Charlie's Arrival

A day makes all the difference in the world sometimes, doesn't it?  I ended my Sunday evening with a whole lot of tear-spilling angst as I talked to Jesse about how I was feeling about everything.  He gave me another blessing, in which I was admonished to simply "Be patient."  I did my best to take comfort in that, and I felt like I was ready to take the next couple of days with a sense of one step at a time, not worrying about speeding things along, no matter how hard it might feel in the moment.

But I woke up just a few hours later, around 2:30 in the morning on Monday the 10th.  I had a fairly strong contraction while I laid in bed awake.  Yay, exciting!  But I was determined not to get my hopes up, just yet.  I had already done that too many times to count in the last week or so.  But at 2:45am, I started tracking contractions on my phone app.  Between 2:45 and 4am, contractions were reliably between 13 and 9 minutes apart, all with nice intensity.  Real contractions - not painful enough to feel like crunch time, but carrying enough pain that you know it's not just a Braxton Hicks.

Jesse rolled over and saw me playing on my phone around 4am, so I filled him in, feeling pretty sure I was in early labor.  I still wasn't 100% convinced, however - there was a chance it could still go away! I hadn't had any additional symptoms yet, like loose bowel movements or mucous discharge.  Those have always been standard markers for me - if those show up along with contractions, baby will be there soon.

I was, however, tired of laying in bed babysitting those contractions, and I felt wide awake, despite having only a few hours of sleep so far that night.  So, thinking it might finally be the day, and it might go faster than I anticipated, I got out of bed with the purpose of doing some last-minute cleaning.  We have a bad habit of not picking up after ourselves on Sundays, so the kitchen was a mess, and other little things around the house had been bothering me in the back of my mind.  So I picked up the kitchen, wiped down the table and counters, straightened things up.  I cleaned up the entry way (which is permanently clogged with a disarray of coats, boots, and backpacks at this time of year), picked a few things up in the hallway and bathroom, and sat down at my desk a while later.  Things were still moving along, although around 4:30am I had a lot of very short, non-intense contractions that were only a few minutes apart from each other.  I liked that they were closer together, but the duration and intensity going down did confuse me.  I didn't have another really strong contraction until after 5am, and then the interval jumped back up, ranging between 10 and 17 minutes apart.  At 6am, I decided to call my midwife and tell her what was going on, knowing that things could change in a matter of minutes and I might need her to rush over.  I also called Rachel, who was going to be watching our kids, and asked her to come over in an hour or so.  I was worried about the kids getting up at 7am, in just an hour, and getting ready for school and out the door on time.  It sounded like there was a high potential for things to get really chaotic and happen all at once, although Amy (my midwife) thought it was likely that labor would slow down when the morning activity kicked in.  While I waited, I talked to friends on Facebook about my early labor, and made a schedule for Rachel for the school morning, in case Jesse and I weren't able to help out.  Contractions continued, although now they were varying between intense and not intense, long and short, larger or smaller intervals.  But I had also used the bathroom and found some very light pink mucous, which is a great sign that cervical changes were happening!  It was confusing.

At 7am I decided not to risk the chaos if I could help it, and asked Jesse to help Rachel get the kids ready, and I laid down in bed for a rest, and stopped timing contractions.  I dozed in and out of sleep, but don't recall any very intense contractions while I laid there.  After the kids had gone to school, I got back up and chatted with Rachel, and planned the day.  I mostly sat down while we talked, and realized that those contractions were still fairly regular, but definitely less intense than they were in the early morning.  But I still forged ahead and planned on labor happening.  Rachel would take Alex and Malcolm to her house, get Alex to school, and even plan on getting Malcolm to nap at her house, checking in on us occasionally, in case things changed and we might need to adjust plans.

So around 8:30, she and the boys left the house, and Jesse was officially staying home from work.  I kind of wandered aimlessly around the house for a while, waiting to see if things would pick back up again.  They didn't, really.  So Jesse and I bundled up and went for a walk out in the frigid cold.  It was another "freezing fog" day - only around 20 degrees outside, and fog thick enough to layer everything in thick, flaky frost.

We set off with the intention of heading towards the nearby lake like I did the day before, but by the time we got to the end of the parking lot, a pretty darn strong contraction hit me, and I definitely felt some downward pressure along with it.  "Uhh, maybe we better just walk around the block so we don't end up too far from home, just in case," I said to Jesse.  He agreed, because he didn't think he could manage to carry me home, and he needed his coat and couldn't use it as a sled to pull me home, either.  Goof.  So we walked around our little block several times.  We must have walked about 20 or 30 minutes, but another contraction like it never came!  I felt some occasional tightening, but even the walk I took when I was in early labor with Malcolm (after my water had broken and things were having trouble getting started) was more productive than this walk.  I was getting tired of walking (and cold), so we made one last loop and went back inside.  I sat down on the exercise ball to rest, hoping at least to keep my pelvic bones in a good position for baby.  We decided to watch a TV show, and turned on New Girl.  I started timing contractions again, after another one finally showed up while we sat.

Again, they were irregular.  Everything about them.  But I started to realize that every time I got up from sitting, I would get a major contraction pretty instantly.  And then it would hurt so much that I would sit back down.  Nothing would really happen while I sat.  Stand up again, boom. There's another one that nearly cripples me with the intensity.  At 10:20am I talked to Amy on the phone, and she was planning on driving into town to deliver her taxes, anyway, so she wanted to stop by and check on me in person.  We agreed.  It might be about an hour from then.  After I got off the phone with her, I walked back to my bedroom to put something away in dresser, and had to stop everything to lean against my bed during another hard contraction.  And when it eased off, I felt like I needed to use the bathroom, so off I went.  And had another contraction there on the toilet, just a couple minutes later.  They were both so hard that I didn't think I could wait an entire hour for Amy to get here.  They were the kind of contractions that made me sure that I would be pushing before very long, and I had no idea how much time would pass before they were closer together.  I made Jesse call Amy back.  I didn't want to talk on the phone.  I knew in my head because of that decision that I had moved past excitement and into the intense transition phase, even if the numbers weren't crunching right.  Amy was nearly to our house, and was there only about 5 minutes later, perhaps.  I was already on my bed, curled up and trying to avoid more contractions by the time she walked in.  I was vocalizing through each of them, and I had stopped timing them, because there was no longer any point.  They were the real deal, and there was NO going back at this point.

