Sweet baby Soren
Monday, August 20 was undoubtedly the most incredible, life-altering day I’ve ever experienced. With Soren’s birth came my own rebirth — as a mother. So, it seems it’s time for this website to be reborn to better fit my new life. Get ready for some serious mommy blogging – this is now my journal as well as my platform for pleasing the grandparents with photos and Soren stories galore.
For the past three weeks, I have repeatedly reviewed every aspect of Soren’s birth day in my head. It was simultaneously the most exciting, empowering, intense, and miraculous event I’ve ever been a part of. In order to preserve some of those memories, I figured I better write down every little detail I can remember. Warning — this birth story is long. I’m documenting it for myself more than anything, so I don’t expect anyone to be quite as interested as I am. So, without further ado, the birth story…
It all began with the mucous plug. On Saturday night I told Tim I thought maybe I had lost part of my mucous plug. But no big deal, right? I was still convinced my baby would wait until the birthday I had set for him — September 3 or later. For the last few months I’d been telling him — in utero — that he would wait patiently inside my womb until I was ready for him. I had a few stresses hanging over my head that I would’ve preferred to eliminate before adding a baby to the mix. First, we were scheduled to move to a new apartment on September 1, and I figured it would be easier to do the move without a baby in tow. Second, I hadn’t gone on maternity leave yet from work since my replacement had fallen through and I had just hired another who still needed to be trained. Third, the beloved Dr. Hardiman was on vacation until early September. And last, my dad, sister, and brother-in-law were scheduled to be in Boston for three days mid-week, which means I’d be hosting three guests in our one-bedroom apartment, where moving boxes were taking up every spare ounce of breathing room. Plus, I was still loving pregnancy all through the third trimester, and I was perfectly happy with the idea of making it to 41 weeks before the magic would begin. Turns out Soren had different timing in mind. And his timing was waaaay better than mine would’ve been — he’s a smart little thing.
Anyway, I remained mostly in denial on Saturday night and Sunday, but did ask two friends at church for their expert opinions. One had lost her mucous plug a couple months before having her baby, and the other had gone three weeks after losing hers before she went into labor. So I figured I had a decision to make: I could reverse my still-active lifestyle and put myself on near bedrest in an attempt to keep the baby inside, or I could just live my life and let nature take its course, even if it meant the baby would come in the midst of our moving chaos. I decided at that point it would be best to get things moving. We went for our usual Sunday evening walk and made plans for a full day of work and school on Monday, then we went to bed as usual.
But it was a rough night. I didn’t sleep much. I kept reviewing in my mind what I’d need to do to wrap everything up at work while playing tour guide for my visiting family members and packing up the rest of our apartment. I also had a doctor appointment scheduled that week, plus a prenatal interview with a potential pediatrician, plus a haircut, plus gourmet night, plus the twice-monthly activity I host for the 8-11 year old girls at church, and so on and so on. I realize this may not sound quite as stressful to others as it did to me that night. But in hindsight, my body was gearing up for something huge, and the result was a sleepless night. So I got up around 4 a.m. and began working, which was not too far off my normal start time of 5 or 6 a.m. I worked right up until our 8 a.m. appointment to meet the pediatrician (whom we loved, by the way). I guess Soren got a good vibe from him as well, since it wasn’t long before he started giving me signs he was on his way. When we got home from the appointment, I had about an hour before I needed to head into the office for the day, so I got in bed and turned on one of my Hypnobabies audio tracks. The deep relaxation was taking over my body — until my first real contraction hit. After months of being calmed and put to sleep by the woman’s voice on the recordings, I suddenly wanted to punch her in the face. I yelled for Tim to come assist, and the pressure was soon over (for the moment).
Any denial about the baby coming fled quickly, and I had Tim begin sending emails to my co-workers, who would soon have to figure out how to train the new employee on their own. I knew there was a chance the contractions would go away and I would be back to normal, but I had a feeling this was the real thing. After another contraction or two, I decided it was time to nourish my body while I was still feeling good and strong. We left the apartment around 9 a.m. to walk the three minutes down Beacon Street to Eagle’s Deli for breakfast sandwiches. As soon as we stepped outside, I became obsessed with the idea of being outdoors. The weather could not have been more perfect — super sunny with a temperature right around 70 degrees and a lovely breeze. All the stress seemed to melt away just by standing in the sunshine. I kept telling Tim, “I need to be in nature!”
We took our breakfast, plus blankets and books, to the park across the street from our house, which satisfied my need for nature. I don’t know if many others would consider it an ideal laboring spot — the park isn’t exactly secluded or quiet — but it was exactly what I needed. We enjoyed our breakfast in between the pressure waves, and then I spent the next hour lying on a blanket on the grass, breathing deeply (and most of the time loudly) through the contractions. Tim kept asking if I’d rather go somewhere that wasn’t so public. A high school football team was practicing on the field in front of us, the coaches loudly counting down their drills. An old man on a nearby park bench alternated between talking to himself and sleeping, and at one point a police officer woke him up to make sure he was alive (“Excuse me, sir, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t deceased,” was the exact quote), explaining they had recently found a dead guy there. Across the street, the sidewalk was busy with runners heading to the reservoir for a little morning exercise. And then there was the half-nude homeless man resisting a cop’s suggestions to put his pants back on. Chaotic as it all was, I was loving being surrounded by people and noises that were totally typical for a Monday morning while I was in the middle of experiencing something completely out of the ordinary. Everything about it was very surreal. Reading stories from Ina May’s Spiritual Midwifery in between contractions also helped inspire me and reassure me of the goal of the day.
