Birth Story of the Week: No Limit to Love

I am excited to get back into the routine of posting weekly birth stories on Marvelous Kiddo, after what has been an unplanned hiccup in the series. I want to apologize to everyone who has sent me their stories in the last few months -- if I have been slow in replying it is simply because of the volume of submissions I receive and the fact that I have such limited time to read them all and send thoughtful responses. Please know how much I appreciate each and every story. The fact that people are willing to share such powerful, personal tales means so much to me. Thank you.

And now, for this week's birth story, which I think is just beautiful! It is by Lichen, who I think does an amazing job of describing the way a mother's heart expands with the birth of a second child -- I certainly identify. Check out the story on Lichen's blog to see more photos and a few more details of baby Llewella's first few weeks of life.

XOXO, Leigh

My dearest Daughter,

Just three days ago you came into this world, and my life changed forever. That was the day I realized there was no limit to my love. There are no borders, no confines to restrict the fierce affection that courses through me. The walls of my heart encompass only that, my heart, not my love. There are no walls, no boundaries to restrain my feelings. Just because I love your brother with all of my being doesn't mean that I can't expand again and love you too, with every ounce of my self. It's almost funny now that I was afraid of that. I was afraid of figuring out how I would fit more love into my life, afraid that there was no way I could love anyone or anything else like I love your brother. And then I met you, and you proved me wrong.

This is how you made your debut:

It was the morning of your due date, May 11 and I had yet another doctor's appointment. We all thought that maybe you'd come a little early, so when week 40 rolled around I was done, done, done with being pregnant. My back ached, the belly hurt and I simply could wait no longer to meet you. At the office I was dilated 2cm - not much, but more than anything the previous visits had revealed. I was hopeful and let the tiniest bit of excitement slip into my consciousness. You were coming - maybe not that day, but soon!

Easy but timeable contractions started shortly after that 10AM visit. There was nothing really intense about them, in fact the only difference between those contractions and the 25-50 Braxton Hicks contractions I had been having per day for weeks prior was that they were somewhat regular. I'd glance at my cell phone every time I felt that wave of tightness start in my lower abdomen, careful not to let myself think that I was actually timing them yet - I didn't want to get ahead of myself. 11:37, 11:48, 11:56, 12:05 - these contractions were about 10 minutes apart!

So we got your big brother dressed and we all headed out. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Lithia Park was gorgeous. Spring had filled in the trees, new green leafs flickered like tiny flames on every tree. Rhododendrons so red and so pink, they could have been painted into the scenery. Your dad played with Asa, climbing up the ladders and tumbling down the slides, while I walked and and rubbed my belly, thinking of you. I paced through the trees, keeping track of the rolling waves and talking to you. Hello baby, I thought aloud, when are you coming? Do you feel these contractions too? Are you as ready as I am? We walked and walked, up the paths and down, stopping each time we passed the playground to laugh a bit with the boys, watch your brother shimmy belly first down the twisty slide and kiss your dad as we made another lap around the park.

The walking really seemed to help. The more I walked the more intense the contractions became. Nothing too strong, mind you, just more than they had been. I could still talk and think and move about regularly. These were the easy breezy contractions that I could only barely believe were the real thing. And just about the time when I was ready to believe that this was it, this was labor, this was the day you would come into the world, this was the time....they stopped. We got home from our laps around the park and I promptly laid down. All that walking really took it out of me and I was ready for a nap. And with that nap the contractions slowed and slowed until they stopped all together. I was disappointed and even sad - I really thought we were there. I tried not to dwell on it though, tried to remain positive and tried to get some sleep.

Turns out, that was a good idea. Around 10pm those pulsing waves started again. They began up high, above my belly button, and squeezed through my abdomen all the way to the very base of me. Rhythmic and strong, these were contractions. I knew I should rest, so I stayed in bed, trying desperately to find a position that allowed me to breathe through the contractions and relax between them. I slept, off and on, for the next few hours. These contractions were the real deal, to be sure, but still not so strong that I couldn't focus through them or sleep between.

Until 1am. That's when things started rocking and rolling. I woke your dad up and let him know it was time to start keeping track of these suckers. We found a website that was devoted solely to contraction counting and began timing. Three minutes apart? Really? That can't be right, I said, lets try the next one. Two and a half minutes. Three minutes. Two minutes. Really? REALLY? These waves shot through my body and took over my whole being while passing, but I was still standing, still pacing, still breathing right through them. Surely they couldn't be this close, surely there was a mistake in the counting. Your dad suggested we call Jani, our doctor, but I said no, it's too early, lets just keep timing these and make sure we're accurate.

By 3AM they were a minute and a half apart and we had been timing them for more than an hour - they actually were that close. I paced our tiny house, walking in circles through the dark living room, into the dimly lit kitchen and down the hall past our bedroom. Each time I lapped by your brother's door I heard his soft night time music playing and resisted the urge to run in and pick him up, to hold him to me and say you're going to be a big brother soon, the baby is coming, the baby is coming! Instead I would brace myself against the wall, or the arm of the couch or the kitchen counter - whatever happened to be nearest. Your dad would rush to my side and push, hard, on my lower back. Just the perfect spot to counter the enormous amount of pressure in my belly. Each time I was amazed at how much that actually helped.

By 3:15 I was finally convinced it was time to call. I dialed the office, got the midnight answering service and waited to wake up Jani in the middle of the night. When her sleepy voice asked how far apart the contractions were I hesitantly said, about a minute and a half? As if it were a question. But it doesn't feel like the contractions are strong enough to be that close together, I told her, and I really don't want to get there too early. She said she thought we should come on in and, as another wave, more intense than anything yet, ripped though me, I conceded. It was time to call your grandmother, get her to come stay with your brother and head to the hospital to meet you.

It took grandma no more than 15 minutes to get here. She had had her bag packed for weeks and was more than ready to rush over here at the drop of a hat. Somehow those 15 minutes stretched on forever. I had 6 or 7 contractions in that time, each stronger, more insistent than the last. I paced the living room, stopping to lean on the couch and breathe, breathe, breathe through those waves and looking out the window for the lights of her truck in between each one. Finally the road lit up and the rumble of the engine stopped right outside. She was here. Time to get in the car and drive.

I quickly stopped in your brother's room, kissed his head and told him how much I loved him, promised him I'd bring him home a healthy, happy baby to be a big brother to and closed his door again. I hugged my mom, paused for another pulsing wave and strapped myself in the passenger seat. This was it. We were finally here, driving to the hospital in the middle of the night, ready to bring you into the world.

We arrived in the ER at 4am (the same time, as it so happens, that we arrived at the hospital for your brother's birth. The day after your due date, just like Asa). They were ready for us, but we still had to wait a few moments for the OB nurse to come and lead us to the right place. Angus says it was less that two minutes that we stood in that sterile grey hallway waiting for someone to come show us the way. if you asked me, I'd say it was infinitely longer. I think I had two contractions during that time, each one rocketed through my body, quickly spreading that wave of tightness through my belly, my back, my entire being.

Once in our room we had a quick ride on the fetal monitor to make sure everything was ok. I could hear the metallic whah-whah, whah-whah whirring of your heart beat and it was soothing. It sped up during contractions, slowed down in between. These contractions were the strongest yet. I thought about my breath and sighed hard into the height of each wave, and relaxed into it as much as I could. Being on my back, on a table was about the least comfortable position I could imagine. I was (and still am) surprised at just how striking that was to me this time. It never really occurred to me the first time - it was all new and uncomfortable. But this time around I was acutely aware of the awkwardness of that position. I felt like a turtle on it's shell, struggling through the most most intense sensations a body has ever met, trying to relax, breathe and stay comfortable. After just a few minutes though our wonderful nurse, Tasia, said that we'd monitored enough. Every thing was perfect and it was time to get in the tub.

The room was dimly lit, some sort of innocuous soft music gently coursed through the speakers and the water was warm and waiting. The second my body touched down I felt relief. Absolutely instantaneous. My whole body was lighter, my whole self freer somehow, eased and supported. I leaned my shoulders and upper body over the edge of the tub and placed my knees at the bottom, bringing the water level chest height. The next contraction threatened to split me in two, but something else took over at this point. Some sort of awesome feminine power that couldn't be explained, only experienced. Some sort of primal magic, otherworldly strength kicks in and lets you ride it till the end. Two more impossible waves crashed through me and I breathed heavy, moaned right into the crest and kept on swimming. With the next I felt nothing but the need to push, like that's all my body could possibly do at that moment in time. And push I did. Just once. Once! I felt your head moving through my body and I knew you were nearly here. Without thinking, I reached down and greeted your tiny head with my own hands. What a moment. I freeze it for a second in my head, remembering just what it was like to be the first hands on your body, the first human contact in this world. I love that. Jani was there just in time to reach in the tub herself and help to bring your slippery self up to my chest. And there you were. Wet and warm and quiet. I held you there, you and I floating in our tub and you opened your eyes, slowly looked around, blinked against the lights and took your very first breaths. You didn't even cry love, you just let it all wash over you, you just took it all in. Silent and alert, you greeted your new home.