I was very aware of Amy and Jesse prepping the room around me, laying out the ground cover, pulling out towels.  I received a hushed word or two of encouragement as I moaned through contractions while they were busy.  I warned them that I was going to be pushing pretty soon.  I could feel it threatening with the last few contractions.  I kept trying to mentally remind myself of how grateful I was that labor was finally here, that I wouldn't have to go be induced at the hospital, and that I finally didn't have to wait any longer.  But those intense contractions... they make it really hard to feel grateful.  But I had promised myself to accept them with gratitude, to feel as happy as possible that I was able to take this journey.  So I had a warring conversation with myself every time a contraction hit:  "Be grateful this is here, so glad this is here" and "PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!"

Within minutes, I assumed my position kneeling against the bed, as that had worked well for me in the past two home births.  Pushing had begun with little grunts on the bed, but once I was down on the ground, every contraction brought a full urge to push, but oh, how they hurt so badly.  I was no longer even able to remind myself to be grateful.  It was everything I could do to simply get through each contraction.  They were so powerful and forceful, and I had little capacity to meet them with any sort of calm or composure.  I eventually began vocalizing quite loudly.  This was already going on longer than it ever had before, I knew that, without ever looking at a clock.  I could tell there was much less progress than normal for me at this point, and it was extremely discouraging, because it felt so much harder than my previous births, already.  How much longer was I going to have to hang on and push through??  I tried to tell myself to take it one contraction at a time, but they were so intense I could barely recover myself between them before another one took me over. I wanted to cry so badly.  But there was no energy to be spared for crying.  I screamed and growled so loudly with each pushing contraction that I hardly felt like I was within my own body - more like I was watching from afar (but not watching, because my eyes were tightly sealed off from the world), incredulous at this wild woman on the floor by her bed, reacting in such a foreign way to birth.  Jesse rubbed my back and gave me fresh cold washcloths (which were amazingly helpful, as I was sweating buckets from every pore of my body at this point), Amy and her assistant Dona (who arrived about 10 minutes into pushing) hung around the room quietly observing and occasionally checking on the baby or offering hushed support.  Jesse would tell me with every contraction, "You're doing great, Becky.  Keep going, you're doing it."  And I had no ability to reply, but my brain was screaming, "I am not doing great!  This is going horribly bad!!  I should be done by now, and I can tell I'm hardly getting anywhere, and it hurts awfully and I can't stop screaming every time I push!!"  No, in my mind, doing great would have been low moans and a baby coming out in a handful of pushes.  This was torture.  With all the focus on my spiritual and emotional state I had put on myself over the last few weeks, I ended up having a number of very conscious thoughts during contractions along the lines of "This is what the Savior felt like when he atoned for us.  I want this to stop so badly.  I would beg for it to be over!!  Please, just let it be over!!!  But I know the only way out is to get through it.  I can't get through it!  It's unbearable!"  I suddenly understood very tangibly all the symbolism I had been reading about only weeks before.  Not that it was any comfort, in the moment.  But this pregnancy has taught me more in the  way of leaning on my Heavenly Father than anything in my life ever has before.

After what seemed like an eternity, Amy suggested that I should turn over into a squat when I could... it might be more productive with the pushing.  It seemed a monumental thing to ask.  I could barely support myself against the bed.  How could I possibly turn over??  But I did.  Very awkwardly.  Jesse caught me under my arms as I flopped back towards him, and later told me that he was hoping desperately that he was holding me high enough off the ground to be useful.  I'm amazed he could hold me up at all, between the weight of my body and the awkward way I leaned against him.  My feet were planted on the ground in front of me, and the next contraction brought a blood-curdling scream from me, and pushing with all my might.  But I felt that baby move down.  It was an awful, terrible feeling, but also such a relief that I could finally feel some progress.  And a reminder that an end was in sight, and a baby to enjoy from all that work.  Amy thinks he was probably just a bit stuck behind my pubic bone, all that time I was on my knees.

Just another push or two later, after nearly an hour of the most intense pushing contractions of my life, he was finally crowning.  Jesse tried to tell me I could see it in the mirror off to the side, but my eyes couldn't focus on anything for more than a half second or so.  I saw the mirror, I saw a reflection, but I couldn't make sense of it.  And I didn't want to expend the energy to try, so my eyes closed again.  All my focus was inward, it had to be.  I was still going through the most physically difficult thing of my life.  I was just doing everything I could to get through it in one piece.  Another couple contractions.  He was crowning much longer than I anticipated.  I expected the pain and burning of crowning during one contraction, but he stayed there through maybe 3, despite my efforts with pushing.  Again, it was terrible.  I have no recollection of any pain of crowning even remotely nearing the pain of this baby crowning.  I felt sure I was going to rip in two if I pushed anymore, but I couldn't possibly bear that pain for any longer, so I pushed again, as hard as I could.  His head moved out, and there was momentary relief.  But I had to push again to get the rest of him out, and it took another colossal contraction and more screaming, if not quite as intensely.

Half a second after he was out, he was swiftly wrapped in a towel and put on my chest.  I was still wrapped up in the pain and effort, and it took me a few seconds to even be able to open my eyes and look at him, or move my hands to hold him.  It was all so intense, more intense than anything I had ever experienced in my life, and I did not transition from "get me out of this!" to "yay, it's finally over!!" for a couple minutes.

As I sat there and tried to catch my breath and take in what had just happened to me, my favorite thing of the entire experience was happening just behind me:  Jesse was laughing breathily, I think maybe even wiping tears from his eyes, and he kissed me lightly a few times on the side of my face.  I could tell he was just absolutely overcome and amazed by what he had just taken part in and witnessed.   His amazement eventually made me appreciate the moment more clearly, and I looked at the sweet "little" baby in my arms incredulously.  It really was finally over.  And look at this angel resting on me!!

He took a few gurgly moments to give his first cry, but when he did, it was nice and strong.  I remained on the floor, leaning against Jesse, but no longer off the ground.  Amy had me work on pushing the placenta out, which did not come as readily as she expected.  It took a few tries, and then there were some skin-like membranes that were being stubborn about detaching.  But it all finally came out just fine (and honestly, it was pretty soon after birth - for my past homebirths, we haven't worried about the placenta for at least 30 minutes, and I'm tucked in bed).  Then I got some help getting up into bed, and was pleasantly surprised when Charlie wanted to nurse very soon after.  He figured it out with no trouble at all, and didn't want to stop for about the next couple hours.

