I guess I've kept you waiting long enough. So here it is, Elliot's
birth story! A couple of warnings first: this is LONG. I mainly did
that for myself - I don't want to forget any elements of this journey,
so I wrote a small novel. Sorry about that if you don't like reading
small novels on blogs! Also, I don't hold back on detail. Graphic,
TMI, you'll find it here. I'm not out to sugar-coat things, I'm sharing
the story of my labor experience as honestly as I wish any woman
would. It's hard, it can be ugly, it wasn't fun. I'm not going to try
to tell you otherwise. And third, there are pictures throughout to
accompany the story - there isn't anything "gruesome" or inappropriate
(in my opinion) in them, but they're raw and honest, so if you're not
into that, well, at least I gave you a heads-up. They were taken by
Ashley Heppermann,
who is a photographer in the St. Louis area specializing in families,
newborns, and children, and has recently decided to branch her business
into birth/home birth photography. I found her through a group I belong
to on Facebook when she offered a session for anyone with an upcoming
home birth so that she could build her portfolio. I SO wanted to
capture this experience with professional quality photography, but was
too afraid to line anything up because of how things turned out with
Harlee's birth - if things took that turn again, it'd be one more
let-down (I know that's negative thinking but I couldn't help it). But
when she offered this, and knowing she had her own home birth experience
just a year and a half ago, I felt maybe it was a sign, and I should
just go for it. I am so glad I did. She is amazing, both behind the
camera and as a person. Kind-hearted, understanding, encouraging, and
supportive, and her photography really captured the intense emotion and
power that was in my house throughout active labor, during the birth,
and those couple of hours afterward. She has an incredible gift, and I
am so blessed to have been on the receiving end of that - I will
treasure these images forever.
As I left off in
my last post,
we had a family day at Grant's Farm where we walked and walked and
walked and walked some more, and I'm thinking that must have triggered
something because sure enough, that night contractions were getting a
bit stronger than they had been before. Like, the kind that needed my
attention. I went to sleep, but in the wee hours of Saturday morning
they were demanding my attention and waking me up. This carried on into
the day Saturday, and I knew we were getting close to meeting Elliot
soon. I texted my midwife and told her about my contractions, that I
had been timing them and they were hanging around 8-10 min apart and
lasting around 30 seconds, and she said to keep her posted. Not long
after a handful of them started coming 3-4 minutes apart and lasting
nearly a minute long, which I told her, to which she responded, I'd
better head your way then!
Let's pause for a moment. I
just realized that not once in my Diary of a Pregnant Crossfitter series
did I ever mention what my "plans" were for this birth, so I should
probably let you know that yes, we were planning a home birth. Or
hoping for one anyway. We planned for one with Harlee too. I was all
excited about it then,
posted it all over this blog and everything,
it's all I could talk about or think about. Why? Mostly because I
sooo don't like hospitals. I don't trust them, I don't feel safe in
them, they're not as clean as they say they are, and most of the time
you don't really get to advocate for yourself much, if at all. If
there's a "policy", you have to follow it. There's a lack of knowledge
there, too, as I found out through my most recent birth experience.
Everything is so medical and clinical that the natural part of this
process seems to be forgotten. I didn't want any of that for my birth.
I wanted my body to do its thing in the comfort and safety of my home
and be done with it. I built it up into this big grand wonderful event,
spent hours upon hours researching the whole birthing process, reading
books about it, getting down to the nitty-gritty little details of what
hormones are released at what time during the whole labor and birthing
experience, the anatomy and physiology of mom and baby during the labor
and birthing process, everything. I was armed with information and
ready to dive into my own birthing experience full-force.
But
I wasn't expecting labor to be as brutally painful as it turned out to
be. The contractions that woke me up in the middle of the night felt
like someone was murdering me, and that terrified me. Then the midwife
finally came and checked on Harlee, only to find out his heart rate was
decelerating after each contraction, which is a bad sign. She sent us
to the hospital, and so began the epic journey I've embarked on these
last three years.
This is Harlee's birth story.
