My birth story

Forty-one weeks and three days. Our midwives told us this was the average gestation length for first babies. When I hit the mark, my baby had moved further down into my pelvis but still did not seem ready to make an appearance. I expected I might go all the way to 42 weeks.

My midwives weren’t concerned about him taking longer, but as a routine precaution, they asked us to go to a local lab to get a bio-physical profile. This ultrasound checks to make sure the baby is still doing okay.

We went to the lab the morning of Thursday, Aug. 11. This ultrasound was not nearly as life-changing as the first — the baby was so big that we could not discern any of his features on the screen. What we could tell was that he refused to move at all during the test. This didn’t bode well. We got back a score for how he was doing, and it was about half of what it should be. Not good news. He scored low on his respiration rate and movement. Our midwife, Patricia, called us immediately and told us to go straight to the labor and delivery area of Salem Hospital. It was time for the baby to come out.

When we got to the hospital, we met up with our midwives and talked with a doctor who said that based on the low bio-physical profile score, we should induce labor. Our son needed to be born right away. They would manually break my water to get contractions started; if labor didn’t begin, we would consider other methods.

Stuart and I were devastated. All our plans and dreams for a home water birth were being thrown out the window. We were worried about our baby and what might be wrong. But most of all, I cried because I was facing the exact type of birth I had feared — induced labor, in a hospital, with the possible threat of a c-section at the end of the road.

Patricia and her apprentice, Carmen, said that they knew this wasn’t what we had wanted, but they agreed with the doctor that it was the right thing to do. Stuart and I also agreed, and I tried to think about how to still have the natural birth I wanted, even if it wasn’t in the environment I desired. Patricia and Carmen do not have rights to deliver babies at Salem Hospital, but they were willing to stay with me through the entire labor to serve as doulas, support me and help me decipher what was happening.

At the hospital, right before they broke my water.

My midwives, Carmen (left) and Patricia

Stuart rushed home to pack up some items I might need during and after the labor. At 4 p.m., the doctor broke my water. She said that if contractions didn’t start in an hour or two, they would consider giving me pitocin to get labor going. I cried again at the thought of heading down a labor path that was the opposite of what I wanted. When the doctor left the room, the nurse tried to comfort me; she told me that if I didn’t feel ready for pitocin, then I should tell the doctor and not let her pressure me into anything. It was the first of many times where I observed contradictory attitudes between the nurses and the doctors.

Almost two hours went by, and nothing happened. I walked up and down the hallways with Stuart, trying to get things started. Patricia and Carmen bought me a yummy veggie burger and sweet potato fries from the cafeteria — I wolfed them down, knowing that the hospital staff would not let me eat anything during my labor. Still no contractions.

Then Patricia saved the day. She suggested we use a breast pump to stimulate my nipples, which can release oxytocin and help labor along. We began pumping, and sure enough, my contractions started. My relief was enormous — I had avoided pitocin, and still was maintaining my path toward a natural delivery.

The contractions weren’t too bad at first. I sat on an exercise ball while all of us watched one of my favorite movies, “Dazed and Confused.” By the end of the film, I was barely paying attention, as my contractions had gotten stronger and it became harder to concentrate. I had read about multiple pain techniques in a wonderful book called “Birthing from Within,” but it seemed like the only one I wanted to try was deep focus on my breathing. With every contraction, I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply, and let out a long and sometimes noisy exhale, twice as long as my inhale (a breathing technique I had learned in my prenatal yoga classes). In the meantime, the nurse wrapped my belly with a monitor to look for variations in the baby’s heartbeat in response to each contraction.

As the labor moved along, the monitor kept moving off my stomach and it became harder for the nurses and my midwives to discern the difference between my heartbeat and my baby’s. This especially was true as I moved to the bathroom and got into the tub for relief from the pain. Salem Hospital does not allow water birth, but they do have tubs for use during labor. Patricia anxiously watched the heart rate monitor. My baby did not seem to be reacting as he should to the contractions, and we became worried. Patricia suggested that the nurses place an internal heart monitor on the baby so that they could more closely tell which heartbeat was his.

This is the last technical thing I remember. I read in “Birthing from Within” that women move into a state called Laborland where their mindset and sense of time completely changes, and this is exactly where I went. The contractions were so intense and close together that I could only think about them and how to get through each one. I lost my ability to form complete thoughts. People asked me questions, but it took me a minute or so to register what they said, and I could only respond with one word. Sentences left me. I only wanted two things: the end of each contraction, and Stuart glued to my side.