The next part all sort of blends together in my head, but we rested for a bit, made sure I had some Recharge to drink, and Jesse started some lunch for me (Brazilian beans frozen ahead of time, and rice).  Amy and Dona cleaned up a bit, we all ate some food, and Charlie kept nursing.  Finally, I was examined (just a little tear that didn't need a suture! Even though I felt like I was ripping apart!!), and everything looked good.  I passed Charlie off to Jesse while I was escorted to the bathroom to get the standard observed urination and a quick rinse in the shower.

Dona started the newborn exam while I rinsed off, and when I rejoined them, I took a few pictures of the process, and got to cut my very first cord - Jesse said he had had enough turns over the years.

Finally the big moment came, where we learned his stats.  Everyone was saying what a big baby he looked like.  Honest to goodness, I cannot remember for the life of me from one baby to the next.  I lose all frame of reference!!  They had estimated maybe 9ish pounds at my last prenatal appointment, and I had been measuring a whopping 45 weeks.  Perhaps that should have clued me in, as it was about the same story when I was still expecting Alex.  We measured him at 21.25in long, and a 15.25in head.  Oh my!  Amy said that Charlie broke her personal record for deliveries she's attended.  She's had some maybe reach 15in, but never 15.25in.  And, she added to Jesse, it had looked like his head came down a bit crooked, probably adding the sensation of extra size.  Yay me?  And then we get to weighing him...

10lb 8oz!  Way bigger than I was expecting.  I didn't think we'd near Alex's record of 10lb 10oz, but we almost did!  I honestly wish I knew why 3 of my babies were 8.5lbs, and 2 of them were 10.5lbs.  What makes the difference?? It's crazy.  And a little sad.  I really wanted my last baby to be on the smaller side, so I could enjoy the tiny baby stage a little big longer.  Instead, Charlie decided he needed to make for a very memorable experience and grand entrance into the world. My throat was raw and painful from all my insane vocalizing, and the next day my abdominal muscles felt tortured enough to have been in a boxing match, rather than a birth.

Just after 2pm, all the exams and cleanup were finished, Amy and Dona left, and Jesse and I had a few minutes of quiet before the kids arrived home from school to meet their new little brother.  He was just starting to finally settle down and getting ready to sleep, so we kept the visit brief, and they all went to Grandma's house for the rest of the evening so I could get some rest.  After only a few hours of sleep and the most difficult birth I'd ever imagined, I needed the rest pretty badly.  I had been shaking from the adrenaline for a very long time, and I was just now starting to feel more collected.  Even still, when the quiet wrapped around me, the intensity of the birth was brought right back to the front of my mind, and I still felt overwhelmed and on the brink of crying, a mix between horrified at what I had been through, and relief that I had made it.  It was a raw, intense experience.  If it had been my first homebirth, I may not have opted for future homebirths.  But the love and care I received from my midwives and from my husband, and the learning experience of it for myself - those things make it worth it.  

And most of all, this precious little boy is the best thing of all.  A little baby I never intended to have, but one who is beautiful and perfect and soft and round and smells like heaven.  We love him, and are so glad to have him here with us, finally!

Malcolm Reed Joins the Family

Some stories, it's best to start at the very beginning, even if it makes the story longer.  Since I never expressed any of this on my blog before, I want to do it now.  But be warned, it will make for a VERY long read, to include the back story plus the birth story.  ;)

When we discovered we were expecting a fourth baby, it was not a joyous moment.  This pregnancy was not planned (and actually, this makes the second surprise pregnancy in a row), but despite the lack of instant joy, we were sure it would all end up being for good.  When I gave Jesse the news, I asked him if he was freaking out on me or anything, because he really didn't react much, but his response was basically, by the time the baby is due (Oct. 5th), we'd be in big trouble anyway, if we still didn't have a job.  He had a point there.  We needed to have ourselves taken care of one way or another by then, or we were in trouble no matter what.  And aside from that train of thought, I was very blessed to attend a Stake Women's Conference on the day I took the pregnancy test, where Sheri Dew was the guest speaker.  It was an *amazing* talk.  I was in tears for at least half of it.  She was saying exactly the things I needed to hear.  She talked for almost two hours, so it's hard to summarize what she said, but her most important message to me personally was something I already knew in my heart, but desperately needed to be reminded of:  Heavenly Father knows and loves you personally.  He knows your individual situation.  He sent you to earth with an individual mission.  He knows exactly which blessings you are in need of, and when you need them.  If you trust in Him, and don't turn away from him, but rather towards him, in times of trouble or distress, He will bless you when and where and how you need it.  And if you strive to follow His will for you, you will be happy, because you are fulfilling the mission you came to earth with.  She said she likes to think of each of us coming to earth with a little "to-do list pinned to our lapel".  When we accomplish our mission, we're happy.  My patriarchal blessing told me that my "greatest mission" is that of motherhood.  So how can another baby not end up making me happy, even if it's in less than ideal circumstances??  I had to trust that the Lord would take care of us.  It has been a test of my faith, to be sure... but I also felt the strong impression during her talk that I was doing well in trusting the Lord and leaning on Him during that period of my life.  Sheri Dew also spent a lot of time talking about what I remember is one of my Dad's favorite scriptures:  "And my father dwelt in a tent" (1 Nephi 2:15).  I had forgotten exactly what Dad likes to say about that verse, but I love what Sister Dew did with it.  She went on to question why on earth we're reminded so many times that Nephi's family lived in a tent, why Abraham lived in a tent, and so many other prophets dwelt in tents (or poor Ether, who didn't even have a tent - just a cavity in a rock).  What's so important about knowing about a tent, she wonders?  She decided that it's to illustrate the less-than-ideal situations that even the most amazing prophets have dealt with in their lives.  She also quoted this, from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland: "If your prayers don't always seem answered, take heart....  If for a while, the harder you try, the harder it gets, take heart.  So it has been with the best people who ever lived."  I felt such a great truth in that sentiment.  Like confirmation that our current life situation doesn't reflect on the quality of our beings.  We have a hard time to make us stronger, and bring us closer to the Lord.  Even the prophets of old have had those sorts of experiences.