A
year or so of dealing with PTSD and severe postpartum depression led to
meeting some incredible people in my life, finding my inner power and
wisdom, and doing a complete overhaul of my lifestyle in changing my
diet and getting out and getting active. I lost 60lbs, and finally, two
years later, began to feel a sense of peace and acceptance towards how
things turned out with Harlee. Although not completely healed from the
traumatic turn of events, I was 90% okay with it, and finally feeling
brave enough to approach the idea of conceiving another child. And so
we did, which ended in
miscarriage,
as though the Universe were saying, "Are you SURE you're ready to
plunge into the terrifying unknown?" Ugh. The whole month or so
following that was spent reflecting on what I
really wanted. The
unknown did terrify me. If someone said I had no choice but to have my
next child via cesarean, I wouldn't have another child. That's how
strongly I felt about it, how desperately I didn't want to ever have to
go through that again. But that's just it - I don't know. Nobody knows
how these things are going to turn out. There are no promises or
guarantees, and if I wanted another child, I needed to accept that.
Could I?
Well, I could accept the responsibility of
making sure I do everything in my power to give myself the best chance
at successfully having a natural birth, but that was about it. So when
my system normalized after the miscarriage, we successfully conceived
again at the end of October and entered into a healthy pregnancy that I
took by the horns and embraced with everything I had.
I
learned that my hips were torqued, more than likely because of how I
hold myself at the massage table while working on clients. That that
more than likely caused Harlee to get stuck before making his way into
the birth canal. So I sought regular chiropractic care and began seeing
a craniosacral therapist and a myofascial therapist to make sure I was
as perfectly aligned as they could get me. I continued to see my
counselor that I originally saw for postpartum depression to make sure
my mental state remained healthy and strong, and I kept up with
supplements to keep me as balanced as possible.
Here's the post about everything I did for self-care.
We wanted to go the home birth route again, so we found a knowledgeable
midwife who was armed with information on how to ensure the best
position for baby should a problem arise again like what did with
Harlee, and was also very knowledgeable when it came to VBAC (vaginal
birth after cesarean) and on we went on this journey.
And
thus began the Diary of a Pregnant Crossfitter. Having been doing
Crossfit for a good while before getting pregnant, my body was already
conditioned for that kind of exercise and therefore could handle it as I
continued to grow a baby. I did lots of homework and research on the
safety of Crossfit during pregnancy, and learned to pay close attention
to my changing body and not go past my physical limits. It turned out
to be an amazing pregnancy, and I felt SO GOOD all the way til the
moment I went into labor.
So, let's continue with the
story! The midwife said she should probably head our way, beings that
my contractions were coming so much closer together. But it didn't feel
like I needed her there yet... so I told her that - I didn't feel any
different than before, I didn't feel like things were moving along any
differently, if I were really in active labor wouldn't I be in sort of a
different mindset or something? So she said she trusted my judgement
and would wait until I called, for sure ready for her. And at that
point my contractions backed off to 10-15 min apart, 30 seconds long.
It's so interesting, how true it is that if mom doesn't feel completely
comfortable or safe, labor will stall until the environment changes and
she's ready. It's like the body innately knows the importance of
bringing baby into a safe environment. And I think that's what happened
- her telling me she'd head down triggered the memory of Harlee's
birth, because not long after my midwife got to the house then, she
listened to his heart rate with the doppler and found a problem, and
everything went downhill from there. I didn't want dopplers or
stethescopes or any kind of remotely medical-looking equipement in my
house.
Contractions
were still far apart, and irregular, so trying not to worry about labor
slowing down and instead working on
the mental aspect of just letting go and letting things be was the
challenge at hand. That's always a challenge for me, though. I over
think things, I'm overly analytical, and my mind just gets carried away
and ends up making simple situations way too complex. I admit it.
Still haven't figured out how to fix it, though. But anyway, with this
in mind I tried to search for something that would make me feel at
peace, in my comfort zone, something I love, something that grounds me
and makes me feel in some sort of control. Working out! My patio gym!