Stuart was my rock during all of this. He stayed right by me, whether I was in the tub, on the toilet, in the bed, or in a chair. He let me grab his finger during each contraction and squeeze with all my might — I don’t know how I didn’t break his joints. He only left me briefly when he had to go to the bathroom. He put water to my lips when I asked, moved hair out of my face, helped me in and out of different positions, continually whispered in my ear that I was doing great and that I was strong and that I could do it. Feeling his fingers in my hand and his lips at my ear made all the difference in whether I could get through each contraction.

As the contractions got stronger, I found that my exhales became noisier. This was another suggestion from “Birthing from Within,” to let it all out and not be afraid to make noise. I started my moaning loudly during my exhales, because it felt right. As labor progressed, I found my moans converting into what sounded to my ears like low growls. Sometimes, when a contraction was particularly intense, these growls turned into outright hisses, like an angry cat. Even in my murky Laborland, I was astounded that these sounds came out of me. They were so primal, so animalistic. But they made me feel better. Sometimes I wasn’t ready for a contraction, wasn’t prepared for my deep breath, and instead of a low sound I would let out high-pitched screams. I know these scared Stuart because they sounded more desperate. Patricia prodded me to return to my low sounds, and I did, which made me feel better.

Eventually I ended up on the bed on my knees and elbows, and I stayed in that position for so long that my knees were numb. But it felt better than any other position, and I did not want to move an inch. During these hours of labor, the doctor came in periodically to check the dilation of my cervix. Two centimeters, then four, then five, then seven. Each time she checked, I had made progress, and the midwives cheered that I was doing great. Even though I was glad to progress, I still said, “That’s all?” I couldn’t wait to hear that I was fully dilated.

I finally reached a point where I felt like I hit a wall and I couldn’t handle the pain anymore. All I wanted was to get the baby out immediately. I told Stuart, “Just get him out of me. I don’t care what you do. I want a c-section. I want an epidural. I want him out.” I was completely serious as I said these things, but I was greeted with silence from my midwives and Stuart. They wisely ignored me. At the time it irritated me, but now I understand that they were sticking with my natural birth plan. I’m thankful that they didn’t listen to me.

Eventually I hit a magical number: nine centimeters dilated. Almost enough to start pushing. I had already wanted to push for awhile because of an incredibly frustrating bowel movement that wanted to come out with each contraction. I eventually got most of it out and was ready to focus on the real pushing. When the midwives said I had reached 10 centimeters, they gave me the go-ahead to push. Stuart whispered in my ear, “You’re almost done. You can do this.” But I remembered many of the birth stories I had read where the pushing lasted several hours, and I knew I might still have a ways to go.

I also remembered multiple birth stories where the mom said the pushing was her favorite part — that it wasn’t nearly as bad as the rest of labor, mainly because she felt she could finally do something active to make the baby come. While I admit it was nice to finally feel more active, I found the pushing to be much more difficult than the contractions before it. I tried multiple positions — on my hands and knees, laying on my side, in the yoga child’s pose — but none of them seemed to work as well as laying on my back. This surprised me, because everything I had read and been told was that being on your back was one of the hardest labor positions because it makes the pelvis opening smaller. But this was the position that I gravitated toward, and the one that seemed to work the best for me.

Stuart held my hand, and my two midwives acted as braces for me to push against with my feet as I tried to imagine my pelvis opening extra wide. With each push, I clenched my shoulders and neck forward and tried to move that baby out. I pushed so hard that a rash broke out on my face and arms. It felt like I was doing this over and over with no result, although my midwives kept assuring me that I was making progress and that they could see a bit of the baby’s head. However, I began to lose hope that I could make it, and I told them this — after so many hours of difficult laboring, I just didn’t have any energy or strength left for the difficult work of pushing. Eventually the nurses gave me a saline drip to provide me with some energy, as well as an oxygen mask to help me breathe.

