My first two births happened during the 38th week of pregnancy, so I wanted to be ready for this one as soon as 38 weeks hit. I had a few friends suggest I be ready by 37 weeks, just in case, but I thought that was crazy talk.
That is, until I had a crazy amount of intense Braxton Hicks (practice) contractions. Some of the providers I saw weren’t worried at all, while others didn’t write them off as nothing.
Just before 36 weeks, when I was preparing to leave for our Wong family beach trip, my midwife suggested I look up the nearby hospital just in case (it was an hour away.) And Justin’s mom suggested I bring an infant car seat just in case.
So then I started to worry the baby might actually come earlier than I was prepared for.
I made it through 36 weeks holding my breath (and my legs together.)
And then 37 weeks.
38 weeks rolled around, and while I still didn’t want the baby to come (due to a handful of reasons – one being I wasn’t ready for my pregnancy to be over), I was also excited for birth. My favorite thing in life.
Still no baby.
I was relieved but also emotionally exhausted, having held my breath for weeks, and then wondering each night for the last week if THIS would be the night, only to wake up to another normal day.
When 39 weeks hit, I settled into the idea this baby wasn’t coming soon, which brought a lot of peace. I had zero labor signs. In August, I had experienced mild period-like cramps on and off, but as soon as September came, they completely stopped. It was as if my body stalled out.
As every pregnant woman knows, those last days and weeks of your pregnancy feel long. For me, long didn’t feel bad – I was actually grateful for it – the slowness and stillness leading up to birth. I had never had that before, and I treasured it.
When I made it to 40 weeks, I felt proud of myself for hitting that milestone. I beamed when people texted “happy due date!” I had spent 40 weeks growing a baby. Incredible.
At the same time, I did feel like I would be pregnant forever. I didn’t view it as a negative thing (I cherished this pregnancy) – it just felt factual. This baby was not going to come. Ever.
Little did I know, that was my last day of pregnancy…
The morning of September 12 started off like any normal day – I woke up and got the kids ready for preschool. I was sad the baby didn’t come, but not surprised.
Levi and I were supposed to bake banana bread the day before but never got around to it, so he was begging to make it this morning. Normally I wouldn’t do something like that in the morning because it makes things feel rushed, but he was desperate, so I agreed.
I’m so grateful I said yes – our last memory together before the baby came.
I dropped the kids off at preschool and went straight to my OB practice for my weekly baby appointment. Since I was a day past 40 weeks I decided I would get a cervical check (I’ve only had two cervical checks before – when I was admitted to the hospital for each birth – and I did NOT like them.) I was also leaning toward getting a membrane sweep, but was still deciding.
I waited in the waiting room for a long time before they called me back.
Finally, the medical assistant called my name. She checked my blood pressure, weight, urine, and baby’s heart rate. She asked if I wanted a cervical check, to which I said yes, so she told me to undress from the bottom down, put on a drape, and wait for the OB.
Usually I dink around on my phone while I’m waiting, but since I was leaning toward a membrane sweep I wanted to mentally prepare for it. So I sat on the table with the drape on and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
So much time passed I was starting to think they forgot about me. I considered sticking my head out the door and saying, “Um, do you guys know I’m in here?” but I was undressed from the bottom down, so that wasn’t going to happen.
I kept waiting.
I can’t remember all the things I thought about – but I do remember redecorating the room in my mind. The walls needed to be painted a soft blue. And plants were a must – probably fake ones because who would have the time to water them.
More waiting.
I’m proud of myself for choosing to lean into the waiting – it was everything I had been practicing these last few weeks of pregnancy as I waited on this little one.
Usually I see midwives, but I was seeing an OB for this appointment because it worked better with my schedule. She came in and I let her know I was thinking about a membrane sweep, but I wanted to know if it was more likely to work if I was a certain number of centimeters dilated. For instance, if I was only 2cm and the sweep wouldn’t be as likely to work, then I didn’t want one, but if I was 4cm and it was more likely to work, then so be it. She said I should get one no matter what because I was over 40 weeks.
Then she said I should schedule an induction. I was expecting this to come up at my 41 week appointment, but not now. I told her I wanted to wait to schedule anything until after my 41 week appointment (I was ready to wait until 42 weeks to be induced – though I didn’t bring up 42 weeks with her.) She disagreed with waiting to schedule. We went back and forth for a while; it was clear she was not happy about my decision to wait. We finally landed on waiting until 41 weeks to schedule anything and I would get an NST (non stress test) at my next appointment – which I would have wanted anyway.
She moved from my side to the bottom of the table to do the cervical check and membrane sweep. I warned her I was VERY sensitive down there, especially in the last day or so, and asked her to not judge me for how I reacted to the check/sweep.
She went in and I writhed and groaned as anticipated.