My sacred space all these months, where I'd go to feel strong and
capable and grounded. Was it ridiculous to actually be entertaining the
idea of working out WHILE in labor? Probably... but I needed the sense
of peace and comfort it brought me. So I finally decided to go down
and do it. I did as many rounds as I felt like of 5 thrusters (which
involved squatting and then pressing the bar up over my head), 6 hang
cleans (hip action as well as strength), and
8 push ups. I completed the first round and got slammed with a big
contraction after the push ups. After breathing through it, I grabbed
the bar for another set of thrusters, hang cleans, push ups, and then
another contraction. Alright, I was onto something. On the 3rd round I
added 10lbs to the bar and did 55lb thrusters and hang cleans, and then
the push ups. Another small contraction. I did the same thing the
fourth round and then nothing. So I added more weight. 65lb
thrusters. Hang cleans seemed a bit much though, and I wasn't here to
overdo it, so I skipped them. Thrusters, push ups, small contraction.
Another round, same thing. Then I decided to keep adding weight and did
one thruster at a time until I reached 95lbs and decided to stop. I
then sat and breathed, staring out at the pond, taking everything in. By
this time in Harlee's labor I was at the hospital already. And here I
am on the patio working out, managing contractions on my own (which I hadn't done very well with Harlee). I saw a hummingbird flit under the
porch where I was sitting and just hang out, like it was trying to tell
me something. Perhaps it was - I looked up the meaning of the
hummingbird as an animal totem: It's capable of amazing feats despite
its small size, and encourages adaptability and resiliency while keeping
a playful and optimistic outlook. Hmm... exactly what I needed here.
After a short while of pondering, I decided to tell the midwife I was
going to shower, we'd eat dinner, and then she could come down and let's
get this show on the road. I was ready.
 |
| The last picture of me as a pregnant Crossfitter... |
Well,
my contractions did pick back up again, to the point where it was
getting really hard on me, and I was starting to lose faith in my
ability to make it through them anymore (or my desire to want to). It
was horribly painful. That and I don't have much of a pain tolerance
so... yeah. So it worked out well that by the time our midwife got
there after supper, I no longer cared about the equipment the she
brought with her, I was ready for her to come, listen, and say "Yep
you're all fine" or "nope, let's go", because either way I was beginning
to care less and less about the outcome as contractions became harder
and harder. So down she came, and by the time she arrived I was so
relieved. She listened in, and I felt even more relief wash over me as
she said, "He's sounding great!" Whew. We're still in the game. I
could do this. However, as she palpated around on my belly to feel how
Elliot was positioned, she seemed a little concerned about a lump far
down by my pubic bone where his head was supposed to be. It was large
enough to make her question whether it was a foot or a hand. Well, from
each ultra sound we knew he was head-down, and I never felt any
significant movements from him that caused me to wonder if he flipped
breech, but she was still concerned. After an internal exam, she
successfully felt the sutures in his skull to confirm that yes, he was
head down (the lumps she was feeling were, in fact, his hands, which
after he was born we saw were quite large for such a little guy!), but
he wasn't straight - he was borderline posterior (posterior position
meaning the back of his head and spine are facing my spine instead of
out towards my belly, which is the ideal position for birth). Also, I
was only at two centimeters. Ugh. This is why I don't like the idea of
checking dilation - it's so discouraging to find out you've got soooo
much farther to go. And prior to labor starting (and even during
labor), it tells you nothing. Women could hang out at 1-2 cm for days
or weeks, and if doctor tells them that's where they are, they may get a
false sense of excitement that they'd be meeting baby soon. Or they
could go from 5cm to 10cm in a matter of minutes, you just never know
what your body will do. Dilation tells you nothing.
Anyway,
we needed to get Elliot to scoot around so his head and spine faced out
instead of in, and he could engage a little better. This was the cool
part - I don't think we'd find something like this in a hospital (but I
could be wrong). She pulled out all kinds of tricks and techniques and I
went through position change after position change, from hands and
knees with pelvic rocking/tilts, standing with one leg up and then the
other, and back to hands and knees with Justin standing behind me with a
blanket wrapped around my belly and lifting it up with a back-and-forth
"sifting" motion. And sure enough, Elliot moved. You could see the roundness of my belly even out, and he shifted down lower into my pelvis. Success!