We were finally blessed with Jesse getting a job through a temporary agency in early March, about a month after we discovered the pregnancy.  It was difficult to have him going back to work (after having him around 24-7 for the past year and a half!!) right when I was in the most difficult point of pregnancy.  This particular pregnancy was actually overall very good, but it was probably the most difficult first trimester I've had.  Not to say that it was bad - I still had very little to complain about, compared to what other women go through - but if I let myself get even the slightest bit hungry, I'd be instantly nauseous until I finally ate something.  That was difficult to adjust to, and then there was the typical extreme sleepiness I'd get with first trimester symptoms.  But, we adjusted in due time.  We went on to hire a local midwife to manage our pregnancy, and things progressed well.

At 20 weeks, we had a routine ultrasound.  We learned then that we were expecting another boy.  That news was hard for me, initially.  I was sure, in a way I'd never before been sure, that I was carrying a little girl.  Not only did I feel so sure, but I also wanted so much to be right, for so many different reasons.  But the biggest were that I wanted Melinda to have a sister, and I wasn't sure about having more children after this one.  The other reason was that Jacob and Alex had been *seriously* testing my limits, and the mere idea of a THIRD BOY in my house outright terrified me.  Brought me to tears!!  I couldn't tell people the news without tears welling up in my eyes for a few weeks.  I thought I'd never get over it.  Surprisingly, I eventually did, without ever even realizing it.  I don't know when I gave up mourning the little girl I wasn't meant to have, but eventually I just got excited about having a baby at all!  And somehow, Melinda did the same thing - she went from being sad about not getting a sister, to just plain obviously excited to have a newborn baby to dote on.  I couldn't say when either one of us made that switch, but it happened (thank goodness!).  During that 20 week ultrasound, we also got slightly disturbing news:  Baby boy was diagnosed with hydronephrosis- enlarged kidneys that could mean that the urination process isn't happening correctly, which usually leads to increased infections and/or kidney damage in a baby.  Not a dire diagnosis... but certainly not something I wanted to worry about on top of all the other life stresses.

Skipping forward to week 32, we went in for a follow-up ultrasound, which is recommended for hydronephrosis.  There was a chance it could be worse (the original diagnosis was on the mild-moderate side of the scale), most likely it would be the same, and a very, very small chance it could improve.  The night before the ultrasound, Jesse was giving Melinda and Jacob Father's Blessings for back-to-school.  I asked Jesse to give me a blessing, as well.  I was moved to tears.  Not only did Jesse bless me that the baby would be perfectly healthy, but that "this baby would be a benefit to us".  I'll be honest - I didn't have a great amount of faith that the ultrasound would show Baby to be perfectly healthy.  I was skeptical.  But the reassurance that he would be a benefit in our lives was HUGE to me, because I continued to worry about adding a fourth child in our circumstances.  (While Jesse did have a job, it continues to be through the temporary agency, and the pay is barely more than he made right out of college, when we had only ONE child to care for!  Not the most stable financial environments...)

But amazingly, that ultrasound did indeed show that Baby was 100% healthy.  I could hardly believe it.  (What a confirmation to me of the way blessings work!)  It was such a relief, such good news!  Baby was also found to be quite on the large size for his gestational age, but I wasn't worried.  After all, Alex had been 10lb 10oz without giving us any trouble at birth!  This one, we thought, would probably be about the same size if he continued to grow at an expected rate.  On the way home from the ultrasound, we got a call from the elementary school (on the first day of school, mind you!).  Melinda was in the nurse's office after hurting her arm, and wasn't calming down.  That wasn't like Melinda at all, so we stopped at the school instead of going straight home.  Jesse took one look at her and felt he knew for sure that she had broken her arm.  A trip to Urgent Care confirmed it.  Long story short, the fracture had bent in such a way that it would need to be set, and so we went to an orthopedic surgeon, Melinda was put under with anesthesia, and had her bone set and cast (in hot pink, of course).  Amid all of this, Jesse and I were absolutely panicking about our insurance situation.  We were *supposed* to have had a permanent job with decent benefits by now, but he was still employed through the temp agency, and we only had a Limited Benefit insurance plant because of it.  Limited Benefit, as in, the insurance only covers up to $1500 out-patient costs for an entire benefit year.  Clearly, going to Urgent Care, an Orthopedic Surgeon, and utilizing a hospital facility with general anesthesia and all of that was going to cost us more than $1500, and our savings was already dangerously low.  This was the kind of situation we hoped would never happen while using this insurance plan.  But, happen it did.  We applied for financial hardship aid with the hospital, and they waived everything but the $1500 insurance gave them (plus the $500 we charged to our credit card the day of the procedure).  We still have to pay the surgeon and urgent care (along with a lot of little random charges from anesthesiologists, x-ray techs, medical equipment charges (for the brace, etc.)... but it's at least within our general means, even if it does make life stressful and uncomfortable.

Anyway, Melinda's story isn't really Malcolm's story, but the stress of having a child break their arm and the financial burden it causes seemed relevant to our mind set as of late.  ;)

Finally, we get to the end of the pregnancy.  Baby had been head-down for weeks and weeks, now.  I had started working out at the very start of the year, before I knew I was pregnant, and did a mostly good job of continuing with the workouts throughout the pregnancy.  Late summer threw some wrenches into my plans, and so I stopped exercising as frequently, but I still tried to do my best.  By the end of my pregnancy, I had managed to hurt my toe joint, and was trying to stay off my feet as much as possible.  Still, I was finding at my prenatal appointments that I really wasn't gaining much weight at all, and starting to hold steady at the end, there.  I started out at 212lbs, and my last weight check (a day before I went into labor), I was at 228.  That was my least amount of weight gain out of all four pregnancies!  My midwife and her apprentice were both thinking that baby would be about 9lbs when he was born, based on both the ultrasounds and their palpation.  They offered a cervical check, if I wanted one, at my 39 week appointment. I declined, though I was desperately curious, because I know that cervical status means absolutely nothing for the onset of labor.  I didn't want to tart playing mental and emotional games with myself!  And besides, I was feeling like I would probably go to 41 weeks or so, since Alex had been about that late, and Melinda close to it.