The moment that finally gave me some hope was when I heard the midwives say, “Look, he has so much hair!” Stuart looked down and confirmed this. The fact that they could see hair had to mean I was getting close. Then I reached down myself and felt the top of his little head, and it gave me more confidence that he was almost out. I still had many hard pushes ahead of me, but eventually the nurses asked the doctor to come in because the baby was nearly here. His head finally started to emerge, and I felt the burning that many moms call the “ring of fire” — this provided me with the strength to give the hardest push of my life and not stop until his head popped all the way out. From there, it was a cinch — another small push and my son was born. The doctor caught him and I reached down, immediately took him into my arms, and brought his red, writhing body up to my chest. He cried immediately — a nice, healthy cry that showed us he was okay — and then pooped all over my chest. But I didn’t notice. I was too busy looking at him, smiling, and telling him how happy I was to finally meet him. Stuart also gazed lovingly at him, and though I didn’t know it at the time, Stuart almost cried. Our son was born at 9:37 a.m. on Aug. 12, after 15 ½ hours of labor, two of which were spent pushing.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t done with the pain. I still had to birth the placenta, which only took a gentle push, but then the doctor told me that I had torn as the baby made his way out, and she had to stitch me up. It took 15 stitches to close the tear, and the pain was so strong. It was strange to me that I felt so much pain from the stitches after all I had been through with the birth, but I think it was because I wasn’t expecting it — once the baby was out, I thought I was done, so I wasn’t mentally prepared for more pain. Patricia kept telling me to focus on the sweet baby in my arms, so I tried, although it was tough until the stitches were complete. Finally I was able to just hold my baby and start to fall in love. Someone asked me about his name. I looked at Stuart and said, “Are we sure?” He nodded, and I said, “Archer.” It was the only name we had agreed on, and when I saw our baby, I knew it was right.

We left the umbilical cord attached until the blood stopped flowing between it and the placenta, about 10 minutes. Then Stuart cut the cord. As I watched him try to snip through it, I was surprised at how difficult it seemed — a sentiment he also shared. We let Archer lay on my chest for quite awhile, and eventually he started to make his way over to my breast to attempt his first feeding. It’s amazing to me how natural this is for babies and how they basically know what they need to do, if only we give them the time to do it.

Stuart and I were both so exhausted that we tried to spend much of the rest of the day asleep, although it was tough in the hospital with all the nurses constantly interrupting us to take tests, give me pills or ask how we were doing. There were many things I did not like about the hospital, but overall, I am grateful that after they broke my water, I got to have the birth I wanted: completely natural, no drugs, and without a c-section. Patricia later told me that with the way the baby’s heartbeat was not reacting properly during labor, she would most likely have transported us to the hospital if we had been at home. So I take comfort in knowing that at least we were at the hospital from the start, rather than having to attempt a transfer during labor, which would have been more difficult and frightening.

Giving birth to Archer was the hardest thing I have ever done — but also the most rewarding. Knowing that I was able to bring him into this world in the best way possible — without the interference of drugs — makes me confident that he got a great, healthy start. But more important, I feel empowered by the fact that I was able to deliver him naturally, the way I was built to, something that many of today’s women don’t even attempt and something that I often doubted I could do. Stuart has told me many times since the birth that he is proud of me for being powerful and strong, and he often thanks me for birthing our son. I truly feel that if I was able to do this, I can do anything. Which is a good sentiment to hold onto, since my life with Archer is only beginning.

Stuart holds Archer for the first time.

Our family enjoys a laugh with Patricia.

Archer weighed 7 pounds, 4 ounces. He was 19 1/4 inches long.

Being social

Saying hi to Sully the dog at the Rogue Hopyard on Sunday.

I had a fabulous weekend. It started Thursday night when we went out with friends to the new Venti's Taphouse, a much larger version of our favorite downtown bar -- very different vibe at the new place, but really great. Friday night we went to Enchanted Forest, a strange local fairy tale-themed park for kids, to see a concert by the Dandy Warhols. Afterward, we headed to an after party at the nearby Gilgamesh Brewery.

On Saturday I hit the Salem Saturday Market to pick up some yummy veggies and fruit for the week, and I got to see multiple friends at the market and afterward. Then on Sunday, we went on a Friends of Salem Saturday Market tour of the Rogue Hop Farm in Independence, where they grow many of the hops used in our favorite Rogue beers. Touring the farm and then hanging out afterward was great fun.

Why this recap? Several reasons. One is that I'm now one week past my due date, so when I make any public appearance, everyone seems shocked that I'm even ambulatory (except for my close friends, who I've been seeing frequently). This reminds me that many people think pregnant women are helpless -- I'm lucky that I'm still quite active. In fact, I hope that the more activities I participate in, the more the baby will want to come out and join me. So far, this hasn't worked. But I can hope.