Justin
and Harlee went to bed that night and the midwife stayed the night with
me out in the living room where I got no sleep as I labored through
contractions in 8-10 minute intervals all night. The next day (Sunday),
labor stalled out... Which I tried not to freak out about (as the same
thing happened with Harlee too). She listened through another
contraction and said everything was still sounding great, and since my
water hadn't broken, I had two choices: we could either try different
positions to help get things moving along again, or I could take
advantage of the break and get some rest. After some thought, I
realized this was probably a good opportunity for me to practice the
concept of surrendering. I still felt such a strong need to try to
control the situation, while knowing at the same time I just can't, and
for things to move smoothly I needed to just let go. So, I accepted the
chance to take a break, and the midwife headed home. We went to my
parents' house were we planned to swim, but of course by the time we got
there contractions were getting hard on me again. I did manage to get a
nap in, but after some time I finally begged Justin to take me home, I
was really struggling. So back we went where I could muddle through at
my own home, and later that evening the midwife came back. Checked on
his heart rate again - he's still sounding great. The more she checked
in to listen, the more confident I was feeling. But... the more labor
progressed into harder and harder contractions, the more I was feeling
ready to give up.
It was so hard. It was so painful. I
don't even know how to describe that level of intense pain. Like
thousands of blunt knives attacking the entire circumference of my
pelvis while gripping and twisting my whole middle into pieces, and
that's sugar-coating it. I just want to be open and honest about it, so
sorry if that's TMI (well, what do you expect reading a birth story?
Of course there's going to be TMI). But it was awful. And not only was
I losing faith that I even could do it anymore, but I didn't WANT to do
it anymore. I was in touch with my doula and told her how I was so
ready to give up. I didn't want this pain anymore, I couldn't take it
anymore, and it just wouldn't stop wouldn't stop wouldn't stop... So
without asking, she said it sounded like I needed her now so she'd be on
her way. I didn't argue - she was right, I needed more support. I was
hoping she'd come with an ambulance. Or a hearse.
 |
| My amazing doula |
Somehow
I managed to pull a bit of reflection from this experience, in the
midst of mind-numbing pain. I thought about Harlee's birth. How I
never made it this far into labor with him, so I never knew what level
of pain I'd be entering into. But hell, I wasn't expecting the level of
pain I experienced just in early labor with him, so that was bad
enough. With that thought, I realized that if I HAD made it this far
with him, the pain and agony of labor may have traumatized me just as
equally as the cesarean actually did. I remembered how traumatized I
was just by getting the epidural. How it gave me nightmares for so long
after Harlee's birth. And here I was, feeling like death was knocking
on my door in the living room, and I would have gladly welcomed an
epidural at this point. A whole new respect for drugs flashed over me.
Before, I couldn't understand why women would want to numb themselves
to the experience of their baby coming into this world. Why they would
subject their baby to those drugs too (yes, the drugs affect your baby,
even though "professionals" try to tell you otherwise). Why they would
put themselves at risk for a c-section (because yes, drugs influence
that too). Well when you're in this kind of pain, that part of your
logic shuts down. I no longer gave a shit whether I felt him come into
the world or not. I no longer gave a shit if he were subjected to the
drugs, he'd be fine later on, whatever. Hell, I didn't even care if it
would mean I'd have that much greater of a chance of having a repeat
cesarean.
Did I just say that? I didn't care if I'd
have a repeat cesarean? The one thing I'd been dreading this entire
past nine months? The one thing that made it so difficult for me to
even agree to have another child? And I no longer cared?