You, my love, make our family complete and I cannot imagine life without you. Thank you for choosing us as your family.

Birth Story of the Week: Fear loses its power when we learn how to trust

This week's story was sent in by Amanda, and it details her journey to giving birth to her fourth child. I love how this story illustrates the uniqueness of each pregnancy and birth and the fact that fear is a natural part of being pregnant, even for women who have given birth before. This mom decided to proactively combat those fears instead of giving in to them, and it makes for a very inspiring read. Thank you for sharing, Amanda!

--Leigh

This last pregnancy was going to be a breeze...this was my fourth baby after all, i had home birthed, i was a HypnoBirthing practitioner, was in a traditional midwifery program, and i had been working as a doula for the past few years...so i knew pregnancy and birth and i trusted the process. I remember feeling sorry for women who thought of birth as a painful event that one had to "get through" in order to meet their babies. I was above all that fearful-of-birth business ....at least until i hit the eighth month and realized that I had to do it again!

The fear crept in and stayed awhile... I remember at night, waking up to the feeling like i needed to escape my body, but i couldn't move. And sometimes it felt like i wasn't able to breathe.

The more fear i felt, the more positive (and some not so positive) birth stories i read, and the more abdominal breathing i did. I practiced my HypnoBirthing daily and listened to positive birth affirmation CDs while driving my minivan filled with MY children. Thats right, the three previous children i had already birthed quite fearlessly. Why now? I think the fear came from: 1) the thought of being out of control, and not being able to surrender, 2) I've given birth before, so i know its intensity, and 3), attending births during my pregnancy gave me a whole new perspective on the variations of how birth can go.

I had had three empowering births, and I had gotten all those lovely endorphins and oxytocin to help me feel euphoric and totally blissed out and bonded to my babies. I remembered those parts so well, and when we were planning on having a fourth, all i thought of was that highly addictive euphoria at the end!

I liken it to a druggie (hello birth junkies!) who will do anything to get that feeling from the next hit. We forget the "sensations" a little while after birth since we are totally high on LOVE!

So i continued on my journey embracing the birthing process for what it was, and practiced surrendering. I did it over and over and over again...since its easy to stop surrendering. I learned how to focus on the now, while being thankful to God for the opportunity to take part in another birth, which He made me able to do. My biofeedback sessions were amazing and gave me some incredible tools for life, not just birth. I also had chiropractic adjustments once a week, massage therapy and acupuncture. I was mostly ready.

The last day of January came and i felt prepared emotionally and physically to birth...i had faith, courage and TOOLS! At around 6:30 pm that Monday evening as i made dinner for my family, i had started to get some mild contractions ( i won't use the HypnoBirthing speak here), and i knew this was it. I got excited at the thought of meeting my baby and i was SO DONE with being so huge. The contractions came and went, not in a particular pattern for a few hours and then started to get painful around 9 ish. I called my midwife and then wrote a little letter to my baby...one of my rituals i do when i go into labour. When we tucked the kids into bed we told them they would be meeting their baby in the morning, and they found it hard to believe! (My six year old told his dad that he doubted it). My other births had gotten faster and faster, and with my last birth being about an hour and a half i thought this baby would be born in January.

We got the birthing pool up and ready, i stayed out of it as long as i could and laboured using the "lift and tuck" for my back labour, and got my husband to massage...er, punch...my lower back, which is our standard labour "system" we've done every time. One of my boys called down from his bedroom,"Mom, are you having birth?"

It was at the point when i had to use "vocal toning" (ie: yelling the 'ahhh' sound) during my contractions that i thought i was near and got into the birth pool. My midwife came and got everything set up, ...and my contractions slowed to 5-6 minutes apart. I was comfy in my pool with my Ray LaMontagne and Jack Johnson playing, and i thought that the baby would soon be out... heck, what was i worried about..I could do this!

When the second midwife arrived i asked her to check me to see how dilated i was ( i was dead against this before)...I was ONLY 3! Labour had just begun.

My husband made coffee for the midwives, our children slept and i held onto the side of the tub for dear life. They were strong and coming closer together. I took my Rescue Remedy...don't know why, i wasn't afraid, i was in freaking pain! My labour went from the dreaded back labour that i had always had, to the feeling of my hips being pulled apart like wish bones after a Thanksgiving dinner. I couldn't breathe into the pain or through it, i only felt like yelling (i mean vocal toning!).

My midwife thought that maybe i should get out to speed things up...like climb stairs or Mount Everest..sure, no prob. I got out and headed to the bathroom, frantically searching for walls to brace myself against...yelling my head off the whole time. I felt like i was going to go crazy if i had to do this much longer...and realized i needed a plan. So i yelled at my husband to stop looking at me, and holed myself up in my cave. I sat on that toilet, put my feet on the stool, and welcomed every feeling, every sensation, and just "observed" them, i didn't judge those cute little contractions as pain..not one bit. For about an hour and a half i was zen. I was SMILING. I thought i got the freakin' golden ticket...everything clicked and i "got" what surrendering through pain was, i would be the best hypnobirther ever.

Then I needed a new plan.

When I had gotten cold enough and my bottom too numb to feel, I went back to the pool. My little birth spa. HA. The sensations went rip roaring through every cell south of my belly button. I felt that I needed to bear down with every contraction. I asked to get checked again. 5 cm. I wished she had lied..nope, I wished I hadn't asked. The problem was this; my little man had part of the bag of waters in front of his head, so his head wasn't putting very much pressure on the cervix. Maybe thats why so much pressure in my hips?

Plan..plan..needed a plan! My husband got in the pool and punched my lower back harder than my midwife had ever seen someone want to be punched(counter pressure at its finest!) while I held onto the sides and bore down....yes, I pushed this early. This is how I got through the labyrinth of my labour.

Ray and Jack continued to sing, the midwives did paperwork and had a little nap, and it felt very comforting to be doing this at home. Comforting in a bittersweet sort of way.

At 4:30 am, I got out of the pool so my midwife could check to see if my cervix was swelling from all that bearing down I was doing (it wasn't) and I wanted to know if my self checks were accurate (they weren't). I was at 5 and a half cm...I'm thinking the "and a half" was just to make me believe my body had done SOMETHING in the last hour and a half. My midwife asked if I wanted her to break the water bag, and I said a big "YES!" The baby was down low enough so there was no risk of chord prolapse, and I had laboured through the night. I wanted to meet my baby.

As soon as she broke the bag he descended quickly. So quickly that they couldn't find his heartbeat for a couple of contractions. I went from side lying on my left side, to the right side to standing until they finally found those blessed heart tones. So relieved!

I was on autopilot. I got down on my knees and held onto the side of the pool..I never did get back in. I pushed for a few more contractions and when I felt the feeling of a huge rock coming out my bum, I knew it was almost over! Oh blessed be. Ezra slid out into his father's arms and I heard his loud cry belt out from his little body (little-ish, 9'3 isn't so small!) My baby was here! I remember saying, "Am I dreaming? Is this for real?"

Birth is such a surreal, ecstatic (out of body) event. Birth has taught me so much about myself, and about how pain is an important part of the birth process just as it is in life. Fear loses its power when we learn how to TRUST.

After Ezra was born I laid down and held him for the first time, drinking it all in, so excited to have these first moments with him. I stared into his sweet little eyes, and realized how much we already knew each other.

My three year old son woke up first, surprised that there really was a baby in my belly. Then the other two woke up and ran down the stairs to meet their new baby. Immediate love and acceptance for their new brother.

I am thankful.

Birth Story of the Week: Like Water from Morning Air

This wonderful birth story was sent to me by Erica, author of the blog Becoming Mama Wise, and it was written by Erica's husband. Of all the stories I have posted, I think this is the first planned unassisted home birth. Erica included this note, which illuminates the couple's attitudes about birthing without the help of a midwife or doctor:

"we're not planned unassisted childbirth missionaries (by any means!!!); the decision to birth at home alone was one we made very specific to my age, health, pregnancy stats, and 2-minute proximity to one of the best hospitals in sf. were any of those circumstances different we perhaps would have made a different choice. we had a beautiful, extraordinary, empowering birth, but i don't want anyone to feel like they can't have that at home with a midwife, or even in a hospital."