So when my water started leaking in the middle of the next night, exactly at 39 weeks gestation, I wasn't sure what to think.  One, I had never had my water break until I was in hard labor or already pushing.  Two, I had never had a baby this early!!  Honestly, I sort of ignored it without even really thinking about it too hard.  I just wanted a good night's sleep, after all!  Isn't that what every pregnant woman wants?  Yet, the next morning, it was the kids' "Walk and Wheel Wednesday" at school.  I felt obligated to make sure they could participate and get their card punched and earn a treat.  So we parked our car halfway to school, and walked the rest of the way, to and from.  And as delicately as I can put it, by the time I was back home that morning, I was afraid people were going to take one look at me and think I had peed my pants.  I just kept having little gushes of fluid all morning long.  But no contractions to speak of.  If I sat down and concentrated on it, I could feel contractions.  But if I were up and walking around, I couldn't tell if they were contractions or just random, painless tightening that I always got when I was walking around, those days.  But I kept track as best as I could:

8:52
9:03
9:19
9:31
....
10:21?
10:38
....
11:15
....
11:49
12:05
12:27
12:45
1:00
1:25
1:44
2:07
2:22
2:32
2:42
....

At around 1pm, my Visiting Teacher from church came over, and I had mentioned I was pretty sure I was in early labor.  She was so kind to sit and read to Alex, while I jumped in the shower.  I had been doing chores all morning, both to keep myself busy and to make sure the house was ready for a homebirth and a new baby.  Laundry was done, picking up and straightening up was done, midwife was called and informed, and that just left me to take care of.  Getting a shower (and shaving my legs!) was nice to cross off the list.  As you can see, right around 2:30, there, is when I picked the kids up from school.   At that point, I started having contractions every 10 minutes apart.  And instead of getting to go right back home and be comfortable, I had to wander around the school, looking for Melinda's misplaced lunchbox.  I also let a few people know I was in early labor, and some people's reactions were just insane!  One mom overhead me telling another mom, and her eyes popped open so wide, and she asked if I was okay, or if I felt like I needed to go to the hospital.  (Um, no, I feel absolutely fine, but thanks for being so concerned?)  Melinda's teacher somehow heard the news in the few minutes between telling other people and seeing her in person, and her reaction was one of almost horror.  ("Your in labor?  RIGHT NOW??"  Well, you see, the way early labor works, is that you feel fine for a solid 10-20 minutes between contractions... and those contractions were still not in the least bit difficult...)  Anyway, we finally got home, and my midwife stopped by to check me.  Baby was still not descended - same position he was in at my prenatal appointment, same position he had been in for weeks.  Oblique in my pelvis, head down, otherwise good.  But definitely not engaged.  Since my water had been leaking allllll day long, we did not do a cervical check, lest we inadvertently introduce bacteria into the equation.  This was somewhat disappointing to me.  But we talked to Jesse, who decided to come home.  In the past, when I hit 10-min contractions, it was usually just a few hours until birth.  And he wasn't having much luck concentrating at work, knowing I was in labor (I had texted him that morning, letting him know what was going on).

By the time Jesse got home at about 4:30pm, contractions were averaging 5 minutes apart, but not really getting stronger.  They were easy enough to notice at this point, and had the classic feel of starting low, with the tightening gradually moving to the top of my uterus, but they still were easy peasy to walk and talk through.  By dinner time, they were 3min apart, and I thought for sure we'd have a baby within a couple hours.  I had my friend Jenny on call for child care, I let my midwife know they were getting closer, but she could tell they still weren't hard for me.  In fact, I later learned that she wasn't even counting any of this as real labor, since it wasn't really affecting me.

Things kind of continued to hold steady for a couple hours at that point.  We ended up going ahead and putting the kids to bed.  I laid with Alex and sang him songs until he fell asleep.  And when I was done, I decided I was tired of messing around at this point, and started walking around our little block to see if I could kick things into gear.  I kept a brisk pace, talked to baby, sang to baby, enjoyed the warm night air, and did something like 6 laps around the block.  Which, if you calculate it, ends up being more than a mile and a half.  While I walked, both Jesse and my midwife called and checked in on me.  While I was walking, I was having contractions about 2min apart, and some of them were nice and strong, but most were still about the same.  Okay, midwife said, keep me updated, let me know when you want us to come.  It still wasn't hard, though.  And that's always been my gauge.  When it feels like I need to stop and breathe through contractions, that's when things are getting serious, and when I need to move forward with plans, whether it's for having midwives over or for going to the hospital.  Any earlier than that is silly.  And I still hadn't gotten there, despite the close contractions.

Finally, I got tired of walking.  I went back inside and took a rest at my computer, sitting on my exercise ball and keeping my hips moving.  At that point, contractions seemed like they stopped.  Oh, no.  This was not familiar.  All my other labors had followed such a similar, predictable pattern.  This one was definitely throwing me for a loop, with my water leaking all day, contractions being slow to start, never getting difficult, and now fading away.  Now I was getting worried, because I know that there would be pressure to go the hospital and get an induction if my water was broken for much longer without any progress.  (I would probably refuse, if all things felt otherwise normal to me, but I don't like pressure and confrontation, and so the whole situation bothered me immensely.)  For the next few hours, I was having extremely weak contractions very irregularly, from 12 minutes apart to maybe 25 minutes apart.  I was beyond frustrated.  I kept thinking how my labors have only ever been 7.5-9 hours from the very first contraction until baby is born, and here I was, almost 24 hours after my water started leaking, with practically nothing to show for it.  My one consolation was that at least it hadn't been a day full of hard work.  Yes, there were contractions, but nothing difficult or exhausting, at all.  Just a lot of mental and emotional exhaustion surrounding the advent of birth.  Around 9pm, I called my midwife again, frustrated and asking for suggestions.  Her advice was to go to bed, get some rest, and start seriously trying to move things along in the morning.  Honestly, I hated that advice.  I wanted to be done hours ago, not thinking about doing it all over again the next day, and with some sort of time limit stamped into my brainwaves!!  So I kept trying to keep things going while Jesse and I watched TV.  I paced, I did lunges, I did pelvic tilts, I bounced on my exercise ball... I just didn't want to hold still and have things completely stop.  But finally, around 11pm, I gave up.  We gave up.  Off to bed we went, discouraged and everything.  Jesse fell asleep pretty quickly.  I continued to stew quietly.

Then suddenly, at 11:32pm, I had another contraction.  But this one really got my attention - it was a minute and a half long, and felt much stronger than any before it had.  It's peak definitely made me practice my relaxation and breathing, and it dissipated slowly.  It felt like a tide rolling in through my body very slowly, reaching a peak, and then slowly moving back out, taking the pain along with it.  I logged it on my iPod application, and I continued to lay in bed.  11 minutes later, another one just like it, this one 1min 44sec long.  10 min later, another, this one 2min 24sec.  This is it!!  It was finally serious labor!!  I was thrilled.  But those contractions were not fun, lol.  I had somehow managed to tell myself the whole day before, with those early labor contractions, that labor and delivery would be a lot easier than I remembered.  These contractions made me realized I had really been a fool to think that!  No, it would definitely be hard work.  More contractions, more tides rolling in bringing pain, rolling out taking the pain away.  I had heard of this visualization before, but this was the first time it really felt like that to me.