“Wow, the head is RIGHT there.” She said, surprised.
I wasn’t surprised at all – I felt it (it’s why I was so sensitive down there!) Just the night before I thought about how I was sure I could reach up and touch the head.
“Well you’re 6cm…”
Gush.
“And your water just broke.”
She took her gloves off. “Time to go to the hospital.”
I don’t know when I started crying, but as I sat up I was wiping tears from my eyes and saying, “I’m so relieved” over and over again. After the last month of anticipation and surrender and waiting and wondering what my body was doing (if anything) and going back and forth with this OB about scheduling an induction just minutes before – I had arrived. My body was ready. It was go time.
“Do you live close to the hospital?” She asked.
“Yes, just down the road.”
“Good,” she replied as she handed me a huge Chux pad. “Put this over your underwear. And another one on the seat of your car.”
“Do you think the baby will be born by midnight?” I asked.
She laughed, “Definitely.”
I don’t even know why I asked that, knowing how fast my labors are.
She asked again, “You’re close to the hospital right?”
I rushed into the bathroom to put on the pad. I texted Justin, “Get ready for hospital, we gotta go.” It was 10:57.
Exactly three hours later a baby would be in my arms.
~
I walked out of the OB office in shock.
After getting into the car I called Justin. At first, my plan was to go home so we could go to the hospital together, but I knew the clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before things really sped up, so I decided to go to the hospital by myself and have him meet me there. I drove across the street to the women’s center but couldn’t find parking. I didn’t want to walk across a big parking lot in my state so I gave up and drove home (little did I know there was ‘expectant mothers’ parking – joke’s on me!)
I arrived home, waddled inside, shoved last minute items in my hospital bag, sprayed a little dry shampoo in my hair, and got into the passenger side of our sedan. Justin had been rushing around securing logistics for the kids. He came out and asked if I was able to drive the minivan one street over to our friend’s house (so they could pick up the kids) – he would follow in our sedan. I told him I didn’t want to in case I had a contraction while driving (I hadn’t had one yet). Right after I said it, my first contraction hit. So that settled that.
Justin took the car seats out of the minivan, put them in the sedan, and drove to the Masons. I had another contraction in their driveway. It wasn’t that bad.
He drove to the hospital and parked in the expectant mother’s spot (what a pro.) I got out and started walking toward the entrance, but a contraction came on, and I doubled over. It still wasn’t that bad but I couldn’t walk through it. A hospital staff was outside and saw me, so she called out from across the parking lot, “Do you need a wheelchair??”
All I said was “um…” Because when I wasn’t having a contraction I could walk, it was just during the contraction that I couldn’t. So I didn’t know how to answer.
She said, “I’m going to get a wheelchair.” Bless her.
The contraction passed, Justin caught up to me (he was grabbing my hospital bag and nurse gift basket), and we walked to the entrance. The woman met us with the wheelchair. Justin wheeled me to the check in area. From there a nurse took me to the labor and delivery room. It was 11:43am – just an hour before I had been waiting on the patient table at the OB office.
It was surreal entering into the labor and delivery room in the middle of the day. Sun poured through the window, making the room feel light and happy. I felt light and happy (though still somewhat in shock.) I was having contractions here and there but they were nothing to write home about.
I changed into a hospital gown, climbed into the hospital bed, signed some paperwork, met the midwife who would be delivering (Whitney), and let the nurses know I wanted an epidural. As always, I was told there might not be time but they would try.
Then transition started – the most intense part of labor.
At 12:10pm, a little less than 30 minutes after arriving at the hospital, my contractions went from mild and bearable to fast and furious. A little panicked, I turned to Justin and told him to pray.
I began to pray myself. At first my prayers were desperate pleas (“Help me, God) as the contraction pain took over my whole body. But, knowing God wasn’t going to make the pain any less, I changed my prayer to “Thank you, God.”
As in: thank you for giving me strength to get through this.
I don’t like being talked to or touched when I’m in transition (I learned that during transition labor with Levi), so I closed my eyes and went inward, digging deep to access the strength I was thanking God for. Instead of fighting the pain, I surrendered to it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about trying to get pregnant, staying pregnant, giving birth, and being a mother – it’s all about surrender.
The contractions were all consuming (even more intense with broken waters.) At one point I asked how long my last contraction was – my birth photographer, Abby, said it had been 60 seconds. I couldn’t believe it. It felt so much longer than that.
I knew I couldn’t bank on the epidural – I could hope for it but mentally I needed to be prepared to go the whole way unmedicated. Based on my other births, I always knew this was likely.
I focused on my breathing and relaxing my body as much as I could. I let myself grip the side of the hospital bed with all my might, funneling the intensity from each contraction into my arm and then the bed – but every other part of my body I tried to relax. When the contraction passed I would reset my body – opening my hands to a posture of surrender.