I loved reading about their incredibly personal journey to bringing their child into the world, and I think you will too. Thanks for sharing, guys!

--Leigh

AG, you were born in our hearts before you arrived to this world of joy and strife. As any two people sharing lives, we had our struggles, your mom and I, but never with you coming to our lives. We watched her belly grow, amazed at the biology, at the miracle of you in there getting ready to live a human life with us in this mad and beautiful world. Just the vision of your little face and hands, of your smell and cooing baby sounds always made us smile, and sometimes even cry... not something I do very easily. And then, when you finally arrived, well, my heart cracked open wide as I cry now and forever in sweetness for you... that which I only feel for you and your big brother, Brandon.

We really wanted to have you born in the softness of our own gentle home. I was nervous about this, to do this without experienced help, but not your mom; she knew what all women know but most forget, that we would have the collective help of all the women who have ever lived, that giving birth is what she is made for, and that you would come to us like water from morning air.

We tried to be patient as your due date arrived and passed, but as you’ll know soon enough, waiting is a lifelong treasure. We went to a museum that night, and something in the air felt different, kinda dreamy for me, and kinda constipated for your mom; We knew you were coming.

She knew it would be hard... or she thinks she knew it would be hard because people tell us this and she was reading about it for nine months; I knew she had no clue what she was in for. It started slowly and softly, around ten o’clock. We lit candles and played mellow music; I scurried around making sure everything was in easy reach, while she tried to find comfortable positions for the surging waves that would eventually build to be an earthquake in the air... really, she was making sounds that made the air shake. The most primal and true force of nature had enveloped our home through your mom. It was late at night and, though I knew the neighbors were understanding of what was happening on the other side of their wall, I hoped nobody had to get up early for work or church. At one point I was certain the police would come pounding at the door, guns drawn, demanding my surrender for murder.

In the bathroom, really? That’s where she wanted to be and nothing would be better, not the warm water tub, nor the propped pillowy bed. On the toilet, really? I just had to figure out how to maneuver her and you and me all in that small space, and I really hoped you wouldn’t land in the bowl. Our sweet puppy Oso was curious all night, seated right outside the bathroom door... trying to get a few times to see what the ruckus was all about. Between the throes of her thundering, I tried to massage her, give her water, or whatever she wanted, but of course, little I did could ease the pressure of the next swelling wave. She wanted to be alone for some of this, to focus, to surrender into this rolling ride, in and out of here and now, off into some other place you nor I will ever know. I thought it would go on for many more hours, so I laid in bed to rest and listen to this tribal superwoman scream and vibrate the walls. Around three a.m. her
contractions were very close together and very intense, and I mean out of this world.

Intense; there’s no way anybody who hasn’t done it before can be ready for this kind of intensity, no matter what people tell you or what you read. And that’s about when I saw the top of your head inside your momma’s vagina... “whoa, okay, here we go, now I can do something. First of all, it was really cool, you had dropped in for the final descent, and I could see that you had lots of dark hair. I could see the amniotic sac intact...hmmm, should I break it, how do I break it, when do I break it? Your momma kept wailing as her body pushed you closer to the world... it wouldn’t be long. I was nervous about what I didn’t know, but calm and ready to do what ever needed to be done to take care of you and your momma. The top of your head came closer, more of it showing, and your momma’s cootchie stretching unimaginably. I decided to touch the sac with my finger to feel it’s texture and thickness, and when I did this it just popped like a bubble and thankfully clear fluid poured out. I rubbed your hair... another pushing and you were closer, and then another... I could see you were facing downward, your head more than halfway out, WOW, this is amazing to watch and hear and smell, your momma, still on the toilet, pushing your small body through a yet smaller opening, like squeezing a watermelon through a garden hose, as they say. She lifted her hips with each pushing surge as I gently guided your head further and further, until suddenly your whole head was out and you turned your head to the side and I saw your face... Oh my god, your face, buddha like with eyes wide open gazing about. I slipped my finger inside to feel your neck... smooth and clear, no cord, pheeew. Here comes a shoulder, and whooops, quickly here comes the rest of you like a wet eel... I had to hold your head with one hand and catch your slippery body with the other, clutching you to my chest so you wouldn’t slip away from me... no, I did not almost drop you.

You had a blue-ish tint to your pink body, normal and healthy. You weren’t crying like I thought you should be, but I could tell that you were breathing. Your momma lay down on the bathroom floor, towels underneath, and I put you right to her chest, your lifeline cord still inside on the placenta. I could feel momma’s heart beat still pulsing through it to you. I suctioned your nose and mouth, rubbed your back and legs and feet... I really wanted you to cry, to take big gulps of air to hear your lungs open wide, but you didn’t; you just cooed and gurgled a little, gazing about the candle-lit bathroom... okay, he’s still got good color, he’s breathing, his reflexes are wiggly and strong, his face is expressive, his heart rate is strong... the cord stopped pulsing, so I clamped and cut, for you to forever have your own blood supply. Where’s the placenta... c’mon... this isn’t over yet... the baby is okay... now the momma... more painful contractions and after about 25 minutes it came out looking like a big piece of liver spilling onto blood soaked towels. The quaking noise stopped and I wondered if the world knew you were here, or at least maybe the neighbors.

We moved to the bed... everything seemed okay, though the bathroom looked like a scene from Dexter. You were perfect, relaxed and dazed. Your momma was perfect, relaxed and dazed... but I was still in there, monitoring, watching everything. At the least, for the re-assurance that you and momma were safe and healthy, I’m glad we went to the hospital. I’m really glad we went after our own home birth, by ourselves, just our family right from the start; nothing will ever change what the three of us did together.

Through the night, I was indeed focused on the business of birthing you, keeping you and momma safe, but I was also above the whole scene of us, watching from somewhere else. I’ve always been somewhat of a living contradiction, so to say I’m a “spiritual atheist” makes sense, and it feels right to say that the god-who-doesn’t-exist lifted the curtain that night... gave us a live back-stage participation in one of the greatest forces in the universe, the creation of a new life-force... You...AG, may you always take big gulps of air with wide open lungs, and gaze about the world... buddha-like.

Photo via Becoming Mama Wise.

Birth Story of the Week: It Doesn't Have to Hurt

I've enjoyed following along with Stacy's pregnancy posts on her blog, Hart and Sew, for months, and I was delighted to read about her happy, natural, hospital birth. I love her descriptions of how hypnobirthing techniques helped her navigate labor, keeping fear and doubt at bay as her body did its thing. Inspiring! Thank you so much for sharing, Stacy.

--Leigh

Round one.

When I was pregnant with the Little Miss (my first) I half decided to give birth naturally. I started seeing some midwives and attended a hypnobirthing class, but if I am going to be honest I always knew in the back of my mind that I could opt for an epidural since I would be in the hospital - which is why I say half decided. I was scared of the unknown. But I read the book cover to cover, practiced the relaxation techniques almost daily, and kept telling myself I could do it...maybe...

When I finally started having contractions 1 week past my due date I failed miserably at putting into practice everything I had learned. I didn't even bring my relaxation music with me to the hospital. I was excited and scared, but mostly naive. I dilated to about a 5 or 6 before I started seriously thinking about that epidural. How much worse was this going to get? I gave in. Her birth was still a good experience and I didn't make myself feel bad about getting the epidural, but a part of me knew that I had to prove to myself I could do it naturally next time.

***

Round two.

(with the lessons I learned along the way)

I started having practice contractions on Wednesday night about 20 minutes apart which got me excited because I knew from my first experience it was only a matter of time now that I was actually feeling something. The next night Husband and I went out to dinner for some spicy Thai food in hopes to get things really started and to have one last date. Once we got home my contractions started getting a little more intense and by 1:30 am I was calling my mom to come over since I had asked her to be my doula.

Lesson number one - I knew from my first experience that I needed to surround myself with more support. I knew my mom would encourage me to keep going naturally if my resolve started wavering.

(Funny side story - I called my mom at least 20 times and she didn't answer her phone so I knew she couldn't hear it or it was dead. I had to call my oldest sister who lives in her same town in the dead of night to ask her a favor - would she please drive over to mom's house and wake her up!!! Turns out my mom went to a movie with my aunt that night and forgot to take her phone off vibrate. Of all the nights, ha!)

