-over at our friends' house. I laid by my eighteen-month-old for almost an hour before she finally fell asleep. My contractions seemed to be getting closer together, but I couldn't time them while I was laying in the dark. When I got home, I continued to time them, surprised at how close together they were. I didn't tell my husband how close together they were because I really wanted to finish the dishes (déjà vu?). By 10:00, I decided I had better let him in the loop.

We then had a conversation about when to go to the hospital. I knew that if I went to the hospital before midnight, I would be charged for the entire day. I told my husband I thought we should hold off until after midnight. I could tell this was difficult for him. I had never felt contractions this close together before while still being at home. But, I didn't feel like the baby was coming yet, so we waited.

We got to the hospital at 11:45 because I wasn't sure if they would count the time from when I checked in at the front, or when I was actually in my room. The receptionist said they count it from when I sign in at the front, so we sat in the waiting room until midnight. My contractions were less than five minutes apart.

After checking in, my husband and I both realized how tired we were. By this time of night, both of our girls had already been born. We tried to get some rest, but this is very difficult to do in a hospital room. My contractions would not let me sleep or lay down, so I walked laps around the OB wing, sometimes alone, and sometimes with my husband. I was only dilated to a three or four at check-in, which was disappointing to be sure. I was anxious for my labor to progress so I could be done. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion. The labor music I had spent hours preparing was of no use because my MP3 CD player decided to croak right there in the hospital room.

By 3:00 a.m., I found walking to be too painful. The most comfortable place was on the floor with my head on my husband's lap. He would stroke my hair as I breathed. After a while, I found that sitting forward on the birthing ball helped also, but as exhaustion settled in, I was on the verge of falling asleep while perched upon it. I decided I would try to lay on the bed so I could at least rest in between contractions. My husband helped me onto the bed. When the next contraction came, I screamed in horror, "HELP ME!" over and over. My husband tried to give me a comforting hug, but I yelled, "Stop! Stop! You are smashing me!" As soon as the contraction was over, I was off the bed and back on the ball as lickety-split as an overdue laboring pregnant woman can. The nurse said she had talked to my doctor on the phone and he had said that he would come in at 7:00 and break my water. My husband and I looked at the clock and then the floor. 7:00 felt as far away as truly owning your home does when you sign papers on a thirty-year mortgage (I know, because I've done that twice).

Somehow I survived. The contractions were very painful, but I was having little breaks in between. I told the nurse that I was worried about transitioning and not having that relief in between contractions. She assured me that I could very well go through transition without feeling that my contractions were right on top of each other. I don't think she had any idea the hope that gave me. The doctor arrived right on time. When he broke my water, I felt the baby drop down in an instant. The doctor said that the baby was ready to come, so he and the nurse began to convert the hospital bed into a birthing bed. Because I was already on the bed, my husband was holding up one leg while the nurse held up the other.

The bed did not want to convert.

I'm sure the nurse did not realize how much she was moving my leg around in the air while she jiggled the bed parts. This would have been very funny to me at that moment if I hadn't been about to give birth. All I could say was, "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow." (I have decided that if I ever give birth again, I would like to be more eloquent.) After they got the bed set up, the doctor and the nurses told me I could push. It was only a few pushes when the baby's head was out, and I was done. At least I thought I was. The doctor told me I needed to push again and I remember thinking, "AGAIN?" With my girls, once the head was out, I was done pushing. With a little encouragement, I pushed again and a NINE pound (and three ounces) baby BOY was born! He was born at 7:07, seventeen hours after labor started (just like last time!).

Some who read my birth stories may wonder why I chose unmedicated childbirth every time. There are actually many reasons. I am always filled with a happy exhilaration right after my babies are born and it lasts for days. From the process of natural labor and childbirth I gain humility and power both at once. I feel closer to my husband than at any other time, and closer to God. Plus I don't like to feel numb (and it costs less to have a baby without anesthesia). All of these reasons make it worth it to me.

After my son was born, he only wanted to sleep. I didn't get to hold him as much as I wanted because I was coughing and sneezing and sniffling so much. He had bruises on his eye and cheek where he had rammed into my bones when my water broke. When I told my dad about that, he sort of chuckled about how my son had come into the world with a punch in the face for a welcome. The baby had also swallowed a lot of amniotic fluid, so it was about ten hours before we could get him to eat. But he was oh, so sweet. Because I grew up with sisters and began motherhood with daughters, I was worried I wouldn't know what to do with a boy.

But I figured it out quickly: I am completely, unashamedly in love with him!