January 10, 2015 was a very long day of evenly-spaced but non-active contractions. They began around 3 in the morning, tapered off around noon, and finally progressed to full-fledged labor in the early evening.
Leif latched on right away, his cries silenced by his uncomfortably powerful suck. I shuffled back to the bed and Scott came up to sit beside me. Monique was snapping pictures and my mom was talking to the midwives as they tidied up their equipment. The room was bustling but there was a bubble of quiet sweetness around the nursing baby. I thought of the Schoolhouse Rocks song: A man and a woman had a little baby.
That's when this story really begins.
My emotional state was less than ideal for the long work ahead. I felt frustrated and insecure. I know that I was more than a little whiny. But my contractions had closed in to about six minutes apart and I was ready to be comfortably ensconced in the birthing center's tub ... as well as the arms of my support team.
I called it in and the midwives asked me to give them about an hour. That was just enough time for one more episode of Babylon 5. And then, with renewed optimism we made the trip with my friend, Monique, along for the ride.
At the birthing center, I was checked out "down there" (6 cm), then checked in (at about 7:30 pm), and finally I checked out (mentally). My mom arrived, straight from the airport and just in time to do some of her wonderful relaxation cues. This first part of my labor was very quiet and calm, mostly due to the support of my great team. I still felt a little confused, as my contractions were not evenly spaced and did not seem to be as effective as in previous births. However, I relaxed in the tub and lit the candle from my blessingway, feeling the love of women both in the room and far away. I held in my hand the ribbon Megan had made me, stroking it's textured length for focus.
The tub got cold fast so I moved to the bed. The anticipation in the room was palpable, magnifying my own considerable impatience. Thankfully, our progress was visible; my torso seemed to lengthen as the baby bump inched downwards. Everyone was watching.
While the room stayed peaceful, I began to feel very chaotic inside. Each wave of pressure within pushed me closer and closer to an unknown breaking point. When I began to feel frightened, I would complain quietly so that Scott could talk me through it. He whispered reassuring words and commands to relax, which I was usually able to obey. Whenever I relaxed, effectively surrendering to sensations, their power over me lessened as well as my discomfort. This see-saw between fear and peace, pain and comfort continued, only growing more wild with each passing contraction.
At some point, I reached out to the midwife's apprentice, begging her to help me. I knew that I needed something more, some direction that would hasten my baby's arrival. She began to set up the birthing stool. Scott and my mother helped me out of bed. Another contraction hit while I was on my way; I leaned on Scott and whispered "I am never doing this again."
The midwife's apprentice directed me to sit on the birthing stool, warning me that the pressure was likely to be very intense for the first contraction. She was right; I felt a powerful stretch with the next contraction and my water broke all over the floor. But rather than being overwhelmed, I felt happy to be doing something different and excited for the finish. I relaxed back onto Monique, who sat behind me while my husband went to the bathroom for cool towels.
I really turned inward then, shutting out the room around me. My pain was gone and my purpose was clear. I began to push. I heard my mother comment on it and felt irrationally annoyed. The people who had been my invaluable support suddenly seemed unnecessary; I was going to do this part on my own and part of me wanted privacy. I'm glad I didn't get it, though. Leif was rocketing into the world and the other part of me wanted his birth to be celebrated with friends and family.
I saw him being born. It happened so quickly you could have blinked and missed it. Actually, Scott did miss it. He was still in the bathroom. One moment, I felt the amazing power of my last push, the next I felt the tiny, sticky body of my fourth-born son. My Leif. My little prince.
Scott rushed in. The baby was crying. The midwives were smiling. My mom was marveling at little peanut-head. Monique was, too.
Leif latched on right away, his cries silenced by his uncomfortably powerful suck. I shuffled back to the bed and Scott came up to sit beside me. Monique was snapping pictures and my mom was talking to the midwives as they tidied up their equipment. The room was bustling but there was a bubble of quiet sweetness around the nursing baby. I thought of the Schoolhouse Rocks song: A man and a woman had a little baby.
There were three in the family. That wasn't actually true, what with the three other boys back at home. But there is a special bond unique to every child with his parents. To him, he is the one and only, the focal point of his family tree. And so in that moment, we were a family of three: the man and the woman who came together to make this miraculous new person.
Three. It's a magic number.
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