It’s been quiet around here lately, but things haven’t been quite so quiet at home, because we have a third baby! Naturally, of course, this requires a written birth story for posterity. Please feel free to skip this post if birth stories are not your thing.

In order to properly tell this tale, we need to go back several weeks before he was actually born. I had a relatively easy pregnancy, at least until 32 weeks or so, but things were a little chaotic at home for most of the time. Specifically, we’ve all lived through a pandemic, and the entire family was in a constant cycle of sickness of all varieties from the end of October 2021 all the way through to about…last week. We dealt with several common colds, at least two stomach bugs, RSV, a double ear infection, weeks of coughing (which for James, would wake him up at night and cause him to throw up), and then to cap it all off, we all got Covid when I was 32 weeks along. To be honest, Covid was not so bad for me personally - I had what felt like a mild flu for three days and then I was fine. But the kids had it worse, and when the kids are sick with a scary virus that has had the world in varying degrees of lockdown for two years, anxiety is a fun parental side effect.

After all of that, I was completely worn out. I got an extra ultrasound thanks to the Covid diagnosis and everything looked good, but it was hard to shake off the feeling that Something Could Be Wrong. Around that time, my blood pressure started acting up as well - I had a few instances of extreme blood pressure drops, where I would come close to either passing out or throwing up and which resulted in full body shakes and very low energy for a few hours afterward. Then, at a couple of my appointments, my blood pressure was reading high, which I was told was cropping up in a lot of pregnant moms who had had Covid during pregnancy. I was also dealing with near-daily headaches, and overall just not feeling well. None of these things did anything to help my anxiousness approaching labor and delivery. At around 36 weeks, I was sent to the birth center at the hospital for a non-stress test and lab work because of the high blood pressure readings, and while everything checked out normal, they had me return the following week for another blood pressure check just to make sure. At that point, they told me that if I had a third high blood pressure reading (and no signs of preeclampsia), I’d be put on a track toward induction as early as 37 weeks for gestational hypertension.

By that time, I just wanted to be done being pregnant, since I was so tired of feeling so unwell for so long. However, I didn’t end up with any additional high blood pressure readings. I generally found that if I drank a ridiculous amount of water, kept my dessert consumption very low, and got a semi-reasonable amount of sleep, the symptoms were kept more at bay. And so as each day went by, I slowly crept closer and closer to my due date and started believing that we’d actually make it to full term.

With all of that health nonsense, I was absolutely dreading the idea of going through labor without pain medication - I’d had more than enough of discomfort and feeling out of control with health stuff for the previous months that I wasn’t in the right headspace to manage contractions all the way through to the finish line, so to speak. On the other hand, I’d had such a bad experience with the epidural I got during my first labor that I felt pretty apprehensive about the idea of dealing with that during delivery again. So, on a 1 to 10 scale, my enthusiasm level about giving birth could probably be placed somewhere around negative 5000. I decided to pray for three very specific things: 1) that I would go into labor during the day rather than the night, since I was constantly so tired; 2) that the delivery would be smooth and quick; and 3) that I’d feel peace about it as we got closer.

Finally, I had my last scheduled appointment the day before my due date. Up until this point, I had mostly seen the midwives at the practice, but that day, I saw one of the OBs. She’s European, and it showed - every sentence she spoke was succinct and to the point. We wasted zero minutes on small talk and she started off by immediately asking if I wanted a sweep to get things going. She very clearly wanted a yes or no answer provided in (again) zero minutes, and since I wasn’t terribly eager to remain pregnant even though L&D felt ominous, I agreed to it. She did that, scheduled me an induction date for the following Thursday if I didn’t go into labor, announced I’d bleed a bit, and waltzed out the door in the span of three minutes, and I was on my way.

My parents, who had come down to watch the other kids while I was at the doctor, decided to stick around in case things picked up. I was having sporadic contractions that were more uncomfortable than the Braxton Hicks ones I’d been having for the past few weeks, so I was hopeful that things would actually pick up. We waited around for the rest of the afternoon, ate spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and got ready for bed, half expecting to wake up in the middle of the night to make the trek to the hospital.

And then we all woke up the following morning, very much still at home.