I
remembered Harlee's birth... I remembered the operating room. I
remembered lying there, numb to the world, feeling nothing physically
and emotionally. I didn't give birth to my baby, a surgeon did. This
was such a sad concept to me for so long, and now I found myself looking
at it with a different sense of appreciation. I didn't have to do
anything. I was given the easy way out. All I had to do was lay
there. This baby birthing stuff is HARD. WORK. And I was let off the
hook. I wondered if, back then, I would have been able to handle the
pain of real labor? Maybe the c-section was the best option for me at
the time... maybe I wasn't strong enough yet...
And
with that, all was forgiven. I felt that final release I had been
waiting for, searching for, all these years. That last 10% of healing I
had been longing for, to finally allow me to move on with my life with
total acceptance of the past. I thought I would find that healing
through a natural birth. I was not expecting to find it in labor.
But I did.
And
Monday morning came with a vengeance as I trudged through active
labor. Harlee did so great - he minded his own business playing in his
playroom or wherever as I screamed and cried and growled and screamed
and cried and growled. I joke with people (well, it's more honesty than
joking), that I got lucky that Harlee's the kind of kid that was born
without a drop of empathy in his system. He's never shown care or
concern for people in pain, even his own parents. I remember stumbling
on a hole in the yard and falling to my knees, and twisting my ankle so I
was actually in real pain, and he just stood there and laughed at me.
Nice, thanks you little turd. But it worked out for us in this case -
he'd come check on me every now and then, and instead of worrying about
me being in pain and screaming through it, he'd just cover his ears and
leave to go back to his toys. Well, I gotta give him some credit. Every now and then he'd hug me, or pat me on the shoulder and say, "It's okay, Mom." Cute. But still not affected by my pain :).
It
was all kind of foggy at this point... at some time the assistant
midwife showed up, but I don't remember when that was. My doula had
Ashley's contact information (the photographer), so I left her in charge
of notifying her when the time came.
I don't know when
she showed up, but I remember her being there, standing in the
sidelines, snapping away as I screamed and growled and carried on. In
between contractions I'd think, "Hmm... do I even WANT to see these
pictures? I'm sure I have a less-than-attractive look on my face..."
But luckily it never did bother me that she was there. I guess because I
knew she'd just been through this herself not long ago, so she knew
what I was going through now.
 |
| Justin was amazing... ♥ |
Monday
late morning-early afternoon came and at that point it felt like
someone was taking a sledgehammer to my pelvis and shattering it into a
million pieces. Justin was working hard behind me, holding my hips and
pressing them in together, and eventually pressing his head into my
sacrum at the same time because it felt like the whole pelvic girdle was
going to blow out. I couldn't stand, I couldn't sit, I couldn't lie
down (how the hell women give birth on their backs in stir-ups is beyond
me), I just dropped to my knees through each repeated contraction and
begged for someone to do something. To which, annoyingly, everyone
said, "You're doing it!! YOU'RE doing it!!" Like this was a happy
thing. When I asked for someone to do something, I was actually meaning
for them to call their friendly neighborhood axe murderer and invite
him over, not give me chipper words of encouragement.
But anyway.
Around
2-2:30ish a contraction slammed me like a hurricane and midway through
it came this sudden blow of force that caused me to let out a weird
grunt. "What the f@$* was that??" I cried after it let up. "That was a
push!" someone replied with excitement. Things were moving along.
Now, how long would that go on? It happened again with the next
contraction, an involuntary blast inside of me. I couldn't decide if it
was better or worse than regular contractions. A few more hit, and
they were starting to happen multiple times through contractions. No, I
didn't like these any better. They sucked too.
 |
| Good picture of Harlee holding his ears... |
Did
I mention I really wanted to give up? I was pushed beyond my limits of
what I could handle, and yet my body kept slamming me with more and
more. At one point Justin or somebody reminded me that I'm a
Crossfitter! Remember all that Crossfit I did throughout pregnancy, all
the strength I built up!
... Yeah, no. This was not
Crossfit. Yes, I could liken Crossfit to labor in that it takes a lot
of mental and physical endurance to push yourself beyond what you once
knew as your physical and mental limits to complete a workout... but it
does NOT work in reciprocate. You can't liken labor to Crossfit. You
can't liken labor to ANYTHING. Except maybe hellfire and brimstone. I
was certainly glad I stuck with Crossfit throughout the pregnancy, but
that was for the pregnancy - it made the pregnancy easier. I had
decided at this point that it did not, in any way, make labor any
easier.