Enjoying my Steak Sunrise sandwich in the park — still smiling in early labor
At some point we decided it might be good to go back home and pack a hospital bag. It had been on my to-do list since I’d hit full-term status two weeks earlier, but it never seemed very urgent until then. We figured it might be good to have the bag packed and in the car when we headed to the hospital for my regularly scheduled appointment with the midwife that afternoon. Packing the bag took a bit longer than I expected since I had to take frequent breaks for contractions. At this point I had absolutely no idea how long or far apart the contractions were. Tim was logging it all in his phone on the sly. It never even occurred to me to think about my progress or how long (hours? days?) the whole process would take. I was just living in the moment, and I felt completely calm.
The ride to the appointment was rather uncomfortable. I had Tim pull over every so often to allow me to focus on my contractions. I don’t know why it helped to have him to stop the car, but I liked knowing I had his full attention. Tim dropped me off at the front entrance to the hospital while he parked the car, and it was a little unnerving to be on my own for those few minutes. I had to sit down outside the elevator to make it through a contraction, and I’m pretty sure I really scared the girl who shared the elevator with me on the way up. She asked when I was due, and I told her I was pretty sure the baby was coming that day. I was leaning over the railing in the elevator while moaning through a contraction. I felt totally normal about it, but I think she was a little freaked out.
Once I was with the midwife, I told her I was pretty sure I was in labor. She asked what I’d been experiencing, and I told her about the contractions I’d had for the last four hours. She asked if I’d had a contraction since she’d been in the room with me. I was a little surprised at the question, since I knew it would be completely obvious to her when I was in the middle of a contraction. I think she assumed I was just having cramps or Braxton Hicks contractions — mild, pre-labor symptoms that last days for some women. But when a real one came on again, she got what I was talking about. I consented to my first vaginal check (I’d declined at all previous appointments) and found I was dilated to a four. I think she was a little surprised — it’s probably not common for a pregnant lady to come to her regular weekly appointment and be as dilated as some are when they ask for an epidural. But she recommended I go back home to continue doing what I’d been doing if I wanted to go for a natural, unmedicated childbirth. So off we went, back into the car for yet another miserable ride.
By the time we pulled up to the apartment around 2 p.m., we realized coming back home might not have been the best idea. I was pretty out of it — very much inside myself. Tim tells me now my contractions had become very consistent at about seven minutes apart. I spent some time at home trying different positions (birth ball, lying down, leaning over things), but couldn’t find relief. I ate half a peach and promptly vomited it up (and to think, I hadn’t barfed once during the entire pregnancy until then!). I felt like I was running out of options, so I had Tim call doula Amy to come on over. I got in the bathtub (the first bath I’d taken in my apartment ever) and loved being in the water, but I eventually felt like I needed to lie down. When I got to the bed I was frozen in the sitting position. My body just didn’t want to move, even in between contractions. And that’s when Tim told me we needed to go back to the hospital. I nearly refused to get back in the car. I couldn’t stand the thought of another car ride. But Tim could tell we were getting close (he says five minutes apart, though I didn’t know it at the time) and he was worried that if we didn’t leave right then he’d never be able to get me to the car. So off we went. In the car I told Tim I was worried we were going to the hospital too soon. I thought the pressure waves seemed too far apart and too short — I estimated each one was lasting about 20 seconds. When he told me they were each at least a full minute long I was pretty surprised.
We pulled up to the hospital at about 4:30 p.m., and I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to make it out of the car let alone down the hall and to the elevators. Tim grabbed a security guard who was standing near an empty wheelchair and asked if I could hitch a ride up to the fifth floor. “Is the baby coming?” the man asked. I’m not sure how experienced he was at wheelchair-pushing — he bumped into the doorway a few times before getting me through. I wonder if he felt uncomfortable as I loudly breathed and moaned my way down the hall and during the elevator ride. He dropped me at the nurses’ station, where they were expecting me (Tim had called on the way to the hospital). The nurses sat and sort of stared at me as I labored away in the wheelchair. I wondered why no one was doing anything to help me, but I think they were waiting for that contraction to end before approaching me. Eventually, one nurse got up and asked me to walk into room 1, which was only about 10 feet away, but the idea of getting up and walking was not appealing. She told me it would be good for me. I’m guessing she had no idea I was in transition at that point. She instructed me go to the bathroom, undress, and put on a hospital gown. Once I sat on the toilet I felt like I was again trapped in the sitting position during the very intense contractions. Tim was still parking the car, and I felt a little abandoned being in the bathroom all alone. I was surprised no one was rushing in to assist, since my vocalized breathing was extremely noisy at this point. The nurse did eventually return to encourage me. I would’ve been content to stay there for awhile, but she had me get up and go to the bed to begin the initial fetal monitoring. I declined the hospital gown in favor of laboring au naturel. Tim was in the room at this point, and the nurse was in and out, getting things set up for me.