12:09am
12:18am
12:36am (using the bathroom instead of lying still surprisingly spaced this one out)
12:48am
12:53am - 5 minutes!
1:02am - 9 minutes
I told myself at this point that if I had 2 in a row that were close to 5 minute apart, I'd call the midwife and have her come over.  I was starting to feel different.  Tingly.  Warm.  At about the same time, Alex woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep, so Jesse was busy trying to keep him in bed, knowing our room (where he usually sleeps on the floor in a sleeping bag if he wakes up in the middle of the night) wouldn't be a good place for him to be this time.
1:13 - 5 minutes
1:19 - 6 minutes.

That was it.  I called in the troops.  Midwives said they'd be over shortly, and Jesse's sister Rachel was asked to come and stay in the kids' room with them while things were happening.  Rachel made it first.  Midwives took a bit longer to get here than I expected, since it's less than a 10 minute drive.  I guess talking to each other on the phone and gathering equipment takes a little extra time.  Anyway, by the time I told people to come, I was already done having 5 minute contractions.  They were now only 2 1/2 minutes apart, sometimes less than a minute:

1:21am
1:23
1:25
1:28
1:30
1:32
1:34
1:36
1:38

And these contractions were all BIG contractions.  Long, painful.  It was only a couple contractions into that list that I could not keep walking in the middle of them.  I had to lean over and grab a chair, moan loudly.  I started to panic just a little bit about doing this all over again.  I remember very clearly that I told Jesse I was not happy that I'd have to push out another baby.  My mindset was very different for this birth compared to my last one... instead of eager and excited, I was feeling more resigned and tolerant.  (More like a slightly unwilling martyr?)  I knew I was transitioning.  I never felt like "I can't do this anymore!" the way you often feel during transition, but I definitely felt "I don't WANT to do this anymore!  Not now, not ever!!"  I groaned internally, I grimaced, I knew what was coming, knew I could do it, but I didn't want to face it.

But the midwives got here around that time, started quickly setting up their equipment (most of which went unused and unneeded).  Jesse helped spread drop cloths and chux pads on the floor next to the bed where it was apparent that I felt like staying.  For a long time I stood next to the bed, leaning down to brace myself with my arms during the hardest part of a contraction. I warned the midwives (my midwife, her assistant, and her back-up midwife) that I could tell I was going to need to push soon.  I was starting to feel the slightest bit grunt-y through the contractions.  Not long after, I was too overwhelmed to continue standing through contractions, and got down on my knees and buried my head into my arms.  And yes, soon enough I was pushing.  Nobody directed me, nobody really said anything at all.  My midwife's assistant, who was managing my birth (I was pleased about that, I like her personality best of the three of them), kept down on the floor, kept an eye on the birth canal, and did frequent monitoring of baby's heart rate with a stethoscope.  Jesse often rubbed my back lightly through contractions, which felt heavenly and wonderfully distracting.  I wish I could have found my voice enough to ask him to keep doing that constantly, but I was too far gone at that point.  If I would have had it in me, I probably would have cried.  I really, really did not want to be in labor, to be pushing, again.  The only clear thought running through my head was something along the lines of "I hate this so much!  I don't want to have to do this!"  And it's odd, because I've never thought anything along those lines in any of my previous births.  It was a very negative turn for me to take, and I wish it wasn't that way, but that's where I went this time.  Maybe if the whole process hadn't been so drawn out, things might have been better.  I was much more excited the previous afternoon, after all!

Anyway, I didn't look at a clock at all during any of this.  Jesse thinks I pushed for about 20 minutes... if you count even the first few perfunctory pushes that hardly count for anything, it might have been that long.  By the time I got serious and was pushing through entire contractions, it wasn't very long at all.  Maybe 5 or 6 entire contractions?.  Still, it was definitely longer than I pushed with Alex, and longer than I pushed with Jacob... I can't remember about Melinda's birth.  Might have been about the same with her.  Anyway, the whole sensation is utterly awful and uncomfortable, and only increased my desire to cry, even if I couldn't physically bring myself to do it.  All I could do was push through it, unwillingly, but half desperate at the same time.

Finally, finally, I could tell he was coming out.  Finally his head came out.  I knew it.  I didn't have to ask.  I didn't say anything.  Nobody else said anything.  It was quiet and calm.  One more big push, and he was out (2:11am).  And before he was even all the way out, he started crying.  None of my other kids have ever done that.  He was passed under my legs and placed on the floor in front of me, and I picked him up.  He was so small, and so perfect!  I held him against my chest, and a towel was placed on top of us both.  Jesse leaned over my shoulder and watched him as well.  From all that negativity, I was suddenly so overwhelmed and happy that I got teary-eyed.  I'm not an overly emotional person at birth, and I'd never done even that with my other children.  I was happy, but not overwhelmed.  This time, I was!  But oh, I was so tired, too!!  It wasn't very long before I told Jesse quite plainly that I don't ever want to give birth again.  (We'll see if I actually stick to that, but no, it was definitely not fun.)

We got up into bed, I got tasty drinks and warm blankets, and lots more snuggles with my newest little boy.  We just sort of kicked back and relaxed for a good long time, trying to nurse, but a certain little someone not being very interested.  And waiting for the placenta to be delivered.  Finally, after about 45 minutes, my midwife asked if I felt like I could push it out, even if I don't have the urge.  I thought I could, so I went ahead and pushed.  It came out easily, though it's always a little startling at how big it feels!  Finally we could get on with the postpartum care.  I don't remember what order everything happened in, but they checked me out and I had only a slight tear for which I decided I'd forgo stitches.  The placenta was placed in a gallon-sized bag and set near me for a long time... maybe 2 hours?... before we cut the cord.  During this time, Alex (who had stayed awake this whole time!  Thank goodness Rachel was there!) came in to meet his new baby brother, and was instantly in love with how cute and small he was.  Rachel also got to meet him nice and early, due to being with Alex.  :)  Just a couple minutes later and Melinda got out of bed for a drink of water and stopped in to say hello, too.  Jacob slept right through it all, and we opted not to wake him, so his first meeting was in the morning when he woke up on his own.