We all took it very easy the next day. It was my actual due date, so I kept hoping that we’d have a due date baby. Wouldn’t that be statistically fun? However, I told Chaz that I really preferred 6/18 to 6/17 as a birthday, just because it seemed mathematically better. 18 is divisible by 6 after all…17 is just too much of a prime number. The contractions from the previous day were fewer and farther in between, although when they did happen, they had picked up in intensity just a little bit more. My dad installed a new light in our basement stairwell, with James’ assistance. Elise had her quiet time during James’ nap, and I decided to go lie down in her room. We ended up both taking a nap, which is something that doesn’t happen very often anymore.

My parents stayed around for the day, just because it did feel like labor was imminent, even if not starting at that very moment. We were so grateful for their help that we decided to go out for dinner that night. We ate Mexican food and drank margaritas outside (well…no margarita for me) and had a really nice time. Once again, contractions picked up in intensity a tiny bit, but they were so few and far between that I didn’t think we’d be heading to the hospital immediately. We joked that we picked a restaurant in Newburyport because it was close to the hospital. Nevertheless, we finished our tasty dinner, headed home, did the bath and bedtime routine for the kids, and then watched the Return to Space Netflix documentary like the nerds that we are. If you’re into that sort of thing…it’s good! Watch it! Eventually, we all went to bed around 10:00.

A contraction woke me up at 1:30. It felt not much different than the ones before, but something about it seemed more purposeful. I got up and used the bathroom before climbing back in bed. Chaz half woke up and asked if everything was ok, and I declared everything was fine. Two contractions later, I decided to start timing them. They were still 12 to 13 minutes apart, but they kept going instead of fizzling out. Over the course of the next hour, they gradually got closer together, and I woke Chaz up for real at 3:00 when they’d reached 6 to 7 minutes apart. I hadn’t called the birth center quite yet, but Chaz started packing his things and I went downstairs in the dark to refill my glass of water and work through a couple more contractions by myself. I didn’t think I was making any noise, but the Disturbance in the Force must have woken my parents up, because my dad popped out of the guest room and we all knew there would be an external baby sometime today.

Finally, I called the birth center. Actually, I tried googling the birth center’s phone number directly, but it turns out their webpage doesn’t have their phone number on it (?!??) and I had to call the general hospital line and be transferred. I guess they don’t want calls for no reason? Mysterious. The midwife asked me about my other two labors and when I mentioned James had been born in under four hours, she told me to come in!

We were on the road by 3:52 - which I only know because I remember looking at the clock specifically - and the horizon was just starting the lighten the slightest bit. The contractions slowed down on the road. I think I only had two or three on the way there, and I wondered if they would send me home. My anxiety about the birth process had come back in full force and I was trying to get rid of the fear around it since I knew it had to happen one way or another.

We arrived at the emergency entrance to the hospital shortly thereafter and I told Chaz to drop me off at the doors before he parked. I waddled my way to the elevator feeling uncomfortable and made my way up to the birth center on the second floor. They were expecting me when I buzzed the buzzer and they let me right in, guiding me back to a delivery room and hooking me up to the monitors. By this time, the contractions were even further apart and less painful than they had been even in the car, so yet again I worried they might end up sending me home. However, the nurse and the midwife both assured me that things would pick back up, and since I was already past my due date, they weren’t going to send me home. I told them that even though my birth plan had said I wanted to go without pain medication if I could, I didn’t want that at all anymore and I’d probably want an epidural.

Right away, we noticed that any time I had a contraction, the baby’s heart rate dropped really, really low. Given my state of mind, my thoughts went automatically straight to the nuclear potential outcome: I was totally going to have a c-section, for which I was zero percent mentally prepared. I looked at the nurse and said, “For what it’s worth…if I have to have a c-section, I want to be totally knocked out. I do not want to be awake for surgery.” Maybe not my best moment, but at least I was honest? She laughed and said, “Well…if it comes to that, there might not be time. But what makes you think you’re going to have a c-section?! You’ve had two natural deliveries already!” That was mildly comforting, as was the fact that his heart rate stabilized even through contractions when they turned me on to my left side.