Besides this, every time we went out with our friends over the weekend, I couldn't help but think about how I wouldn't be doing some of these things for much longer. Not in the same way, at least. It's not that having the baby will completely cut out our entire social life. But things will be quite different. We won't be able to just go out anytime we want or attend every event that sounds interesting. We'll have to think about whether the events are past our baby's bedtime (or our own bedtime), whether we can bring the baby or not, how to manage with the baby along, etc. Even though I know we'll still find times to hang out with friends, our social calendar will definitely change and diminish.

I do admit that it makes me a bit sad to think about this transition, just as I was sad about other major transitions in the past (moving from college life to the working world was a big one). But Stuart and I have both vowed that we don't want to completely go into a shell once the baby is here. We know that we'll be spending a lot more time at home with our son, but we also don't want to let having a child mean that we can no longer have fun. We'll just be having fun with an added person, someone who will bring extra and unexpected excitement to our lives.

When I hear stories about parents taking their very young children on camping trips, or I see some of my friends attending social events with their babies, I am inspired. It will be a tough transition as we figure out how to enjoy the world as a group of three instead of two, but I know we're up for the challenge.

The waiting game

Here we are. Two days past my due date. Baby's still sitting snugly inside my belly.

This is completely expected. Many first babies are late. In general, it's rare that a baby comes on his due date.

And yet. It's hard not to get more curious and anxious about when he'll actually make his appearance. Every time  I stand up and my lower abdomen feels uncomfortable, I wonder if something might be starting. When I lay down for bed in the evening, I ponder whether this will be the night when I awake with contractions. Last night Stuart and I doused our dinner with chipotles and went on a walk in our local park. Still nothing.

I'm so used to being a scheduler and clock-watcher that it's difficult to give myself over to baby's time. I keep thinking that my stomach is so tight, he doesn't have any room left to grow, so doesn't he want to come out and play? Hitting the due date made the baby feel so close, made it harder to believe it could be almost two more weeks before anything happens.

Friday was my last day at work. It's been strange this week to get up, dress, and sit at home alone. Watching movies, taking naps, writing, catching up on those baby books I'd been putting off reading -- these are fine activities. It's nice to have this time to relax and think before my whole life turns upside down. At the same time, it's odd to not be as busy as usual. To be so much more aware of baby when he moves and wonder each time whether he's considering a new way of life.

Last night we went to a neighborhood block party, and everyone kept asking, "When's the baby due?" I have to admit it was kind of fun to say, "Yesterday." A much different feeling than when I was counting down toward the due date. Now I'm counting past it.

Well, baby, I know you'll come when you're ready. Just know that I can't wait for that time to arrive.

A temporary appearance

"Do you feel that?" the midwife asked me. "There's his foot. Oh, and there's the other foot. Looks like he's got one leg crossed over the other."

The midwife has magic hands; they press and rub my belly and discern legs, elbows, feet, hands. I feel lumps that move -- something is there, but I have no idea what it is.

This time, figuring out the baby's position had a different purpose. The midwife planned to paint a picture on my stomach of his current state. She debated with the apprentice before deciding he faced my left, then pulled out a paint crayon to sketch his outline on my skin.

I lay still on the bed, the wet crayons and her hands cooling my stomach as they pressed and glided, and I saw the baby's bottom and legs take shape. Underneath the skin, baby wiggled at each touch and pushed one of those feet straight outward, creating a large bulge near my belly button. We laughed at his impatience -- what was happening out there?

I could see very little from my vantage point except the red placenta at the top, feeding my baby, and his little kicking legs, their tiny toes crossing my left side. He floated in a calming sky blue that made me envy his state. He sits in my belly, all his needs met, unaware of any other world. I carry him closer than I ever will again, yet it doesn't feel close enough -- I want him to be outside, laying on my chest so I can soothe him and stroke his head.

Soon the midwife had finished, and Stuart joined me on the bed for our first family photo. In my mind I imagined us doing the same after the birth, but with a writhing red baby in our arms -- many hours of laboring behind us, nearly forgotten as we smile at our son and he gazes back.

Not much longer now. Only a week until my due date, although he could come anytime between today and several weeks from now. We eagerly wait.

I didn't want to pull my shirt back down over the masterpiece on my belly; I wanted to show him off to the world. Soon I will hold his tiny hands, snuggle him close, and kiss him with a new kind of love that I've never known before.

That night I stripped and headed to the shower. The water splashed my belly and the blue, orange and red rolled down the drain. His external imprint was gone, but soon it would be replaced by something more real and infinitely better. Soon enough.

Am I ready?