Baby was eventually weighed, and while I knew he looked small compared to Alex, was was shocked to find I had just birthed my smallest baby yet - only 8lb 6oz!  Beat Melinda by 1oz.  ;)   Brown hair a similar shade to Melinda's, long fingernails, no real vernix to speak of, but nice fuzzy languno on his shoulders  He had a lump on his head, which my midwife initially called a caput, but eventually revised to hematoma.  The difference being mostly how long it takes to go away.  I really liked this information I read about it:

A cephalohematoma is a collection of blood under the periosteum. It is almost always a complication of childbirth. It most commonly occurs when the fetal head is forced through the birth canal; the head is propelled forward while the cervix grips the scalp tenaciously. This sliding, tearing force can tear tiny veins that nourish the periosteum from the bone side. This tearing of vessels causes bleeding (hemorrhage) under the tough covering of each bony plate (the periosteum), and a tense pocket of blood collects. This is apparently a painless process.
The result is a squishy swelling with distinct borders that feels just as if there were a tiny water-filled balloon under the scalp. It is differentiated from caput succedaneum in that the caput is a more generalised and very temporary swelling of the scalp and disappears in a day or two, but the cephalohematoma becomes more distinct to see and feel over the first few days of life.
The course of a newborn's uncomplicated cephalohematoma in itself is benign. The trapped blood cells break down and the component parts are reabsorbed into the system for recycling or disposal. The heme becomes bilirubin, the iron is recycled into new red blood cells. Calcium is deposited in the resolving cephalohematoma, especially around the edge where the dura mater has been lifted up. As the swelling begins to resolve, you will feel a distinct hard ridge around the edge of the swelling, with a soft, balloon-like center.
Eventually, the entire remaining mass of the cephalohematoma becomes hard and calcified, and then it too is reabsorbed and disappears. Within a few months there will be no physical or xray detectable trace of the swelling.

What I'm observing with his head goes right along with this information.  We have seen a slight reduction in the size of the hematoma, but not significant.  Shortly after I read this information, I was able to feel a calcified ridge around the edges.  At first, it was just one little area on the back side.  Two days later, I could feel a ridge that ran completely around the edges of the lump.  My midwife confirmed with another professional, and it could take 6 weeks to even 3 months on average for it to go away, but while it's unattractive, it's also completely benign.  Thank goodness for hat season being upon us!


After all the exams and cleaning up was done, it was about 4:30am.  Midwives said goodbye, kids were in bed (and finally asleep), and we turned off the lights and went to sleep, ourselves.  Baby continued to not be very interested in nursing, which made me a little nervous, but it was nice to go to sleep.  Finally.  (The night before when my water started leaking, I hadn't been able to fall asleep until at least 1am because of heartburn, then I was up at 7am to get the kids to school, and of course didn't nap that whole day because I was in labor... and while Jesse went to sleep when we "gave up" on labor happening, I finally had contractions, and so yeah... I was more than ready for sleep by 4:30am!)

The whole first day or so, I still didn't feel like he was nursing well.  I'm used to my kids latching on and wanting to stay latched on for a long, long, time.  When he latched, it just seemed lazy and uninterested, and only lasted a very short time.  Somehow still, my milk managed to come in within 2 days, and then finally he seemed interested in nursing... though, still less than I was used to.  We had a weigh-in after just a couple days because I was concerned, and he had dropped down to 8lb 1oz, which was well within the range of normal.  He was back up to his birth weight at 3 days.  When we checked again 4 days later (1 week old), he was up to 9lb 1oz!  At his 2-week check, he was 9lb 8oz, and slight yellowing from typical jaundice was already improving.  Growing well.  :)

We've had just a couple rough nights out of 2.5 weeks, and thank goodness I've had people already in place to take care of my kids on the days following those, so I could catch up on sleep one he finally passed out.

Oh, and the name?  The name!  We spent months talking about a name.  I really wanted something a little more unique this time.  I dislike that when I picked Jacob's name, it was halfway because I never personally knew a Jacob growing up, and had only met one as a young adult.  Nice solid name, but not too common.  After we named him, I discovered that it had been the #1 boys name for 6 years running.  And has been in the top 10 ever since.  I now know a lot of little Jacobs, and there's even another one in his 1st grade class.  Joy.  And I picked Alex as another strong, less common boys name.  Only, it's getting more common.  Not super common, but still more than I'm happy with.  So I really wanted something a lot more outside the norm.  I gave Jesse half a million ideas, and he would never even halfway commit to any of them.  Not one!!!  Eventually, I did something I never had done before - I gave up and decided I'd wait until after he was born, and figure it out then.  Then, the Sunday before he was born, Jesse sat down at the table to eat a snack, and out of the blue said, "I think I like Malcolm".  I about died of shock, honestly!  After months of not agreeing to anything, not volunteering any names on his own, and out of the blue, he just randomly tells me a name he suddenly likes!!  It wasn't my favorite at the time, but I had no objections to the name itself (and of course, being a Nathan Fillion fan, like the little nod to his character Malcolm from the Firefly TV series), so it became a quick front-runner, but not definite.  I let myself think about it for a few days, and started making a (giant) list of potential middle names.

So when he was born, thought we'd call him Malcolm, but didn't decide for sure until after we had slept.  I spent a lot of the next day working through my list of middle names, and Jesse being completely unhelpful, as expected.  ;)  I started just crossing off names that didn't seem quite right, and Malcolm Reed was left.  I just liked the way it sounded together, no special reason.  Jesse decided he didn't object, so I made it official.  :)

So there you have it, Malcolm Reed Newson, born September 29th at 2:11am, in our 2-bedroom apartment.  Four kids in one small space!  It seems a little surreal that we now have 4 children, but at the same time, he is precious and the kids love him to death, and so do mom and dad.  Even Alex, who I've been worried about having jealousy issues, has been completely in love with Malcolm, and so far has no problems at all, but just loves being a big brother.  Here's to many more days, weeks, and years to our new happy family!

40 weeks  :)

39 weeks - the day I went into labor

Alex's (very long, detailed) Birth Story

Note: This birth story is mainly for my own record and benefit. It may be rather boring and long in some parts, and a little more detail than you want in other parts. Feel free to read it and comment, if you'd like, but just know that I wrote it for me.

