Starting at around 37 weeks, I had several rounds of very real-feeling contractions. The first time this happened and it seemed to feel stronger than Braxton-Hicks and not go away quickly, I took it seriously. We called my mom out from Dripping Springs to watch the girls, and I notified a couple of neighbors and friends to be on stand-by in case the girls needed supervision before my mom could arrive. Five hours later, labor fizzled out.
Over the next few weeks, I had several more rounds of labor-like contractions, whose only distinction from the real thing was that they didn't get organized in terms of length and spacing, and didn't gradually get stronger. It made for a really exhausting last month of pregnancy.
Then my due date, July 5th, came and went. I tried lots of walking, a round of acupuncture, various foods, sex, massage, yoga to try to get things going. The contractions often came at night, often at around 11PM, which made for terrible insomnia. I was feeling very depleted. During that 40th week, I made a concerted effort to back off and rest while I could.
On Saturday, July 12, I had strong contractions for a couple of hours during the early morning, then things slowed down to contractions every 10 to 15 minutes... ALL day. I was so tired and cranky. At the end of the day, I texted the on-call midwife at the birthing center to ask her what I could do to get to sleep in spite of the contractions. She told me to have a glass of wine (that it would not hurt the baby at this point), and a warm bath, and go to bed. I took her advice, and fell asleep by about 10PM.
At 1AM I woke up with a strong contraction. 10 minutes passed, another contraction. 8 minutes, another. I was so tired of timing contractions, and so hoping this was the real thing, I went ahead and texted the on-call midwife to ask if I should come in. 4 more minutes, another contraction. I texted that info to her, and she replied, "I'll meet you there." Called my mom and a neighbor to come stay with the girls until my mom could get there. I went to get Rob out of bed.
"What the fuck?!" he stammered as he sprung out of bed, confused and on high alert. He hadn't been asleep long, and I'd caught him in a moment in which his natural reaction was fight-or-flight. We laughed about this later. His mind must have been worlds away from my waking him because I was in labor and ready to go to the birthing center.
My neighbor graciously drove me in our Pilot to the birthing center--the little suitcase was already packed and waiting in the hatch. I had a contraction before we left and another right when we arrived. We settled into the Barcelona Room, which was formerly the Santa Fe Room, where I delivered Rachel. Cool! I was excited and really hoping this was the real thing.
Then the contractions slowed down to 10 minutes apart, then limped along at 8 minutes for a while, not seeming to go anywhere. I was dilated 4cm. Roswitha, the midwife, said we'd wait a bit longer and see, but that at 8 minutes apart, she might have to send me back home. I pretty much told my body, inwardly, that I wasn't going to stand for that. I got out of the bed to try to encourage the contractions by walking around. It worked. Things picked up to 5 minutes apart. Then in maybe another hour, they ramped up to 2-3 minutes apart, long and hard. I could feel myself going inward, unable to communicate much with the people in the room (Rob, Cat and occasionally Roswitha. Cat is a midwife in training/birthing assistant.) Things were getting really painful now, and I knew I was progressing. They reminded me to "breathe down" the contractions. I went into the low, gutteral moaning mode. It's weird how you forget these phases until you're in them again. I labored against a chair for what felt like I long time. I tried hands and knees, but it felt like too much work. I started dry-heaving at the end of every contraction, so I was often hovering over the trash can by the end of one. Somehow, I never vomited.
The next time Cat checked me, I was 6cm dilated. I had been asking to get in the tub, which she had advised waiting to do until labor was further along, lest I accidentally slowed things down. The tub seemed like my only possible relief as the recovery period between contractions was starting to feel non-existent. At 6cm, I got in the tub.
I labored on my back, sitting in the water, bracing my hands and feet against bars on the tub, for what felt like a long time. My back was killing me, but I didn't feel like I had the energy to labor in a more active position. I was shaking, making lots of gutteral noises, and starting to grunt--signs of moving into the transition phase, I think, because Roswitha was called in at this point. She checked me--9cm, and just a cervical lip and the bag of amniotic fluid was holding the baby back. I thought surely this was the light at the end of the tunnel. I tried to push through the next several contractions. I would reach the peak of a contraction, start to feel it taper off and immediately start heaving and shaking. I was really exhausted, and getting scared that I wasn't pushing out a baby yet. Ros tried to break my water, and remarked that I have very thick membranes. (A good thing, since I was Group B Strep positive--broken water early in labor would have meant a higher exposure risk for the baby.) Then she noticed something.