I spoke softly to myself:
“You got this”
“Stay calm”
“Relax”
“Breathe”
“Help God”
“Thanks God”
It wasn’t long before I felt my body pushing the baby. I couldn’t stop it from happening but I was choosing to not actively participate in said pushing. I was still hoping for the epidural (the main reason I wanted it was for pushing.)
I told myself if I can get it, then great.
And if not, so be it.
Surrender.
At one point I thought the baby was going to come out right then and there – and the only people in the room at the time were Justin and Abby.
The intensity of the contractions had changed to immense pressure where the baby was and pain in my lower back. My verbal affirmations turned to a low guttural groan. I’ve watched enough birth videos to know this is the best way to help move through contractions at this point.
An hour after coaching myself through and surrendering to the most intense pain of my life, the anesthesiologist came in. I couldn’t believe it. When she asked me to sit up on the side of the bed I was worried about the baby coming out – but realized they couldn’t if I was sitting (or could they?) She wouldn’t let me grip the side of the bed (I was devastated) so I grabbed Justin’s hand instead. I’m pretty sure he thought I was going to break it.
After the epidural was placed, Whitney (the midwife), let me know it wasn’t going to take full effect because I received it so late and that I would still feel a LOT of pressure (and while she didn’t use the word pain, that’s what I gathered.) It would basically just take the edge off, which in the end sounded perfect to me.
She was about to put her hand up to check where the baby was – but I asked if she could wait. I needed a minute. It had been a wild two hours between the membrane sweep, my water breaking, and transition labor – my body had been through so much in such a short amount of time, so I didn’t want another factor at the moment. She was completely supportive and let me take a minute (well, 30…)
During that half hour I opened my eyes and came back up to the surface, rising from the deep place I had turned to. This is why I wanted the epidural for pushing – so I could be present at the very end. My labors have always started right before or during transition labor, basically going from 0 to 100, which doesn’t give me time to process “this is happening.”
With it, I was able to reset.
I told Whitney I was ready. She checked and the baby was right there, ready to be pushed out. No one was surprised. (I later found out that my L&D nurse knew I was 10cm before I got the epidural – turns out I was fooling no one.)
Before I did a practice push I brought up bearing down vs breathing out, and, as I expected, she said that bearing down was the preferred style for pushing with an epidural. I did the practice push and after that everyone gowned up. My eyes filled with tears – I couldn’t believe it. This was it.
After months and months of aching for this third baby before we ever tried to get pregnant, the heartbreak when we didn’t get pregnant, the joy when we did, the struggle of the first trimester, the afternoon in the ER when I thought I lost the baby, the second trimester honeymoon stage, all the aches and pains of the 3rd trimester, and nine months of growing and loving this baby and wondering who they would be…
The moment had finally arrived.
I don’t like being talked to when I’m in transition labor, but when I’m pushing, I’ll take all the encouragement I can get. I always feel emotional when I think about how many deliveries midwives and L&D nurses have been a part of, yet when I’m pushing, they cheer me on like I’m about to break a Guinness world record.
Which is kind of how it feels. I was pushing with all my might – and feeling it. The power, the pressure, the exhaustion. I remember thinking, “I’m so tired,” which surprised me, because this was the first time I was actually pushing somewhat rested and with a little food in my belly. And yet this baby still took everything – all my strength – to birth.
The more I pushed, and the more the baby started to crown, the more pain I felt. Whitney asked if I wanted to touch the head. Nope, not for me – I could feel enough.
The last contraction passed but I asked if I should still push, “You do whatever you want,” I was told. I wanted the baby out but didn’t want to bear down anymore, so instead I started to breathe the baby out because that’s what felt right. I remember thinking, “they don’t know I’m pushing right now” because it was so subtle compared to bearing down. And true enough, they were surprised the baby was coming out.
9 minutes of pushing and he was out (though I didn’t know he was a boy yet…) The best feeling in the world.
I had been very clear I wanted the baby put on my chest without anyone telling me the sex. I wanted to hold and cuddle my little one before looking and finding out myself. After a few minutes of soaking each other in, I lifted his body up and was met with an enormous ball sack. It shocked me (apparently they are swollen after birth.)
We spent the next couple hours cuddling, breastfeeding, and getting to know each other. Abby took more pictures. Justin did skin to skin. Eventually they weighed him – 6 pounds 15 ounces. My biggest baby (which didn’t surprise me since he cooked the longest…)
On my way to the mama baby floor, I beamed. I felt strong, powerful, and wildly proud of myself. As it goes with birth, I had come to the end of myself and was reborn in the process. The pain had been all consuming, but so was the love.
Again, my heart was in my hands – all 6 pounds and 15 ounces of it.
Again, I was transformed.
Hope's Neck of the Woods 