It was suggested that I sit on the toilet
for a bit while I was in the pushing stage. Kinda gross if you think
about it, but logical too - when you're sitting on the toilet, your body
is already trained to open up and relax, which is exactly what mine
needed to be doing at that time. So I tried to make my way over,
finally sat down, and a few more pushing contractions came over me. I
wasn't sure if I liked this position any better. Justin stood in front
of me while I gripped his legs (and at one point bit him in the stomach,
sorry Justin), getting slammed over and over again. Then we switched
position so Justin sat on the edge of the tub and supported me as I
hanged on his knees. Lets just say every position sucked.
Then
I realized the tub was still full of water from when I had used it
earlier. Justin's shirt was soaked from where I buried my face into
him, and I was wringing wet with sweat. That tub water was probably
cool... I said I wanted to get in.
Oh
mercy what a glorious moment of relief to sink into that cool water.
Until more contractions hit. But the cool water was relieving enough to
make them slightly more bearable. By that time the contractions had
pretty much converted into all pushing. I was no longer vocalizing
through them, but instead silently squeezing/pushing with all my might.
I think there were blood vessels bursting in my face. I realized I had
control over them, then. They'd still hit involuntarily, but I was
able to sustain them. I kind of liked that in a way, but probably
because I'm the control-freak type and don't really like that
out-of-control kind of stuff. It still sucked a lot though. The
midwife said it seemed like we were getting close, and she asked if I
wanted to have him in the water or not, because if I did we needed to
get some hot water in that tub - Elliot would not appreciate being
transferred from my cozy 98 degree womb to a 70-something degree pool. I
decided to go ahead and drain the tub - having him in no water sounded
better than suffocating myself in hot water. I could feel him coming
down at this point, could feel the "ring of fire" sensation I've heard
other women talk about, and FINALLY I no longer felt the need to give
up. Somehow some shreds of inner strength came back over me, and I had
renewed faith in myself that I'd get through this. There was a light at
the end of the tunnel.
I
knelt in an empty tub, gripping the edge of it, pushing and pushing,
and I could have SWORN there was a head coming out of me. But no, the
midwife said she couldn't see anything yet. "Please make this be over
soon," I silently begged to whoever was listening. Pushed some more.
Still not crowning, but my god it felt like he HAD to be.
FINALLY
she said she saw hair. She asked Justin if he'd like to catch, and
Justin nervously said, "Yeah, kinda..." But it wasn't quite time yet.
We were certainly very close though.
This was it. I was getting my home birth. My VBAC. The moment I had dreamt about all these years.
And I really didn't give a shit anymore.
Funny how that works.
I just wanted it to be over with. I DESPERATELY wanted it to be over with.
I
mentally prepared myself for the next steps. The midwife informed me
that first I'd need to get the head out, but sometimes shoulders can be
tricky, so just be ready for that to take some work too. Okay. I know
he's coming down, he's on his way, I can do this. Just get the head
out, I'll deal with the shoulders when that comes.
More
pushing. I felt him crowning now. She asked if I wanted to touch his
head. F NO I don't want to touch his head just make this be over with
already!! I think at one point I asked if she had forceps in her bag. I
think she may have laughed at me. No, doesn't work like that. I gotta
do this all myself. Ugh.
Alright, well, I'm gonna do
this then. I decided I was done. I was DONE, I was going to give it
all I've got. And THIS was the moment I was able to tap into all that
Crossfit. THIS was the moment I grasped every ounce of energy and
strength I built up over this past year or more and harnessed it, ready
to throw it into the biggest push I could possibly manage. THIS is what
I had been training for.
At the next pushing
contraction, I grabbed it with all my might and didn't let go -
sustained the greatest push I could possibly handle, and didn't let up
on it. I breathed through it, not letting up. I felt him coming down,
and I wasn't letting up. I was not going to stop until his head was
OUT. It was like I was drawing energy out of another world - how did I
possibly have any left for this? But I did, and I didn't let go.