"He's turned, OP." She stated. "Move to your hands and knees and we'll try to turn him." My heart sank. OP means face-up. Natalie had been OP, and that had made labor longer and harder. I knew it was possible to deliver a baby OP, but not nearly as easy as a baby turned face-down. With lots of help, I turned over to my hands and knees for the next contraction. The next 10 or so contractions were probably the worst pain I have ever felt in my life, with next to no recovery in between. I was shaking, begging God to help me, all the while feeling the intense muscular effort that I knew I could do nothing to slow or stop. There was no way out except to keep going, even when I felt like I had already exhausted my last energy stores. I prayed for something to change.
"Can I get out of the tub?" I asked. "Of course," Cat and Ros answered, "changing positions might help" (or something like that--the exact words escape me.) I had another awful contraction when I climbed out of the tub, then they raced me to the bed for the next one, on my hands and knees. My water finally broke, like a dam gushing all over the bed. I'm sure I soaked all the pads and such they had put down. They helped me to my side, and checked me again. I was fully dilated. At this point I was still shaking, and grateful to stop trying to get the baby to turn and just focus all my last fumes of energy on pushing. I felt like I might just die mid-push, I was so exhausted. All 3 of them helped--2 grabbing each leg, 1 grabbing the other end of the ski rope that I was clutching, and coached me into the right head-tucked position to push the baby out. I tried one on side, maybe 5 sets of pushes (4-5 pushes per contraction, I think). They helped me flip to the other side, and repeated the pushes. If they weren't such enthusiastic coaches, I don't know how I would have kept going. Finally they had me push on my back, and he started crowning. Roswitha had me reach down to touch baby's head--squishy and covered in hair. Finally, I was truly at the end! Several more pushes, long then short, and he was finally out, warm and slippery on my belly. I collapsed back onto the bed, just clutching him in my arms, waiting to deliver the placenta. They waited until the cord stopped pulsing--which seemed to take a while--then had Rob cut it.
It took a while for the placenta to come out, and for the bleeding to taper off. Looking back on it now, I think my body was so exhausted, it was resting before making my uterus contract again. Once Cat gave me a shot of Pitocin, the bleeding slowed down to an acceptable level.
As had been the case with Rachel, Ian took a long time to calm down enough to latch on and nurse. I guess he had a lot to say about his labor, too. Once he latched on, he decided that was the thing to do for the rest of the day. He did finally go to sleep at one point. I tried to sleep, too, and I did manage to rest. Rob brought Tacodeli breakfast tacos. My mom came up and met Ian, then came back with the girls so that they could meet him later. I was running on fumes, but it was a special and heartwarming day. Ros and Cat stayed probably 2 hours after their shifts ended, making sure everything was going well with Ian and me before they left. Kim (midwife) and Carol (nurse) took over, and took good care of me as they got us through the paperwork and prepared us to go home. Rob came back, we packed up, and took Ian home at around 2PM.
Physically, this was my hardest labor out of the three I've experienced. Emotionally, I'd say Natalie's was the hardest, since it was my first and I was out of control of the process (unwanted induction). Ian has been the sleepiest of my three babies, which has been a godsend, because I don't know how Rob and I would have the energy to help all three kids if Ian wasn't a good sleeper. We'd have to hire someone, probably for overnight help. Thankfully, I've slept better since he was born than I did in the entire month leading up to his birth.
When I look back, I'm amazed that I delivered a 9-lb baby, who was facing the wrong way in the birth canal, with no drugs or interventions. Had someone offered me a C-section near the end, had it really been an option, I would have taken it gratefully. As it is, I'm grateful that Roswitha and Cat had the wisdom and patience to know that as long as everything was fine with the baby, I could find the strength to push him out. I didn't even tear, which is an improvement on the previous two labors. I'm immensely grateful for another healthy, vigorous baby, and excited to get to know him as he grows up.