I couldn't sleep so I started listening to my hypnobirthing relaxation and when my mom arrived at about 3:00 am we started timing my contractions. I sat in a comfy rocker and would say, 'start' and 'stop' when my contractions came and went, all the while doing deep yoga breathing through them and totally relaxing my body. Each one felt just a little different and a 3-D mental image would come into my mind of what the contraction 'looked' like - once it was a butterfly, another time a fish jumping out of the water, but mostly just abstract shapes. They would start small and grow as the contraction peaked and then I would blow the images away with my breath. That was something I did not expect but it was pretty incredible and beautiful what my relaxed state of mind generated. They gradually got stronger and stronger but I never felt any pain, only tightening, a tingling sensation of building intensity, and waves of power surging downward. I began to look forward to the next one.

And then all of a sudden they slowed way down around 7:00 am. This was frustrating but I was very relaxed and not even tired because I had been in a meditative, restful state all night. The slow time ended up being nice because we could freshen up, and walking around and taking a shower got my contractions going again. So back to the rocker it was for another few hours and the contractions continued to get stronger and stronger so I was happy.

This picture was taken about an hour or two before we went to the hospital. I was probably at a 4 or 5 at this point.

Around 3:00 pm we decided to get ready to go to the hospital, but we would make a stop by Old Navy on the way so we could get a going home outfit for Lark (I had given away all my newborn clothing and hadn't bought any new ones yet). I got a sudden craving for Subway, so Husband and I ate in the car while my mom went shopping. I had some intense contractions in the car that I could tell were making me dilate - the sensation and mental images of those ones were like widening donut rings.

We got to the hospital at 4:00 pm and first things first - "Excuse me, where is the nearest bathroom?" I wonder what the lady at the front desk thought when Husband told her I was in labor because I asked her calmly like I was just walking by and stopped in to use the facilities. Then we went up to labor and delivery and they put me in triage. This is when I started getting nervous for the first time and shaking a little bit - what if I wasn't dilated enough? But best news ever, I was at a six! And then I knew for sure that I was going to do this naturally. It was totally doable. I was more than half way there. I wasn't in any pain. I was focused.

They took me to a delivery room and I sat on the bed just like the rocker and breathed through my contractions and two hours later I was at an eight! It was very peaceful and quiet with the lights dim. My mom and Husband took turns rubbing my feet with essential oils and between contractions we chatted with my midwife.

Lesson number two - I never stopped listening to my relaxation music the entire time and this was key to my staying in control of the contractions. I could hear everything that was going on around me, but I could slip away whenever I needed.

Two hours later we hit the first bump in the road - I was stuck at an eight. Lark's head was at a slight angle so we needed to try some new positions to help align her. My water also hadn't broken yet, so we decided to have my midwife break it to help things along as well. I went from bouncing on my yoga ball, to sitting in the tub, to back on the bed this time laying on my side when out of nowhere I got really uncomfortable. I still can't say it was painful but I couldn't get in a position that felt right. I still did deep breathing through my contractions but I couldn't keep them totally under control like before and then I remember saying, "I want to push!"

Then I really couldn't find a position I liked. Finally after some pretty uncomfortable contractions in positions I didn't like, I settled on squatting with the end of the bed lowered and I wanted my midwife to tell me when to push since I couldn't seem to figure out how to do it productively myself. Hypnobirthing teaches you to breath the baby down but that was not going to work for me at this point - I wasn't relaxed enough. And I was ready to be done. It had been 24 hours of not physical, but mental exhaustion. I reminded myself to stay calm, it would be over soon and I was praying.

Lesson number three - My body knew what it was doing so my job was to not let fear or doubt creep in and interfere. It was like running a mental marathon.

I pushed her out in four or five contractions. The amazing thing was though that again, it didn't hurt. I felt the slightest little sting when she crowned (what is called the 'ring of fire'), but other than that it felt exactly like when I pushed the Little Miss out with an epidural - pressure. Except this time I could feel where Lark was so it was more encouraging because I knew she was almost out. And then all of a sudden it was over and they gave me my squished but beautiful little girl!

In the end I didn't tear, I didn't swell nearly as much as the first time, I wasn't as tired, I wasn't ghostly pale like I was for days after having the Little Miss, I didn't bleed as much, I wasn't as sore... everything about my recovery has been a million times better and easier.

When I compare my two birth experiences it is so apparent to me that the second time around I didn't let fear make my decisions for me. And I have never felt more empowered!

Lesson number four - Giving birth is natural and beautiful and truly a miracle. And, amazingly, it doesn't have to hurt.

Birth Story of the Week: Milan's Birth, Spring, 1975

Today's story is written by one of my personal heroines, Carol Leonard, midwife, author, advocate, and a foremother of the modern midwifery movement. She is co-founder of the Midwives Alliance of North America (MANA), which represents all midwives in the United States, Canada, and Mexico, and served one term as its president. Her work to improve maternity care in Moscow, Russia, was featured on 20/20 and was written into the Congressional Record. Her memoir, Lady's Hands, Lion's Heart, is one of my all-time favorite books, and I highly recommend it (read my full review, here). I've recently been in touch with Carol and she very kindly agreed to share the story of the birth of her son, Milan, with Marvelous Kiddo readers. Thank you so much, Carol!

-- Leigh

So, it begins. I lie awake in the dark; the first firm squeezing of my uterus has wakened me. I lie in bed with my heart pounding. Labor has taken me by surprise; it is a full week early. I am astounded. Another one comes. I look at the clock. Twenty minutes apart. I get up quietly and walk around to see if the contractions stop. I pace around our bedroom loft. I look out the window to the trees shadowy in the soft moonlight. I am tingling with anticipation. Today I will meet my child.

I lie back down and try to sleep. I try to ignore my excitement and the strong squeezing. John is curled up on his side facing away from me. I feel my belly mound in rhythmic waves. I lay my hands over the stretched paper-thin skin of my abdomen. My child within stretches his foot out to deliberately push my hand aside. This is his game. I manage to grab his foot through my skin; he immediately jerks his foot away and rolls to the other side. He tentatively sticks his foot out in the new spot, teasing me. I pinch it again. He retreats quickly. This makes me smile. I am so in love with this child. I haven’t even seen him yet.

In mid-afternoon, I drive through a late spring snow into town to my OB/Gyn’s office to be checked. I know the prenatal nurses whisper about my appearance. Sanctimonious wenches. It has been a long harsh winter in the back woods of New Hampshire and we heat our home with a wood stove. I am wearing my heavy winter boots and smell like gasoline from the chainsaw. I notice I have wood chips in my hair. I see they have written a sarcastic “MOUNTAIN WOMAN” on the front of my chart. This makes me grin.

I squirm down into the cold metal stirrups and I lie with my legs splayed. One of the bitchy nurses snaps on a pair of latex gloves, squirts on some KY Jelly and prepares to examine my cervix. She doesn’t speak and does not bother to warm her hands. She plunges her fingers into me and her eyes widen in surprise. She says I am already five centimeters dilated and wants me to go straight to the hospital because of the bad weather. I decline. I opt to go back home.

I go back home because I don’t really want to hang around in a sterile antiseptic institutional environment waiting for labor to kick in. I also go home because tonight we are having a fabulous dinner party for the men who helped us build our new house. I love these guys. They are all committed bachelors and very baby-phobic. But they are incredibly hard working and funny, intelligent friends. Together we have all built a beautiful handmade home in the NH woods.

The dinner party is frankly ridiculous. The contractions shift gears and are now coming every five minutes. I try to be nonchalant and charming. Every five minutes I tense, catch my breath and try to fake a sickly smile. I begin squirming uncomfortably in my chair as I feel my bottom could very possibly—at any minute–turn shockingly inside out. I try to breathe unobtrusively, but my nostrils are flaring. I grit my teeth and my eyes start to water.

Every five minutes, the guys stop eating and hold their breath. They stare at me in horror. Robert looks like he may retch.

Michael says, “Shouldn’t we boil water or something?”

I go upstairs and call my neighbor, Talie. Talie has had three babies…all born at home with a local doctor. I don’t know about the home birth part, that seems kind of sketchy to me, but she’s a pro at childbirth. The story about Talie that I love the most is that when she was shopping in the IGA grocery store in Bradford, her water broke in the condiment aisle. Talie was so embarrassed; she grabbed a huge jar of pickles and smashed it down on the floor right in the middle of her puddle. “Clean up in Aisle Three” boomed over the loudspeaker.

Now I need her seasoned wisdom. Talie tells me to lie down, concentrate on the intensity and that I will intuitively know when it is time to go. I lie down. I throw up green beans and roast chicken. Now I know. Definitely time to go.

John and I fairly fly out of the house, leaving the guys standing there helplessly. Their eyes are wide and shocked mouths drop open.