After an hour or so on the monitors, they checked me and told me I was at a 4 centimeters, which was both good (I’d made some progress since my appointment two days prior) and bad (I was hoping for more), and they asked me if I wanted the epidural now or later. I decided I’d try to get things moving a little before taking the plunge and having a giant needle stuck in my back. They took off the monitors and I stood up and walked around a bit, even telling Chaz to take a photo while I could still stand up…and definitely between contractions.

Sure enough, that did the trick, and within probably 20 minutes I told them I was ready. Fortunately, they’d given me the pre-epidural IV when I arrived, so within five minutes Dr. Parker, the anesthesiologist, walked in with all of his consent forms and tools for the job. I told him my history with the first time I’d been epiduralized (that should be a word, I say) and he told me that they’d given me extra hydration with the IV to avoid the blood pressure drop, and they’d start me on a very low dose. Ok! Sign me up! I put my signature on all the paperwork, Chaz was instructed to sit in a chair on the opposite side of the room to ensure that he didn’t pass out (I suppose this was frequent enough with husbands at births to make it standard procedure) and I made sure to look far, far away from any sharp objects on Dr. Parker’s tray.

A few minutes later and I was lying down comfortably on the bed, relaxing while the nurse told me that I hadn’t even blinked when I had a contraction. BEAUTIFUL. And then we were mostly left to our own devices, and after I had bided my time a little bit to see if any weird side effects happened (they didn’t!), I settled down to wait. I could still move and feel my legs, but there was no pain. It was peaceful (answer to prayer number 3), calm, and quiet, and our nurse, Michelle, checked on us every once in awhile. I ate a popsicle. A red one, per request.

In a couple of hours, I realized my labor shakes had gotten worse, and I wondered if I’d hit transition. A quick check confirmed it, and the doctor asked if I wanted to have my water broken to speed things up. Since I wasn’t keen on more interventions than absolutely necessary and I was feeling fine, I declined for the time being, and we continued to wait. I started noticing that I felt like I needed to push a bit with each contraction. Very shortly after that, Michelle came back in and studied the monitor for a moment. Remember when I had first arrived and the baby had heart rate decelerations with each contraction? It had started happening again! “Baby is letting us know he wants to come out!” she said, and without much hesitation I told them to go ahead and break my water to get him out, safe and sound.

Michelle set up her delivery table, and then the doctor came in and suited up. She broke my water, and then things got a little crazy. They had turned the monitor volume all the way off while I was laboring, but turned it back up so I could hear the heartbeat while I pushed. When the next contraction came and I could feel all the pressure to push, his heart rate dropped again - but it dropped so much that it sounded like it stopped. I heard them call the neonatologist and a couple of NICU nurses. I was rolled to my left with no success, and then to the right, again without any change. They had me get up on my hands and knees, and when that didn’t change anything, I went back on my back. His heartbeat was normal when I wasn’t contracting, but it was very clear that he needed to come out now. The c-section fears started to creep in again, but he was right there. I heard the doctor ask for a vacuum, and I suddenly imagined a repeat of the end of Elise’s birth along with the really rough recovery. With the next two contractions, I pushed as hard as I could, and I actually thought the doctor was using the vacuum, and with the completely unmentioned threat of a possible episiotomy hovering over me, Charlie came out in two pushes.

He cried right away, and all the fears immediately disappeared. He was pink and perfect, and he promptly pooped all over my belly as soon as they laid him on me. I guess he knew how to make an entrance. Just like with James, I got to cut the cord, and all was well.

I worried a bit that recovery would be rougher than it was after James was born, since everyone says that recovery from a natural delivery is so much easier than recovery after delivery with an epidural. That was certainly true for me between my first and second births, but this one has been perhaps the easiest. The birth felt a little redemptive - it had none of the slightly traumatic drama from the first epidural, episiotomy, and really painful recovery, and it had none of the out-of-control factor from the second unexpectedly natural labor. So while I didn’t start labor during the day, the other three prayers were answered in full: it was a smooth delivery, and, though it was longer than James’ birth, it was still quick, but long enough to feel peaceful instead of frantic or rushed. Thanks be to God.

James and Elise came to meet him in the afternoon, and then two days later, we were all at home once again.

Now, at three weeks old, he’s a contented little creature and we love him to bits. What a precious gift.

Woodstock Writings