And
suddenly, I felt an entire lumpy little body shoot out of me like, to
quote my midwife, a little torpedo, followed by a thud on the bathtub
floor, and a moment of shock followed by a tiny little squalling cry,
and I looked down, not really processing what I was seeing, but there he
was, this little bitty baby, probably thinking, "What the hell was
that??" laying on the floor on his side, all curled up. My midwife
scooped him up immediately and passed him under to me, and I held him
against me, in this wild stupor, and all I could say was, "We did it,
Elliot! We did it! Oh my god we did it!"
Nobody
was expecting that! My midwife said this was the first baby she didn't
catch because he shot out so fast (and she's attended hundreds and
hundreds of births!). She and the assistant midwife bustled around,
helping me wrap him in towels to keep him warm, assisting me to sit
down, checking on the umbilical cord, whatever else was going on - I'm
not entirely sure what was going on, all I knew was that it was over.
He was in my arms, and we did it.
 |
| somebody's excited!! |
Harlee
got to be there too, a witness to his brother coming into the world,
which I was so grateful for. It's funny how that freaks a lot of people
out when I say that. But my explanation is this: He's only three. He
hasn't been on this earth long enough to have his mind tainted by
cultural concepts of birth and Hollywood's rendition of how it works.
He hasn't been around people who refer to it as freaky or disgusting or
gruesome or whatever other negative terms you could peg on it. He's
still got an open mind, and to him birth is a biological process that
our bodies just do. I let him watch a few home birth videos prior to
the event so he knew how it worked and where exactly babies come from,
and it didn't phase him at all. He would watch with fascination as the
mom labored, and then the baby would come out, give its first cry, and
Harlee would grin from ear to ear. No problem. That's just what he
did with Elliot. Of course I think Elliot's forceful burst into the
world startled him a bit, but once he saw everything was okay and Elliot
was in my arms crying, Harlee grinned from ear to ear and nearly tried
to climb into the tub with me!
I
finally remembered to ask what time it was - 4:45pm. I pushed for over
two and a half hours. I labored for an entire weekend. And it all
came down to this.
They helped me up out of the tub,
which was so weird... Another VBAC mom friend of mine told me about
this part - how weird it is to be able to get up and move after having a
baby. Doesn't work like that with a cesarean - you can't get up and
move until the next day, and even that's a chore! She was right, it was
weird. I just had a baby, and I could just get up after it. Not that
it was comfortable by any means, but I could do it. I slowly (with
support) walked over to the bed where they laid out pads for me so as
not to mess up my sheets, propped me up on pillows, and I snuggled in
with my little torpedo baby.
I
felt a few more pushes. Ugh I thought that was over with. Granted
they weren't as awful as the ones I used to get Elliot out, but they
still weren't comfortable or enjoyable by any means. But the placenta
needed to come out. We got a little more slack on the cord so I was
able to get the little guy up closer to me, and we both took to nursing
like pros. I remember with Harlee I needed help with it practically
every single time he wanted to eat. I haven't needed a single bit of
help with Elliot at all. Well, the nursing brought on a few more
contractions, and out came the placenta (weirdest feeling in the
world...). She tied off the cord and let Justin cut it, and Elliot and I
were officially two separate entities, after all these months... So
strange to think about... She did an inspection of the placenta there in
front of us, which was super cool (if you're not squeamish), and
everything looked great.
Once Elliot was done nursing, Justin got to hold him, which was a
heart-melting sight I must say. Then I got to get a shower, which was
another glorious moment in the aftermath of all this. And again,
strange. The last time I went through my child entering the world it
was awhile before I was capable of getting up to get a shower. And here
I was able to do it right away, all by myself.
I felt
like a rockstar. I felt amazing. I felt pretty powerful and mighty.