“Good luck!” they mutter.

“Do the dishes!” I shout victoriously as our car careens down the driveway.

Thirty minutes later, when we can see the lights of Merrimack Valley Hospital in the distance from the highway, I get my first real wave of serious labor. That sucker hurt. Without warning, the contractions begin coming every minute. This is no longer fun, nor funny. I am gripping the dashboard of the Peugeot. I find I am panting like a dog. Yup, this is serious pain. Not pain like if you broke your leg or something without a pattern to it, but real genuine pain, none the less. The insides of my nostrils are getting hot from panting. Beads of sweat are dripping from my forehead. I am seriously wondering how I am going to get out of the car once we get there.

The two of us manage to make it to the receptionist in the lobby of the hospital. John has to drag me the last half of the way. The receptionist informs us that since it is still a half-hour until midnight, we will have to pay for a full day. John and I look at each other. We don’t have medical coverage. I decide I’ll be damned if I’m going up to the maternity ward before midnight and get billed for it. I stay in the lobby. I huff and puff and pace, waiting for the clock to tick away. I begin to get tremendous pressure in my butt. I groan and squat down, pretty unconscious of my actions at this point. The other lobbyists peer over their magazines in abject fear. At 12:01 AM, I accept the offered wheelchair and am escorted up to Merrimack Valley Hospital’s Maternity Ward.

I am wheeled by a night nurse down a long beige tiled hall into a large beige tiled room with several curtained-off, high railed hospital beds. I catch a glimpse through a crack in the curtain of the woman in labor next to me.

“Jesus, Joseph and Mary, this is all your fault!” the woman keeps yelling, over and over like a litany.

I am about to make a snide comment on the woman’s Catholic choice of labor coping mantras, when I am engulfed in the worst pain known to womankind.

“Holy Crap!” I yell.

When I can breathe again, I find myself repeating my own, personalized mantra during contractions.

“Oh shit! Oh dear! Oh shit! Oh dear!” I wail.

“Jesus! Joseph and Mary!” is screamed in unison from the other side of the curtain.

This proves to have a strange comforting effect, a technique not commonly taught in Lamaze class.

I am ordered to hoist my rock hard belly up onto the rock hard bed and to spread my legs in order to be “prepped”. Prepping consists of shaving off all my pubic hair and giving me a “Triple H Enema” (High-Hot and a Hell-of-a-lot) so that “we” will be “clean” for the doctor, as the labor nurse so delicately puts it. The labor nurse is an older woman and she is chewing gum. The old nurse examines me and looks quite pleased. She announces that I am already eight centimeters dilated. “Only two more to go! Good work, deah!”

She instructs me to use the adjoining bathroom if I need it. IF? With seven gallons of hot soapy water in my rectum? She’s kidding, right? She says to be careful not to soil the bed sheets and leaves the room and closes the door.

Within minutes the enema is becoming unavoidably insistent. I try my best to make it to the loo without leakage, shuffling in between whopping contractions. I am semi-successful. Now, I am sitting on the throne, reassessing my predicament.

Here I am panting on a rusty toilet in a harshly lit, drab concrete room, shitting my brains out.

I am thirsty, very hot and sweaty, kind of dizzy, and I am all alone.

There is a woman shouting desperately to the Holy Ghost in the next room.

I am about to experience one of the most profound and meaningful acts possible in my entire lifetime.

What the hell is wrong with this picture?

And how come no one has even checked the baby? Maybe because it’s late at night and they are short staffed? And what if my baby is born in this jailhouse toilet with nobody else in here? Then what?

Labor certainly is an interesting process. I am in awe that my body knows exactly what to do; it is functioning like a finely tuned machine. I am feeling pretty proud of myself. However, with the next contraction, I do believe my bottom is history. My yoni is excruciating, on fire. This is impetus enough for me to drag myself out of there and back up onto the scaffolding of the bed. The Jesus woman has been taken away.

Now the pain is overwhelming. I can’t move. I can’t even swear. Forget the breathing, jasus. I lie here as wave after wave of crushing spasms wash over me. I gape at the ceiling. Oh my god. I can’t handle this. This is truly unbearable. Then…a remarkable thing happens. I separate from myself. I realize that I can give my life to bring my child through, that I will willingly die to be his gateway to this world, my love for him is that strong. I stop struggling. I feel myself surrender and open up…I start to push. I push in big, involuntary moose-call pushes. The old nurse comes running back in. John is allowed in after filling out all the necessary payment forms.

Pushing is unbelievably powerful and I am unbelievably vocal. I am not prepared for this. Either I am really being that loud or it just sounds that way inside my head. The old OB nurse is pleasantly perched between my legs, snapping her gum. She gives me a thumbs up and an ongoing progress report on the visibility of my child’s head.

“I can see a dime. Yuh, now I can see a nickel”, she reports in her New Hampshire drawl. “Hell, I can see a quatah!”

I like her. In between straining, I ask her if she can just deliver my baby right here in the bed. Maybe tell the doctor it was born too fast to make it to the delivery room. She smiles a huge smile but shakes her head, no. The doctor on-call would have all hell to pay if she failed to wake him up in time. Especially since it is Dr. Easey.

Dr. Easey! Damn. I hadn’t thought about this. The OB practice I go to is a group of five men. They are secretly referred to as “Fifty Fingers” by their women patients. Easey is the doctor I like the least. I see him as a cold, steely man with mocking, ice blue eyes. Now he is the OB on-call. Shit, Murphy’s Law.

John sees my momentary distress and attempts to comfort me by placing a cold washcloth on my forehead. Just at this moment the strongest bearing down urge hits my butt. I angrily wing the washcloth across the room. I tell him not to touch me, as a matter of fact, to never touch me again, ever. John retreats to the safety of a chair in the corner of the room to wait it out. He hides his face in his hands.

An hour and a half later, a lot of Milan’s head is visible; it no longer retreats between pushes. I can see bald wrinkles. Then all hell breaks loose. The doctor makes his cameo appearance. He is grumpy and rumpled with sleep. He takes one look at my efforts and grunts something unintelligible and turns to the delivery room to scrub up. Some orderlies appear from nowhere. They slide my contorting and pushing body onto a high, narrow gurney and rush me down the hall at high speed to the delivery room.

Once there, I am moved again onto the even higher delivery table, all the while with a head between my legs. I am made to lie flat on my back with my legs up in the air in metal braces, like a June bug stuck helplessly on its back. The table is cracked in half with the lower part removed, so my butt is now suspended in midair. Because I have had no drugs, I am allowed to watch the proceedings in a standup mirror. I see myself being painted from navel to kneecaps with orangey brown Betadine.

Now Milan’s head really starts to crown. The stretching is merciless. I feel as if my fragile labial tissues are splintering into a thousand shards of glass. Nobody is paying any attention; they are all getting ready to do their assigned jobs. My butt is still hanging in midair and my poor expanding yoni is BURNING. I do the natural thing. I reach down to soothe the fiery skin around my child’s emerging head.

Dr. Easey sees me do this. He flips out. Totally and irrationally. He is irate that I have the audacity to touch myself in front of him. He slaps my hand away. He shouts that I have contaminated his sterile field! Goddamit! He gives orders for me to be restrained, for my hands to be strapped down. He continues ranting as though I am a disgusting, wild beast. The nurse ties my hands securely with leather handcuffs that are built into the table; they look like the wrist restraints found on electric chairs. I watch as Dr. Easey cuts a huge mid-line episiotomy in my vagina. Milan’s head is born.

It IS a miracle! As Milan’s body slides out of me, he kicks me for one last time. The doctor puts him in a clear plastic warming cart across the room. I am straining to see what my son looks like. All I can see is one pudgy leg stretched up tentatively testing the air with his toes. How sweet! I want to hold and inspect that chubby thing.

“Please give me my baby.” I say politely.

Nobody pays any attention to me, so I say it louder.

“Please give me my baby!”

On the third try I actually shout for my child. “GIVE ME MY DAMN BABY!”

They all stop bustling around and stare at me as though I have postpartum psychosis already. Dr. Easey looks irritated. He picks up Milan and unceremoniously plops him on my chest. My hands are still strapped to the table. I struggle to look in my newborn’s eyes, not being able to move my arms. I feel someone tugging angrily at the straps, untying my wrists. I look up into John’s brown eyes over his surgical mask that is streaked with tears. So much emotion in those eyes! With my hands finally free, I begin touching my baby all over his sweet, fat little body. I start rubbing the white creamy vernix into his skin, massaging him. I smell him; sniff his neck, behind his ears. I want to lick him, but I already have the sense that Dr. Easey thinks I am a borderline fruitcake.