37 weeks

Earlier in the pregnancy, I noted that everyone kept asking me, "How are you feeling?" Over the last month, as my due date rapidly approaches, the most common question has changed to, "Are you ready?" I get asked this at least once a day.

At first I didn't really know what this question meant, so I wasn't sure how to answer. It could mean so many things -- are you ready for labor, are you ready to have a baby around, are you ready to be a parent, do you have everything you need for the baby? A few weeks back, when someone asked if I was ready, I queried them back, "What do you mean?" They looked surprised, as if they'd just asked the question because it felt right, not really knowing what they expected me to say. They eventually answered, "Is the nursery ready?"

That was when I discovered that most people who ask this question really just want to know if we have our room prepared, if we acquired all the things we need for the baby once he's here. It's a perfectly understandable question, so now when people ask, I typically respond accordingly about all the baby gifts we've been moving into the nursery.

But inside the head of a hormonal soon-to-be mom, "Are you ready?" has much deeper connotations. In particular, I wonder whether I'm ready to go through this birth, and that's what I think about every day.

It's funny to me that I've been so confident throughout this whole pregnancy, knowing that I would be strong, I could handle a natural birth, and I was ready to bring my baby into the world at home. But the closer the due date gets, the more scared I seem to become. Some of this is due again to those pregnant woman hormones -- my emotions are up and down from minute to minute. But I'm also getting hit with the reality that the day is almost here -- it could, in fact, come at any time -- which is a bit frightening no matter how strong or excited I am.

I think part of the fear is in not knowing exactly when my son will appear. Those who know me know that I'm a planner. I like to know exactly when and where things will happen. Getting ready for a birth does not work this way. The baby will come when he's ready -- be that tomorrow or a month from now -- and I can't just schedule him into my online calendar like I do for everything else. Not knowing makes it more intimidating. But, oddly enough, it also makes it more invigorating. It reminds me that I can try to prepare all I want, but nature will take its course, just as it has for so many women before me. What happens will happen, and I will make it through, and soon enough I'll have a beautiful baby in my life, ready to accept my love.

So am I ready? As much as I can be.

Showered with love

I am lucky to have such wonderful friends who threw me an amazing baby shower last weekend. They were very creative in the planning -- hosting the event at Pringle Creek Community, a green and sustainable community here in Salem. They also had a frozen yogurt bar featuring yummy fro-yo from Fairview Farm Dairy, a great local organic goat farm that Stuart and I have happily visited the past few years (baby goats are the cutest thing ever!).

Most importantly, I was surrounded by wonderful friends who were so supportive and showered us with all sorts of amazing gifts for the baby. They increased our little one's library of books, added to our growing cloth diaper collection, and gave us a whole array of other great things. We are so thankful for everyone's kindness. I'm especially thankful to Stephanie and Beth, the wonderful co-hosts who made it all happen.

Yummy frozen yogurt from Fairview Farm

Fro-yo bar

Co-host Beth with her son Ewan

Missy, Amy and Diane with co-host Stephanie on the right

Heather, Shannon and Dawn

Me with Kobbi. My dress was made by my mother-in-law.

Me with my other pregnant friend Melissa, who just had her baby a few days ago!

Hula-hooping was a popular activity.

Everyone decorated onesies for the baby. Very cute!

Thanks for all the great gifts!

A support network

Me with my friend Melissa, who is due a month before me.

As we grow older, we all see our friends go through cycles -- everyone gets boy/girlfriends, everyone gets married, everyone has kids. Several years ago, many of my friends reached the kid cycle, and at the time, Stuart and I were not yet ready. We knew we wanted children, but we had a few things to finish first, namely, me earning my master's degree, and then us moving into our new house.

We watched our other friends have babies, and at first it was a little disheartening to think that we would be "left out" -- that all of them would have kids around the same age who would be friends, and ours would come along later as part of a different cycle.

However, we needn't have been concerned. For one, several of those friends are now working on their second children at the same time we're having our first. A new group of babies and potential friends. Plus, several of our other childless friends are joining family-hood along with us. Now there are babies coming everywhere, and we're part of the latest boom.

But one big reason I'm glad that my other friends went through this first is that I can rely on them for help and support. Every time I have questions about this whole process or what comes next or what I need to do to prepare, I can lean on my friends because they've already been there. And they love to share what they've learned. From helping me set up my baby registry to taking prenatal yoga with me to loaning me maternity clothes, my friends have already helped me in more ways than I can count.

I'm so thankful to have them in my life. And I can't wait to pay it forward to other new moms I will know in the future.