A Birth Story

Well, Joseph is now 5 weeks old. We've gotten good at breastfeeding. We're into a routine. We've put away some clothes that he's already out-grown.  But I remember his birth as if it just happened.

When it comes to talking about when Joseph was born, it's hard to discern what to share and what to keep to myself. Sometimes I want to spew out every single detail, complete with animated gestures and actions. Other times, I feel like I want to keep the details to myself - hold them tight, keep them close, lock them up in my self. However, the truth is that regardless of what I share and what I don't share, the important thing is that I share. I read a great book during the last days of my pregnancy that reminded me of that: "Each birth story is unique. Dreadful, rash, charming, exhilarating, each story needs to be told and retold, meditated on and explored for its meaning, savored in its singularity." So, here it goes.

Thursday, March 15, 10:00am: I arrived at my appointment with my midwives feeling very disheartened. I was 5ish days past my due date. Despite their reminders that due dates are silly and arbitrary and frustrating, I was bummed that my baby had not arrived "on time" (March 10). Not only that, but I had nothing exciting to report. No pre-labour action, no early-labour action, no random contractions. My body was feeling so normal that I was sure the baby would be camping out in utero for a very long time yet.

After the usual routine of measuring my blood pressure and the baby's heart rate, my midwives decided to check my cervix, just to see where things were at. Much to my surprise, I was already 4 cm dilated! It turns out that while I was sitting at home, watching tv, finishing my quilt, and taking my beloved mid-day naps, my body was hard at work. I left the appointment feeling entirely different than I'd arrived: very encouraged and very excited.

Friday, March 16, 1:30am: Feeling a contraction, I woke up. Not wanting to work myself up (in case it turned out to be nothing), I turned over and went back to sleep. But then, shortly after, I felt another one. Labour had begun. To avoid waking Dave (what help could he be right then anyway?), I slipped out of bed and made my way over to the guest room.

And that's where I stayed for the next three hours, enduring pain that became increasingly intense. A contraction would come and I'd sit up, rock myself from side to side, and take deep breaths. Once it stopped, I'd lie down and do my best to completely relax until the next one.

4:30am: I woke Dave. My goal was to wait until 5, but by 4:30, I figured that if I didn't wake him up, my grunting and groaning would. (I was beginning to make some serious noise.) Plus, by 4:30, I was feeling like I needed help! I needed emotional support. I needed someone to time the contractions. And I remembered that I needed to get a hospital bag packed.

That's right. You read that correctly. I did not yet have a hospital bag packed. This was a major mistake. If anyone of you are pregnant and planning on birthing your baby at a hospital, I recommend that you take care of this well in advance. Because of the contractions, not only was it extremely difficult to communicate to Dave what we needed and where to find it, but it was nearly impossible to even bring the necessary items to mind. Not having a bag packed was also a major mistake because it toxified the atmosphere in our home. Dave and I had one of those fights that couples have that involve vibes and glares instead of actual words. Dave was thinking, "How is Brittney not prepared for this!?! She's been on mat. leave for two weeks!!!" I was thinking, "He's mad at me! How dare he be mad at me! Doesn't he know I'm in labour!?!"

6:00am: After my contractions began to last for about 60 seconds, and were coming every three minutes, Dave called our midwives. The plan was that - at that point - they would come over to the house while I continued to labour and then we'd head over to the hospital together. The plan changed, though. During the phone call, Michele (our midwife) heard me contracting in the background. "Umm, on second thought, let's just meet at the hospital," Michele suggested.

So, off we went, hospital bag packed. Let me tell you - getting to the hospital was no easy task. I had a contraction as I was putting on my shoes. I had several contractions in the car during the drive. I had a contraction in the parking lot. I had a contraction outside the doors of the hospital (clutching a bike rack!). I had a contraction in the elevator. I had a contraction at the nurses' station. In retrospect, the whole thing was a bit like one of those look-out!-she's-in-labour scenes from a movie. But it didn't feel that way. I wasn't feeling panicked or like we had to hurry. I was just in pain!

7:00am: Michele joined us at the hospital a few minutes after we got into our room. Right away she checked me. Surprise! 9+ cms! "What?!?" Awesome!", I remember thinking. Almost there. Almost done.

Or so I thought.

7:30am: I began to push.

8:30am: I continued to push.

9:30am: I pushed some more.

10:30am: And I pushed some more.

As you can imagine, these were a very difficult few hours. The pain was NOT the most difficult part. The difficult part was my discouragement. ("This is taking so long. When is this going to be over?") The difficult part was my anger. ("Why am I not making progress!?! Why isn't this child coming out!?!") The difficult part was my fear. ("What if I can't do this?")

Thankfully I had midwives who were great at coaching me, affirming me, and maneuvering me into different, push-friendly positions. Thankfully I have an amazing husband who loved on me by staying close and pumping me full of water and powerade. Thankfully I have a baby whose heart rate throughout the experience demonstrated that, while his momma was feeling discouraged, angry, and afraid, he was as happy and as calm as could be.

11:15am: Joseph Jude was born. Out came his head, and then, with one last push, out came the rest of his 9 pound- 7 ounce body. I felt such utter, deep, profound relief. Michele plopped him right up on my chest. I still can't believe how something so mucusy, swollen, bluish and bloody could also be so entirely beautiful.

I think that I used to romanticize birth. I thought it would be an intensely spiritual experience where I'd be awakened to some profound truths, feel some profound feelings, and be different because of it. Now that I've actually experienced giving birth, I think about it differently.  During labour, I didn't have the heart-space to feel much except the pain. I didn't have the head-space to think anything other than "push!".  And I'm still the same person (just a more tired version). In a way, there was not much profound about it: it was simply painful, messy, and a lot of hard work.

At the same time, a whole new loved-by-God, saved-by-Jesus person took their first breath at the end of it all. And that makes it the most profound thing ever.

Here he is right after birth.


And here he is today, at 5 weeks old.