4 posts tagged “birth”
(Sorry - I'm in the habit of numbering my weeks now instead of writing out dates. It's faster this way, and I really don't think anyone but me is keeping tabs, anyway.)
So, on to this week's topic:
If you had a close friend, sister or neighbor who was about to give birth, what advice would you give?
This is quite simple for me, as a number of friends had their children just months after I gave birth to my son. In fact, I was just looking at an e-mail I sent to my friend Alyne in response to her question about what she ought to bring to the hospital:
Okay, here's what I actually used of what I brought:
Here's what I didn't bring that I wish I did:
How's that for practical?
The only other thing I've mentioned to a currently pregnant girlfriend (expecting a baby boy in September!) is that it took me almost a year to re-establish my rhythm. I still have some days that are better than others, but The Boy and I have more of a system in place. And it's working for us... for now.
Oh, and everything you think you know about motherhood and raising kids? Yeah, shove it in a box and keep it under your bed. You might check on some of those principles and ideas and such from time to time (which is why I don't suggest chucking them out the window), but for the most part, it's all trial and error. And just when you think you have it figured out, that teeny little person who just moved into your house will get some other ideas and turn your world on end.
But it's all so much fun!
Please share with us your expectations for giving birth if you are currently pregnant and how your expectations were or were not met if you are already a mother. And for those of you with multiple children or who may be pregnant with a second child, please share how your expectations have varied from pregnancy to pregnancy.
I think I was among the delusional when it came to childbirth. In fact, I'm certain of it.
First of all, my son arrived far earlier than I anticipated. Three weeks, to be precise. I went to the doctor for my routine 36-week check up, only to be told that I was four centimeters dilated and 80% effaced. When just the day before I carefully planned out my week to tidy up all my loose ends in the event the baby came the following week, I was suddenly on maternity leave and urged not to stray too far from my house.
Oh, bother. I would hardly consider this good use of my maternity leave!
The morning following my 36-week check up, I felt the pangs of early labor. Surely my son will come now, I thought. But, alas, no. He was just testing me. After returning home from my second trip to triage, I was disappointed that he was stalling.
Late that evening, my labor (finally) progressed further. I'd like to think it was the chocolate ice cream that spurred it along. At any rate, we went back to the hospital, and, once again, I lay in triage for what seemed like an eternity, ever so fearful they would send me home once again. But, they didn't - and once I was admitted, I thought the baby would come very soon afterwards.
Boy, was I wrong. But after reading others' birth stories, I think I was among the luckier ones. I just wasn't as lucky as I would have liked to be.
Because I made it to four centimeters and 80% without knowing it, I honestly thought labor couldn't possibly be all that bad. And when a nurse came to my bedside and asked me if I wanted something to ease the pain, I initially refused, caving only a moment later when another contraction assaulted me. I was adamant, though: I did not want an epidural. And, so, I didn't have one. I had Nubain instead, which sent me into an opium-induced state of delirium. Oddly, Nubain is given to lots of women in early labor and is often ineffective for women in advanced labor (as I was), but it did the trick. I only asked for one refill, and that was it.
Thirty hours after the onset of early labor, ten hours after arriving at the hospital, eight hours after being admitted, three contractions and six good pushes later, I heard my son for the first time... and was strangely disappointed at the anticlimax of childbirth. I've no idea what I was expecting to feel, but I knew I didn't feel it. I peered down at the miracle of my messy, still unnamed son and, though relieved to be done with labor and elated that he was perfectly made with all ten fingers and all ten toes, I was just so unbelievably tired. And when the nurses gave him to me to nurse right away and he didn't want to latch on, I felt awful - all my expectations of being a "good" mother were already fading away before my eyes. (Mind you, he didn't completely figure out business of latching on until the next morning, but I had far more calls to the nurses' station than I thought I might.)
I laugh now at my naivete, how I believed that watching my nieces grow, talking to all my mom friends, and reading everything I could about motherhood while I was pregnant would somehow prepare me for the onslaught of mothering. Nothing can prepare you for motherhood, I've discovered. And just when I think I've figured out what my son needs, wants, and expects of me, he immediately changes the rules and I'm back to square one.
And yet, I would do it all again, with no hesitation.
I was trying desperately to get some rest. I had been up since 3:30 with the onset of early labor, I had washed all the baby's clothes and was already sent home from the hospital with instructions to not call again until the contractions were five minutes apart for more than two hours. And I could not, for the life of me, find a comfortable position.