My bald baby is so beautiful, so perfect, even if he does look a little like Gerald Ford. Milan looks at me and frowns. Then his eyes focus and he squares me with the most intense, penetrating gaze, “Who are you?”

This important meeting is cut short by a very rough and painful delivery of the placenta. I look up in time to see Dr. Easey yank the placenta into a bucket waiting on the floor by his feet. When I look in the mirror, I can’t believe my eyes. My poor yoni has been transformed into something unrecognizable. It is draped, shaved, stained dark brown, cut, bleeding and gaping open. It looks like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to be stuffed and trussed. This is when the conflicting emotions begin. I am incredibly high from giving birth, proud that my body is so strong and wise. I am speechlessly in awe of the process. I have just done the most powerful thing I will ever experience in my life, and yet…I am completely pissed.

A growing feeling of anger is starting to cloud my euphoria. I feel thwarted that my accomplishment has somehow been belittled, that I have been strapped down like a lunatic, degraded and humiliated in this most sacred of times. It is an increasing uneasiness; it is at first hard to grasp what is wrong.

Milan weighs in at a whopping nine pounds. Ouch. Must have been all those nauseating Adelle Davis Brewer’s Yeast and Wheat Germ shakes. My little Budgie is taken from my arms to go to the nursery for the high-test newborn exam. Supposedly he has to wait there until the morning shift when the pediatrician comes to do his rounds. Milan will be thoroughly checked out during normal business hours. John goes with his son.

Dr. Easey repairs the episiotomy in silence. It seems to me that he is taking an inordinately long time down there. I wonder if he’s embroidering his initials. I ask how bad is the damage and how many stitches are needed. I am trying to make inane conversation at 3:00 in the morning with someone who has just cut my vagina to shreds. Surprisingly, Dr. Easey says his first full sentence of the entire night. He proudly states that he is doing his trademark “Husband’s Stitch”, which is putting in a few extra stitches at the top of the perineum and pulling it tight so I won’t be floppy and stretched out from having a baby. How thoughtful. He’ll make sure I am good and tight so there will always be enough friction for my husband. I am going to be even better than before! Is this guy serious? I picture my yoni pursed and puckered together with all the flexibility of a vise-grip. For the rest of my life I will have a numb spot there.

Dr. Easey finishes up his needlework and comes up to my head. I think, now he’s going to congratulate me for doing an outstanding job.

Instead, what he says is, “Some women are meant to be workers and some women are meant to be breeders. You are definitely a breeder.”

That does it. The man is a sexist sadist. I need to get out of here. Fast.

I say to him, “I want to go home.”

Dr. Easey looks stunned for a moment, then gets an imperious look.

“You are aware that hospital policy is that you must stay for at least five days postpartum for observation? You do understand this? Comprehend?” he growls. “You absolutely may NOT leave against my orders.”

He turns abruptly and heads out the door.

“I am outta here!” I yell after him as he disappears down the hall.

The OB night nurse comes back with the orderlies and they wheel me down some more beige halls to the beige postpartum ward. This is a big open room with about a dozen beds arranged dormitory style, for those patients without insurance who are unable to afford a private room. They get me settled in for the night; the nurse squeezes my flaccid belly with a vengeance. She puts a veritable mattress of a sanitary pad on me.

After they leave, I slide out of bed and tentatively try walking. I feel like I have a bowling ball in my butt. I’m sure I am popping stitches with every step, but I am famished and I want my baby. I shuffle with baby-steps down the hall, cringing with each movement. I am following the sound of my baby crying to the nursery.

John looks surprised to see me. He is holding Milan.

I say, “Let’s go.”

I bundle up my baby and the three of us sneak out of the hospital in the early morning hours of April 9, 1975. It is written in my medical chart that I left “AMA”–against medical advice.

This is the beginning of my life’s work.

~ Excerpted from LADY’S HANDS, LION’S HEART, A MIDWIFE’S SAGA by Carol Leonard, Bad Beaver Publishing, 2008. Order a copy, here, and read more on Carol's website and blog.

Birth Story of the Week: Indescribable

This is a wonderful story, sent to me by Nathan and Kate Bechtold, detailing the recent birth of their son. It is a really engrossing read, and I love the way that it is written by both parents -- it is somewhat unusual to read a father's detailed account of the birth of his child, especially intertwined so beautifully with the mother's telling. What a sweet, illuminating format! You can read more about the birth, and see additional photos on Nathan and Kate's blog, The Ozark House. Thanks for sharing, you two!

--Leigh

This is the story of how our boy, Saylor Jack Bechtold, made his grand entrance into the world. Here’s how it all went down…in our words (Nathan in plain text, Kate in italics)
His due date had come and gone, and for eight days, we wondered, When? Kate was having frequent Braxton-Hicks contractions, and she was doing all the things you’re supposed to do to help “induce” labor naturally – including lots of yoga!
The morning of Friday, February 18th, Kate woke up at 4AM with very slight “gas cramps.”

They were about 30 minutes apart, but I wasn’t convinced it was anything, because it really did feel like, well, gas. So I got up, and got a bath and they wouldn’t go away, in fact they started coming a little faster – every 15 minutes or so. So I started getting excited.

She told me about them, so I told her to go back to bed and see what happens.

Once I woke up later, by 8AM, they were gone! Frustrated, I told Nathan, “This is gonna be a stupid day.” I figured it must have just been gas after all. It was okay, I thought, because Nathan’s parents were coming into town that day anyways, and I had lots to do!

My parents arrived around 12:30, and around that time, Kate’s “gas cramps” started again. They were gradually getting stronger, but not much, so my mom suggested they go on a walk, to see what would happen.

Before the walk, I called Kelly (our midwife), and she told me to let her know if they were 10 minutes apart for two hours straight. On the walk, I had my watch with me, and I timed them: they were ranging anywhere from 4-10 minutes apart.

We called Kelly again, and she urged Kate to drink more water and take a bath – to make sure it wasn’t false contractions from dehydration. She drank some water and then, before dinner, Kate and I went shopping for a few things, and the cramps (contractions) gradually strengthened as we walked.

At this point, I never had any pain – just kind of an urge to use the bathroom.

The contractions continued through dinner – still not painful, and kinda sporadic. So Kate hopped in the bath…

…to clear my mind – I couldn’t hang out with anybody right then. I was trying to prepare myself to be in labor, if this was really it.

I called Kelly while Kate was in the bath, and she said to give it two more hours. If things intensified, she was coming over (she lives two hours away). If they calmed down or stayed about the same, we’d just keep waiting it out without her. “In the meantime,” she said, “I’m getting some sleep, and Kate should too.”

Not long after my bath, I called my parents (in South Carolina), and told them to start heading this way. I wasn’t sure it was labor, but could only think about the fact that I wanted them to be there. So if by chance it was labor, they should come now.

Within that two hour span, Kate began actually having to focus through the contractions. She would lie on her side in bed, and I would coach her, helping her relax and breathe.

I walked into the living room at one point, and Adrienne asked “So what do you want to do now? Play a game? Watch a movie?” And right then a strong one hit me, and I realized that wasn’t gonna happen. I was 75% sure I was in labor at this point.

Ridiculous.

So after about three of those – which felt like pretty strong menstrual cramps – I was 100% sure, so I called Nathan’s siblings (in Texas) and told them to come on up to Missouri.

The two hours were gone, and things had definitely advanced, so I called Kelly. It was about 10:00PM. I told her what was up, and she said she was on her way. I hadn’t yet filled up the birth pool, and she suggested I get going on that. Well, our water heater is very small, and that birth pool takes a lot more water than I thought! So I would fill it until we ran out of hot water, and then wait for 30 minutes. Then fill it some more. Then wait some more. It didn’t have enough water in it until almost 1:00AM.

I had no idea any of this was going on – I was in such a deep, almost hypnotic, state – trying to relax through each contraction. The room was dark, candles were lit, I had my “baby” playlist playing softly on the ipod. Things were very peaceful.

I was still helping her relax and breathe, but it was growing more difficult for her to relax as the contractions grew stronger. Kelly arrived around 12:30AM (now Saturday, February 19th). She checked Baby’s heartbeat – it was great – and felt around Kate’s tummy and detected that Saylor was no longer posterior, but had turned to the ideal birthing position. Good news. Then she left the room for a bit after a few encouraging words.
I noticed that Kate was really losing her concentration at this point, and not responding well to my attempts to get her to relax – she said the contractions were becoming too strong. Kelly, listening outside the door to Kate’s moans, brought in some clary sage essential oil, which I rubbed on Kate’s feet. That seemed to help some (and smelled really nice).