And then, out of nowhere, I began to push. I had no idea what was going on. I had every confidence in my body and its ability to birth naturally, but I didn’t expect the pushing to just happen on its own. It startled me enough that I got worried I was doing something wrong. Tim was caught off guard and got a little scared as well, especially since the noises I was making turned from low, deep, oooohhhs, into louder, higher-pitched cries. I told him to call for help — it was the first time all day I felt unsure about what I was doing. The nurse came in quickly, followed by Dr. Koontz (whom I had never met — I had been so worried about having strangers assist at the birth, but the doctor on call was a dream to work with). When she came in I told her I felt like I needed to start pushing, and I asked if that was bad. She did a quick vaginal check and reported I was fully dilated, so it was definitely OK to start pushing! I wonder how often women arrive at the hospital fully dilated. I had no concept of time at this point, and I was too inside myself to be thinking about what a feat that was to show up at the hospital just in time to push. But looking back I’m continually amazed the timing worked out so perfectly.
The pushing stage was not what I expected. Maybe I didn’t have any expectations to begin with. It was hard. Dealing with the seven or eight hours of labor to that point had been so intuitive — my body knew how to breathe through the pain and embrace each pressure wave. But the pushing was different. My initial attempts were a little weak, but the doctor, nurse, and doula (who arrived just as I began pushing) helped guide me to more efficient pushing. Amy and Tim took turns holding my leg up as I laid on my side. Tim told me later he thought I might break his hand from how hard I was squeezing it. At one point the doctor announced they could see the baby’s head (including hair!) and the nurse ran down the hall to wheel in a mirror so I could catch a glimpse. I was too out of it to really focus on what I was seeing (and I regret not reaching down to feel the head), but it was encouraging to know I was making progress. I remember being surprised at how long a baby can remain in the birth canal, with just the top of its head exposed to the world. It was so nice to be able to push on my own terms, taking breaks when I needed, instead of having a doctor tell me when to push or counting up to ten. Eventually, I pushed Soren’s little head right out (as well as his fist, which was trying to punch itself out of my body ahead of the head), and his body followed without much more work from me. His birth was logged at 5:38 p.m., almost exactly an hour from the moment I entered the hospital.
Meeting my baby! There is no better feeling than the first eye contact.
Soren was alert and content as we cuddled in the first moments after birth
The doctor immediately placed him on my chest, where he stayed for almost two hours. I had planned for lots of skin-to-skin time before allowing the baby to leave my sight (and Tim stayed with him whenever he was out of my sight), and the nurses never once put any pressure on me to have him weighed and measured. I was amazed at how quickly Soren and I made eye contact — within moments of him being placed on my skin. Just incredible. Everyone waited patiently for the cord to stop pulsating, after which the doctor clamped it and Tim did the cutting. Soren was alert and active, and I hardly felt the placenta slip out since I was so distracted by my new love. (Side note: I was also enamored by the placenta — aside from my baby, I’d never seen something so beautiful.) The doctor stitched up my one little tear while I continued to bond with Soren.
My placenta was just about the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.
I had never felt so full of energy as I did then. The endorphins that naturally alleviated my pain were fully present for hours after the birth. Within minutes of seeing baby Soren, the discomfort of the day was nearly removed from my brain. The doctor told me I was made for giving birth, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I loved the experience, despite the fact that it was absolutely the most difficult thing I’d ever done.
Family photo time
Soren weighed in at 7 pounds 2 ounces, measuring 20 ¼” — long and lean, just like his father. He impressed the pediatrician with his stellar Apgar score. He skipped out on his hep B vaccine (we’ll take care of that later) and the recommended eye ointment (I’m confident I’m STD-free), and we also declined the newborn bath — the vernix is all my baby needs for his skin. No one questioned any of our decisions, and I couldn’t have been more impressed with the way things run at Mt. Auburn Hospital. I know not all hospitals are set up to be as friendly to natural childbirth, but we found a winner.
I know there are thousands of babies born every day, so my experience may not be as unique as it feels to me. But I still feel really proud of myself when I think about how perfect my pregnancy and childbirth were. I spent the better part of a year reading, studying, and preparing for August 20. I know some people have problems in pregnancy that aren’t preventable (bless those women who spend nine months vomiting), but I’m giving myself some credit for all the time I spent caring for my body and making it an ideal home for growing a fetus. I don’t believe my pregnancy would have been so pleasant otherwise. (I can’t tell you how many times a week I would tell Tim, “I love being pregnant! I always want to be pregnant!”) Quick labors run in my family, but my ability to manage the pain naturally was all my own. In the midst of the discomfort of contractions and pushing, I don’t know if I would have said, “I love childbirth!” but looking back, I couldn’t love that day more.
So happy