In less than 23 hours, though, I would be holding my son for the very first time. And life, as I knew it, would never be the same.
I can honestly say I wasn't expecting him for at least another week or two (I knew I wouldn't make it to my May 3 due date), but as they say, "Ready or not, here I come!"
So, Baby C arrived on Thursday, April 12, 2007 at 9:47 in the morning. He was 6 pounds 13 ounces and 19-3/4 inches long. Now that I'm holding him from the outside, I doubt I could have carried him another 3 weeks if I wanted to!
The whole thing was surreal and I'm still trying to make sense of it. I had a routine doctor's appointment on Tuesday, at which time I was told that I was four centimeters dilated and 80% effaced. (I'm sorry - what?) So, my husband and I were sent to the main hospital to get checked out in triage. After an hour in observation, three hours of walking around aimlessly, and another hour of observation, we were told to go home - I may be at this stage for another week or so. But, of course, we should come back if my water breaks or if I start having contractions five minutes apart for at least an hour. So, home we went. Well, I went to work first to tie up some loose ends. Then I came home.
The plus side to the trip to triage? I found out what contractions felt like. Prior to that, I just thought the baby was sticking his butt in the air!
Wednesday morning, I woke up at 3 and could not get back to sleep. I couldn't get comfortable. I walked around the house, took a shower, tried to lay down, and just tried with all my might to get back to sleep. And these contractions hurt. By 6 o'clock, I told Chris he wasn't going to work that day, and by 8, my contractions were close enough together that we were back at the hospital. After another hour of observation in triage, it turns out I haven't changed. So, home we went, with instructions to come back if my contractions are less than five minutes apart for at least two hours.
I managed to catch about an hour and a half of sleep during the day Wednesday. I sent Chris to work to get things he could work on from home, but I was miserable the whole day. I kept track of my contractions - all about eight minutes apart. But by 9 o'clock that evening, they started to get very close together, averaging four minutes apart. I told Chris I couldn't wait until 11 to go to the hospital - we left the house (in complete disarray) at 10:30 and arrived at the hospital before 11.
We were in triage for what seemed like an eternity. And it turned out some of that constant peeing I was dealing with was a little bit of amniotic fluid, too, though my bag never broke. This time, though, the nurse said we would be admitted (which was music to my ears - I did not want to be sent home again) around 2 in the morning.
I can't say I remember much about labor and delivery. I opted against the epidural, figuring that if I made it to 4 and 80 without even knowing it, surely labor couldn't be all that bad. Instead, when it got really bad, I asked for the weakest drug they could put in my IV, which turned out to be something called Nubane. Apparently, Nubane doesn't work very well on most pregnant women, but I was as happy as a lark. Chris said that the contractions that made me scream, "I am going to die!" were suddenly reduced to heavy breathing. I still had some bad contractions, but those were much fewer and further between than they were before Nubane was introduced.
The best thing about Nubane was its ability to send me into a state of delirium. I was imagining all sorts of things, and my contractions became these images wherein I could actually see them coming and going. And I could also see the big contractions coming - with just enough time to open my eyes, grab onto the side bars and try to keep my breathing regular. I think I snapped at my husband more than once because he wasn't constantly at my side (keep in mind the Nubane kept the smaller contractions at bay - even though I was still having them, I didn't really feel them). And when he was nearby, all I wanted from him was constant reassurance that I was doing a good job and that he was proud of me... and for him to wipe me down with a cool towel because that room was like a furnace (despite his need to wear a fleece hoodie with the hood up and to be wrapped in a blanket). I can remember saying some weird things in my Nubane-induced delirium, but my labor was, thankfully, a hazy blur.
Delivery, on the other hand, I remember somewhat clearly. I remember telling Chris that there was too much pressure and I wanted so badly to push. And every time, he told me I couldn't push because it wasn't time. And every time, I think I demanded a nurse to check and see if it was finally time. But once it was time to push, I tried it and decided, no, pushing was too painful. My obstetrician was there and told my husband that he would let me figure out what I needed to do, and when it finally came time to push, I said no and demanded my epidural. I don't know if anyone laughed (I probably would have if I wasn't the one delivering the baby), but my husband said I only had to endure ten more minutes of this and promised it would be over. And when the contractions happened again and I did that whole "hold your breath and count to ten" thing, I was determined to get it over with as quickly as possible. So, in three contractions (I think I got two pushes per contraction), Baby C was finally out... and I felt so much better.