I began to feel the contractions “taking over” my body. They were these huge rushes. Before that, they had been like strong menstrual cramps: they hurt, but were bearable. Now they were like something I had never felt before – very powerful.

In the meantime, my mom was bringing in pots of boiling water to add to the birth pool, which Kate would soon be entering.

My memory of everything from this point on is pretty foggy. I guess I was just “in the zone” and not really focusing on anything else happening around me.

Kate was making frequent bathroom trips, with multiple contractions while sitting on the toilet, which made me nervous (I guess I just imagined our child falling out into the toilet bowl all of a sudden).
Finally, at around 1:30AM, Kelly suggested Kate hop in the pool. Well, not “hop”…

That’s when things REALLY got started! It was not physically possible for me to relax through the contractions anymore. I was vocalizing, but that’s about all I could do. I don’t mean I was out of control – it’s just that I had to start doing whatever my body required of me during the contractions. Whatever came naturally. *sings* “Doin’ what comes naturally!”

She thinks that she got scary at that point – roaring or whatever some women say they do – she wants me to say that she was scary, like a lioness. But she wasn’t scary (although I did tell her at the time that she was like a sexy lioness queen). She was strong! With every passing minute, I became more amazed at her tenacity, and the fact that she wasn’t asking for, or even mentioning, pain-killing drugs! She was just doin’ work!

Kelly never does an internal exam to check your dilation, unless you ask for it. I never asked for it. So we never knew how far I was dilated. Her reasoning is that she doesn’t want to introduce unnecessary bacteria into the birth canal. But what I didn’t know at the time was that Kelly was listening, outside the room, guessing how far I was dilated by the sounds I was making!

And she was probably pretty correct. At one point, when the contractions were getting long, strong, and right on top of one another, Kate looked at me with either guilt or surprise (or perhaps just honesty), and said “I think I just pushed a little bit.” So she was in transition, I knew.

I also had said “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” And that was the “self-doubt” emotional signpost mentioned in “Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way” that lets you know you’re transitioning.

And I think it was about that time that Kelly had guessed Kate was at an 8 or a 9.

Kelly came in again, and I told her “I don’t know why I did it – I just did it. I felt like it was time, so I started doing it.” She said, “Well good! That’s great!”
At that point, I asked her to stay in the room.
Then I spent a little while “bearing down”…not completely pushing, but sorta halfway, because my body simply had to do it.

It was around 2:30 or 3:00AM then.

I couldn’t tell you if I did that for ten minutes or two hours. It felt like days. I was on my hands and knees, and at some point…

…around 3:45…

…my water broke.

I was applying counter-pressure to Kate’s lower back when she would push.

Do we want to talk about how I pooped in the pool?

No.

But eventually, the angle she was sitting in kept me from applying counter-pressure very easily. Kelly asked Kate if she wanted me to get in the pool. She did. So I did. The serious pushing started then.

I felt like it started earlier, but I’m not the one to ask. Anyways, that was around 4:00AM.

I don’t remember much, here.

Kelly left the room for 10-15 minutes when I climbed in the pool, and in the meantime, Kate was workin’.
Kelly came back in, and we both encouraged Kate as she pushed with her contractions.

I remember kinda whimpering in between contractions, kinda whining about how tired I was.

I was sitting down, leaning against the pool wall, with my legs apart and knees bent. Kate was sitting between my legs, leaning against me, with knees up.

Where my memory gets clear is when Kelly said “With the next push, I want you to reach down and feel his head.” I did!

Me too. Kinda cool, kinda weird.

I got my second wind at that point, and didn’t really notice the pain or tiredness anymore, because I was so excited.

Then the contractions slowed, and Kate was waiting several minutes in between each, to push.

It was nice because I needed a break, but annoying because I was so close, and ready to meet my baby.

Then all of a sudden, Kate pushed a couple of times, and there was a baby in the water.
4:46AM.

Well, with more detail – I gave one hard push, and his head was out, which caught me by surprise. Then with one more seemingly effortless push, he just slid out!
I let out a yell because I was so surprised that there had been an actual human in there (my tummy) the whole time! It may seem weird, but for some reason I was in denial during the whole pregnancy that an actual human baby would come out at the end.

I was the first to notice that he was a boy. I figured everyone else had seen it, but as soon as he was born, Kelly gave him to Kate, who put him on her chest, so nobody saw it, except me!

We could say who was in the room at the time: Obviously the two of us and Kelly, and then Adrienne (housemate and friend), Dixie (Nathan’s mom), and Barry (Nathan’s dad).

Also, when he came out, I started bawling. It was so unexpected – I mean, I didn’t expect that I would cry, but I also just didn’t expect any of it. It was like a real-life magic trick! Also, when people talk about God being in the room when a baby is born – they’re right.

The cord was around his neck when he came out, but Kelly quickly unwrapped it. He cried really good and started breathing right away, without any help.

I cut the cord – not waiting very long, because it had stopped pulsating pretty quickly. Kelly checked Baby Saylor (though we hadn’t named him yet), then took him from Kate to dry him off and hold him. Kate stood up, delivered the placenta, and stepped out of the pool (leaving me sitting in…something of a mess).

We all got cleaned up, dried off, and quickly into bed. Photos were taken, tears were shed, joy abounded. Kate and Saylor went to sleep, and I stayed up, overcome by such an amazing experience.

Birth Story of the Week: Homebirth Rules!

I'm so pleased to bring back Birth Story of the Week, which has been on a bit of an unplanned hiatus (had you noticed?). I have some great stories lined up for the coming weeks, so stay tuned! Let's kick things off with this empowering, funny, sweet, and matter-of-fact home birth story. It is written by my new friend, the fabulously multitalented and accomplished Sharmadean Reid, who authors the blog, London Momma. Thank you so much for sharing, Sharmadean!

--Leigh

So two weeks after the deed, here is my birth story: On Monday 31st Jan I woke up at 8.30am with some mild period-like pains. Having not surfed the crimson wave for so long, I almost forgot what the pain felt like. I pretty much knew I was in labour straight away and I was pissed because every week since 36 weeks I’d been getting my hair and nails done, just in case he popped out, and I was due to get did that day. I wanted to be all beautified for my babba, but of course all of that went straight out the window.

I didnt call the midwife until 10am when I had my “show” - you know that bloody muscus plug that looks like alien saliva? I thought I had it earlier but just like your waters breaking, when it comes you KNOW about it.

My midwife, the lovely Keiko, arrived at my house within 20 minutes! I had decided around week 30 that I wanted to have a homebirth. My reasons being: I’ve never been in hospital overnight since I was born, but when I do go to hospitals, to visit friends or something, I’m always grossed out by it. They’re always noisy, with bad furniture and lighting, yellowing walls and staff who always seem too rushed off their feet to tend to you. I also get annoyed hearing women screaming. I think it would stress me out and make my labour difficult. Hospitals are basically a gathering place for illness and disease, and to me, pregnancy is not a disease, so why not have it in the comfort of my own house, surrounded by pretty things, food and drink I want, TV, internet and boxsets?!

When I told my previous midwife, a jolly African lady called Kiki, that I wanted a homebirth, her first comment was “So whut is yur attitude to pain???” I replied “Its gonna hurt isnt it, so theres no need to get hysterical…” and she was like “Uh huh…okaaaay”. At a homebirths you can only get gas and air - NO OTHER DRUGS! I wasnt worried though. She then transferred me to the Homebirth Team.

Every London borough is different, I’m with Haringey, so basically there is a team of community midwives that deal with homebirths. I had my first appointment with Keiko, a really chilled out Japanese lady, who immediately made me happy as she was so relaxed. Exactly what I wanted - i hate a lot of fuss and she was completely zen-like. She went through a health checklist with me to make sure I was eligible. Technically you have to tick all the boxes to qualify for a homebirth, stuff like you cant be asthmatic, you have to be between 37 and 41 weeks pregnant etc Its basically only available for low-risk pregnancies and I was lucky enough to not have had a single complication my entire pregnancy.

She then left me with a shopping list of stuff to buy as I wanted a waterbirth. My boyf was convinced I was gonna shit myself during labour and was obsessed with buying a sieve to fish it out of the pool with, but he didnt have to worry as I ordered this HOMEBIRTH KIT from Made in Water which I highly recommend. It contained everything I needed (including sieve) and the pool is reusable after! (The pool comes with a specially made liner for use during labour so all the placenta and stuff gets thrown away and doesnt touch the actual pool bottom). Here is the pool in our living room.