And surprisingly not exhausted (probably the extra adrenaline). I got
some clean clothes on and looked at myself in the mirror. I remembered
how embarrassed and ashamed I felt when I saw myself in the mirror after
Harlee was born. I disgusted myself. I was so swollen and bloated
looking, an extra 60lbs heavier than I should have been, and not to
mention feeling like a failure. This time was so different. I looked
in the mirror and saw nothing but awesome. Even my bulging postpartum
belly didn't turn me off. In fact I felt proud of it, knowing that I
had it in me to shrink it back down again, and in time I would, but for
now I was gonna wear it with pride, because I just pushed a baby out of
it all by myself, dammit!
And the hormonal difference,
wow... When Harlee was born, I felt so cut-off. During birth, the body
goes through a process of hormonal releases to help you along, oxytocin
playing a lead role. It's the love hormone - the one that kicks in when
you push your baby out. It's responsible for mom's desire to feed,
protect, and nurture her baby right off the bat. I could definitely
feel a lack of that after Harlee's birth. I had to mentally feel the
need to nurse him - it didn't kick in as a natural thing. And I didn't
really feel like having him around, which is so sad to say. As soon I
knew he was fed, dry, and there was nothing more I could do, I'd ring
the nurses to come get him so I could get some sleep. And I didn't
really care. It's kinda depressing... This time, however - huge
difference. It was instinctual to nurse - it's all I wanted to do,
without thinking about it. I wanted to hold him, I didn't want to give
him up. With Harlee, people would say things like "Did you ever think
you could love someone so much?" and I couldn't answer that... because I
didn't feel it. That feeling didn't really kick in until a bit over a
year later after I had gone through enough therapy to start forgiving
how things happened with his birth. This time, I can answer that
question. I finally get to experience that level of love.
 |
| there's a lot of love in this picture :) ♥ |
Our midwife did the newborn exam, weighing little Elliot in at 7lbs 5oz and 21in long. Everything looked perfect.
Everyone
began clearing out, and we got in touch with our parents so they could
come over and meet him. By 8 or so that evening our parents and my
brothers came over, and we recapped some of the more exciting elements
of the weekend and the birth, and I sat back as Elliot got passed
around, taking it all in. It almost felt like a dream. Did that really
happen? I just pushed a baby out in my bath tub just hours ago... At
the same time I think I was still trying to mentally recover from the
immense pain I had just gone through - I joked that I felt like I needed
therapy just from going through that. It was all so surreal.
But here I was, and here was Elliot, my little workout buddy all these months. All our hard work paid off.
I
think the fact that this was a VBAC made it that much more special.
There's still a mentality out there that once you have a cesarean, you
always have to have a cesarean. That's not always the case, and in fact
multiple cesareans can be very dangerous - more so than trying to
vaginally deliver future babies. But there are a lot of emotional
components to a c-section, especially the unexpected ones. A sense of
failure, of disappointment, of unworthiness. I know I felt that way,
and after opening up about it I found that many, many other mothers feel
that way too.
But it was all part of the plan. It was
meant to be. And now that I'm here, post baby #2, it was all worth
it. I'm glad I came to accept Harlee's birth during labor, too.
Because birth is unpredictable, no matter what you do or how hard you
try or what therapies you seek or what food you eat or supplements you
take or exercises you do throughout your pregnancy, there is never a
guarantee things will go the way you want them to. And that's a really
scary, hard thing to accept. I hoped Elliot's birth would heal my last
remaining wounds from Harlee's birth. But if something happened this
time that resulted in a hospital transfer and ultimately another
c-section, I would have never found that healing. It wasn't good to
expect it to work like that. Finding the healing during labor was
definitely a blessing. Because if things did result in a hospital
transfer and a repeat cesarean, I would have brought that peace with
me. Not that I wouldn't have had some healing to do if that happened,
there would have been disappointment with it I'm sure, but considering
the pain I was in and the fact I was practically welcoming the idea of a
hospital transfer, I don't think it would have been quite as bad as it
was with Harlee. But I'll never know for sure. All I know is that
everything happened the way it was meant to.
And I am so grateful for the amazing experience and life lessons I gained from all of it.
