I had so much fear heading into Tate's birth--fear that it would take 45 hours like my first birth, fear that we would again have to give up hope for a home birth and transfer to the hospital, fear of the pain during and after labor, and fear that I had so much fear that I would make the process that much more difficult for myself.
I am so relieved and overwhelmed with gratitude that the reality was so far apart from all of my fears.
Here's the story:
Around 5am on Monday, July 1st, I started to feel low, crampy contractions that were distinctly different from the Braxton-Hicks contractions I had been feeling for months. I tried to watch the clock to see if they were coming with any regularity but soon realized that I only felt them when I flipped sides that I was laying on.
Since my job had officially ended the week before and I had essentially checked off every to-do item (and then some), I decided to take it more slowly that morning. I worked on a few things and then noticed that the contractions were coming more regularly. Once I started timing them, I realized that they were coming every 12 minutes and were lasting for about a minute.
I picked up Henry at 3pm and we drove to the Soup Peddler to pick up smoothies for the labor. Although I was still able to drive and talk through the contractions, they were more uncomfortable. Once we parked, I sat in the car longer than usual to let a contraction pass, and Henry asked, "What are we doing?"
When we returned home, we headed over to our neighbor's house from about 4-5. By then, the contractions were coming more frequently and were a little more difficult. I could still talk through them, but definitely with a little grimace. I still hadn't told Matt that I was having consistent contractions because I halfway expected them to just stop and resume a few days later.
Once Matt got home and offered to cook dinner, I realized that nothing except a simple quesadilla sounded appealing. Then Matt and Henry took off to purchase Tate's birthday cake from Whole Foods. I noticed that the contractions were easier to handle when I was laying down, yet they slowed down. I didn't know whether I should slow them down and rest through the night to gear up for labor the next day or if I should walk around and try to speed them up. Because of all the fear I felt, my first inclination was to slow them down. But I somehow managed to talk myself into speeding them up and getting it over with as quickly as possible.
Matt put Henry to bed around his normal 6:30 time. We still weren't sure that the labor was really happening, so we didn't want to infringe upon our friends who volunteered to take Henry quite yet. We also knew that Henry was a sound sleeper and that it might be possible for him to sleep through the whole thing.
The contractions continued to get closer and closer together. I pushed myself to walk around a lot and stand through them because they were more painful and felt more productive. I worried, however, that I was going to wear myself out, since I was already beginning to feel tired.
I was still talking between contractions, responding politely to Matt, and reading the midwife handbook about labor, which led me to believe I was still in early labor. Matt kept asking when we should call the midwife. We had been texting her updates throughout the day. Around 9pm, he decided to call her, and she said she would leave her house in the next half hour or so.
I was regretting our inability to afford a doula this time around because I still thought I was very early in the process. With Henry, I had intense contractions every 5-6 minutes for at least 35 hours without very much dilation at all. I was convinced that the midwife would take one look at me, see that I was still talking and joking, and tell me that she would come back in the morning.
Instead, when she and her apprentice arrived at 10pm, they began setting up for the birth. I continued to stand through my contractions and began vocalizing a bit. I moved to the bathroom to sit on the birthing ball with my head resting on a pillow on the counter. My midwife assured me that sitting wouldn't slow my progress any, even though it felt like sitting on the ball was pushing him back in.
Although the contractions were intense and difficult, I still thought we were very far away from Tate's arrival. My contractions with Henry were definitely equally intense for much longer, and at the end I needed Pitocin, which intensified the contractions immensely. I still thought I was in early- to mid-labor.
Once the birthing tub was set up in our bedroom, I asked to get in it and to get my dilation checked. I was expecting to be about 4 or 5 centimeters dilated based on what happened with Henry but was instead told that I was 9 centimeters dilated!
The birthing tub was much smaller than the one we used with Henry, so it was difficult to find a truly comfortable position. With Henry, I was able to kneel and support myself with my arms, with the water reaching all the way to my neck. In this tub, I decided to prop myself up on my left side with my elbow.
I continued to vocalize loudly through every contraction. Because of all my fear, it was much more difficult to relax through the contractions. I kept telling myself to relax my face, my mouth, my shoulders, and my pelvic area, but I couldn't relax anything. Instead, I focused on the tension in my face, which took my focus away from the tension and pain in other parts of my body.
Part of why I thought I was so early in the process was that I remained distinctly metacognitive. I never entered a primal state and instead kept thinking about what was happening and then thinking about the fact that I was still thinking about what was happening. I recalled the concept of "breathing out your baby," and felt like I was doing just that. Before I had the urge to push, I could feel Tate descending down the birth canal with each contraction. When it came time to push, I was incredibly motivated by how close we were to the end. My midwife reminded me to channel my vocalization into my pushing, and she suggested that I flip onto my knees and lean against the side. I pushed a couple of times in that position, and his head came out. Once his head was out, I felt like I had summited the peak and that the rest would likely be much easier. Then his body was out and he was somehow in my arms before I knew it. It was 11:42am, and hour and 42 minutes after the midwives arrived.
I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. Our son had arrived safely! I was still alive! None of my fears about the birth came true! It was over! It was fast! I had given birth in the water! Our family was complete!
It was better than I could have imagined. I had somehow managed to give birth to a 10lb. 3 oz. baby with the tiniest of tears, which did not require any suturing.
We talked with both sets of grandparents via FaceTime while I was still in the tub with sweet Tate on my chest. The midwives cleaned up everything and we were asleep in bed by 2am. Henry slept through the entire thing and woke at 7:20am. He was so excited to learn that his brother had arrived and he was thrilled to eat birthday cake on our bed for breakfast.
I wasn't attached to any machines or awoken and prodded all night. I got to sleep with my husband and our baby in our own bed. It was incredible.
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