Make sure you get it out for a test run and that you have enough hot water to fill it. We blew it up about a week before and it just stayed in the living room until labour time.

I then had weekly visits in my home by the midwives from the team. Since I transferred I havent had to leave my house for anything - actually the only blip was that my iron was low (8.6 and it needs to be at least 10)) and if your blood count is low, they advise against homebirth in case you bleed a lot and pass out. So I had to take iron tablets for 3 weeks (so three weeks of black poop) to get my levels back up. I took myself to the hospital to get a blood test to prove my levels were up after two weeks as the thought of not having a homebirth cos of IRON really annoyed me. Thankfully it went back up to 11.6 and all was fine!

Ok so back to the labour - After Keiko came at 10am the contractions were starting to build slowly. I kept going between laying on the sofa, lying in the bath and bouncing on my birthing ball (like a gym/medicine/swiss ball - another thing I highly recommend). Nothing much was happening. I’d been doing pregnancy yoga for 4 weeks with Maxine Levy in Golders Green so I was well prepared with my breathing exercises. It made all the difference and the contractions werent really painful in the beginning.

The rest of Monday was quite boring. My Mom came down so Monday evening me, Greg and my Mom just sat around in absolute silence, no tv, no nothing, while i did my special breathing continuously. I called Keiko at midnight as the pain was intensifying but unfortunately I was still only 3cm dilated!!! I was sooooo pissed off! I’d been having contractions all day and only three fucking centimetres?!!? (You have to be at 10cm before you can push) So Greg and my Ma went to sleep while I stayed awake with my belly.

Tues AM - I call Keiko at 9am for another examination….still wasnt dilated enough! I’d been awake for 24 hrs and I was exhausted! Keiko leaves me and we begin another day of contractions. Again I rotate between bath/sofa/ball and again nothing happens! At 10pm I’m getting weary and disheartened. The contractions are getting more painful as my amniotic sac is pressing so hard on my pelvis. I tell Greg to call Keiko and tell her I want to go to the hospital and get my waters broken. At this point I feel bad that I let Keiko and the Homebirth Team down. I anticiapted all sorts of pain but I didnt expect the labour to drag on for two days and I was tired! They wont break your waters at home, in fact they wont do any sort of intervention, so I was shouting to Greg - just take me to get my waters broken, it hurts!!!

Keiko arrives at 11pm. She pretty much ignores my pleas to go to the hospital (which I am totally thankful for) and gives me a can of gas and air. Cos I’ve never done any drugs, I didnt know how to suck it properly (like a bong i guess) and Keiko was like - “Dont you ever get high?!” I started laughing…Once I got the hang of it, I sat there sucking on that tube for dear life! I thought it would make me feel sick and lightheaded but it was just perfect. It took the edge off the contractions even though it made my mouth all crusty and dry.

By now I was like a freak. I vomited anything I ate, I kept pissing myself and I was sat bouncing on a pink ball sucking on the gas. I looked like shit, I was tired and hungry and just wanted to sleep!

Greg and my Mom went down for another night of sleep while Keiko kept me company. (she stayed with me from Tues 11pm onwards) I was getting really impatient and restless and at 4am she “examined” me again and I’d said if I wasnt 6cm that was going to hospital. I say “examined” me as she kind of fiddled about for a while a lo and behold my waters gushed out all over my sofa! Hallelujjaaaaah!

I felt like a massive pressure had eased, it felt so good for about FIVE MINUTES! Because without the shock absorber of the sac, the contractions felt even worse!!! I was sucking on the gas like a crackhead to a pipe while Greg filled the pool. I got in at 6am and the water was such a relief. As the pool is small and snug, it felt really cosy and the water eased the pain in my back.

I was sat in the pool on my ass for 2 hours breathing and falling asleep between contractions and nothing was happening. I was breathing and pushing and the head hadn’t even crowned! The second midwife, Nancy, arrived and by now I was shouting that I couldnt do it, was too tired etc!! Nancy, who was 7 months pregnant herself, started spurring me on, telling me I was fine etc. I was kind of spun out and I can’t remember the tiny details. I wish I had filmed it so I could see what I was like but I do remember that I was shouting, not in a hysterical way, but it a more primal way, like a war cry or something.

By 9am I’d had enough. I decided to pull myself together. I turned around onto all fours (which I hadnt wanted to do before because it was so painful) leaned by elbows on gregs lap as he was sat by the pool and stopped my constant breathing which was exhausting me, and only did my breathing exercises and pushes while the contractions were happening.

He finallllly started to make moves. I pushed and pushed and the only real pain that I can remember is when I felt his head widening my pelvic bones. As his head started to come out, I felt every feature of his face brush against my vagina, so weird! The midwives then told me to stop pushing which I duly followed as I knew they were controlling my pushing to stop me from tearing and tearing was the only thing I was terrified of. However when I stopped pushing I felt like his head was going back inside me! argghhhh, all my hard work undone! But no, it was fine, his head came out and then I felt his shoulders wiggle - PULL HIM OUT! I shouted, but no - my work was not yet done and I had to give him a final push out.

Greg delivered him and passed him underneath me, and my Mom grabbed him and passed him to me, and I sat back in the pool with him in my arms and started laughing!

He didnt cry immediately so they cut the cord and took him over to the dining table where the towels were laid out and roughed him up a little. He started crying and they weighed him.

Then they delivered the placenta and examined me. Thankfully I only had a tiny tear, no stitches! Yahoo! Then Greg and I sat on the sofa with him and he looked and each of us in the eye directly, it was truly magical.

After cleaning myself up and putting on some warm clothes, I got into bed with my baby and just stared at him.

Roman William Prendergast was born at 10.31am on Wednesday 2nd Feb (his due date). He weighed 8lb 4oz! and was 57cm long. He is super alert, stares a lot and I love him.

Labour is not as bad as you think.

THINGS I WOULD HAVE DONE DIFFERENTLY:

Take your final trimester diet seriously. I was anemic as I’d gone off meat but I should have taken some supplements.

Walk around during early labour. I made myself way too comfortable and cosy which is why I think he didnt come out for ages. No relaxing baths next time, I’ll put myself in some pain to encourage active labour.

Videoed the birth. I wish I could remember every detail, but its just impossible when you’re in the throes of it all.

Having a homebirth is an amazing experience. It was so wonderful to be able to get into my own bed with my baby. Everything went perfectly. The midwives were great. It was a real luxury to have two midwives undivided attention throughout my labour, in a hospital they would be coming in and out. I understand its different for everyone, but if you are young and healthy and low risk, I think having your baby at home is a good option.

Texting While Birthing + Birth Story of the Week

Cartoon by Mick Stevens, originally published in The New Yorker Magazine, 03/15/2010

I was delighted to run across a piece in this week's issue of New York Magazine, exploring the growing phenomenon of parents using technology to document/communicate the birth of their children in real time. It's practically de rigueur these days to Tweet one's labor or blog one's birth story -- now it seems people are going so far as to text their next of kin even as they give birth via c-section! I find all of this fascinating, and I think you will too, so check out the article.

Fittingly, the piece was written by Tina Cassidy, author of Birth: The Surprising History of How We are Born, a book that came out in 2006 and that I devoured months ago and have been meaning to post about ever since. I loved this fantastically researched and imminently readable title and I know it would appeal to anyone who has even a passing interest in how we all arrive here on Planet Earth. As much as I've read and investigated books in the birth + pregnancy + labor genre, I had never gotten my hands on a straight-up scholarly analysis of the history of birth customs and practices. It was a very illuminating and often entertaining read that certainly put a lot of perspective on the current state of affairs and the culture of birth that we inhabit right now. I highly recommend it.

After I tore through the book I gave my copy to my friend Jen, who also enjoyed it and consequently discovered that Cassidy maintains a blog, on which she posted her own remarkable story of the birth of her second child ( a home VBAC that occurred in 2007). The amazing thing is that Cassidy wrote her birth story on her blog in serial form over the course of weeks, posting a series of 36 short posts that go into exciting, interesting, and just downright compelling detail about her pregnancy and birth journey so the whole thing reads like bit of a cliffhanger for birth junkies. It is brilliant. Compounding the awesomeness is the comment thread attached to the posts, which include juicy feedback from friends, fans, and most endearingly Cassidy's own mother, who, shall we say was not very keen on the whole idea of home birth throughout her daughter's pregnancy. Their back-and-forth is priceless, and actually very moving.

I thought you would enjoy it so much that I decided to link to Cassidy's epic birth chronicle as Birth Story of the Week. The format is a little unconventional, but you will thank me if you read it :)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24

Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30

Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36