One week ago today, as was normal during the last several weeks of my pregnancy, I woke up for the fourth or fifth time that night to use the bathroom. It was just before dawn. When I got back into bed, I was surprised at how wide awake I felt. Usually, with waking up so frequently during the night, I never felt fully rested, and it took incredible amounts of willpower to get up before 9:30am. So feeling wide awake before dawn really got my attention. While I was laying in bed, waiting for sleep to return, I had a contraction. It was just before 7am. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual, since I had been having sporadic contractions for nearly a week at that point. But usually, those contractions happened more often in the late afternoon and the evening. This was the first time I had noticed one while I was laying in bed. At this point, I really couldn’t sleep. Soon enough, Jesse was getting up and getting ready for work, and I just kept on laying in bed, hoping to get more sleep. I had another couple contractions between the first one and the time that Jesse left for work. I wasn’t paying much attention to the clock, but it seemed like they were maybe 20-30 minutes apart at that point in time. I didn’t say anything to Jesse.

After Jesse left for work, Melinda and Jacob were up and out of bed, and soon asking for some breakfast. So I dragged myself out of bed and got them some cold cereal. And then I promptly went back to lay down. I had another contraction before it was time for me to get up and shower, and again, it seemed like it was probably between 20 to 30 minutes since the last contraction. I used the bathroom again at some point during all of this, and noticed some bloody show on the toilet paper. Then I started getting excited – this was something definitely new, and usually considered a solid sign of true labor! By the time I left the house at about 10:45am, I had used the bathroom at least 5 more times to “check” for more bloody show, and it was there each time. And the contractions were getting a little closer – about 15-20 minutes apart by my best guess (since I still wasn’t writing them down).

I had a chiropractic appointment at 11am to help with the Pubic Symphisis Dysfunction. While I was there, I had a couple more contractions, and the chiropractor went ahead and did a little acupressure on my feet and ankles which had potential to encourage labor, since it was definitely beginning to appear that I was in fact in early labor. On the drive back home, which only takes 10-15 minutes, I had a couple more contractions.

Once I was home, I had to use the bathroom, and got another sure sign of labor – my bowels were very loose. At this point, I decided it was time to start calling people. I called Evelyn, my midwife, first, to basically just give her a heads up. I felt like I was still a good ways off from actually needing anyone to come to our home. When I talked to her, she told me, apologetically, that she may not make it to my birth, since she was with a woman in labor and only at 4cm at that point in time. But her assistant, Casey, would definitely be there, and they have another midwife they work with occasionally when situations like this pop up, so that Casey wouldn’t be alone. I was a little nervous about Casey being the one to come, since I had met with her the least amount of times during my prenatal appointments, and didn’t feel like I knew her very well. But it turns out that her being present at the birth confirmed my initial impressions of her anyway – she was a very warm, calm, happy presence.

After calling Evelyn, I called Jesse at work to let him know what was going on. He sounded a little excited, but not too concerned. But he ended up arriving at home for his lunch break a good half hour early. Apparently, once I had called him, he just became too unfocused (and nervous, in his words), and just sat at his computer doing practically nothing, until his boss told him to “just go home!”

Once he did get home, I decided to start timing contractions and really get a good idea of where I was at. I had quite a few that were 10 minutes apart, until 1pm, they suddenly started getting closer together, until at 1:20pm, they were suddenly 5 minutes apart or less. And they were starting to feel strong enough that I felt a bit serious through them. And while I could talk through them (my friend Cara even called me on the phone and talked with me for a few minutes), it definitely took a bit more effort. So I called the midwife again, and told her it was probably time to send Casey over, since contractions were now so close together and feeling stronger. If we were planning a hospital birth, this would be the point where we packed things up and headed out the door. But when I called Evelyn again, she said, “Are you sure? You seem awfully calm and chatty still.” I told her that I was sure, and so she called Casey and sent her on her way.

At about 2pm, Casey arrived and checked me back in the bedroom. She took her time, because my water was bulging and she commented that it’s a little more difficult to “assess” when the water is right there. She said I was “stretchy”, hemmed and hawed a bit, and then decided I was at 7cm dilated. I hardly believed her, and said, incredulously, “Really?!?” Well, at 7cm, things were really a lot further along than I thought they were (I really would have put myself at 4, maybe 5cm, just based on how I was feeling and my past births). So I went into a frenzy of phone calls. I needed someone over ASAP to watch the kids for me. My visiting teacher, Andrea, was my main person to call for childcare, but I had talked to her on the way home from the Chiropractor, and she told me then that she’d be unavailable between 2:30 and 5:30, when she had to drive her kids around to various appointments. And when I tried to call her after I was checked, she wasn’t even answering her cell phone. I started calling people on my back-up list, and soon found that nobody was answering their phones. I pulled out my little Relief Society directory book, which had just been made a couple months earlier, and found myself so grateful for its existence. I started flipping through it and calling anyone who I was remotely comfortable with and lived relatively close to me. Finally, after some time on the phone, I got a hold of Liz from the Primary Presidency. I told her my situation and she rushed right over, I was so thankful for her being available. But she needed to leave just after 3pm to pick up her kids, so I wasn’t done with phone calls yet.

Since I still hadn’t gotten through to anyone else, I decided to just start leaving messages with everyone I could think of, hoping someone would call me back before Liz needed to leave. The contractions during all of this were getting closer (2-3 minutes apart) and stronger, but I pushed them to the back of my consciousness and just focused on the phone calls. Some people later called me just about crazy for being on the phone when I was so deep into labor, I should have had Jesse making the calls, or I should have thought to call the Compassionate Service Leader (which never even crossed my mind, really!), but in retrospect, I’m kind of glad for something to occupy my mind for that length of time, so I wasn’t focusing on the pain of contractions. It made labor feel that much faster and not so intense. I had been standing against the kids’ bunk bed during all the phone calls, and even commented to Jesse a few times, “Man, it’s really hard to talk on the phone through contractions!!” Eventually I got a call back from Brittney, who I had ironically made plans with for that afternoon, and had canceled with because of labor. (I had joked with her that maybe this baby just needed a written invitation to turn down, in order to decide to come out!) Brittney said she could come right over as soon as she got her youngest son out of his bed. I thanked her profusely and got off the phone. When I looked back at my phone log, it was just about 2:45pm when I was on the last call. As soon as I was done, I went and used the bathroom. I had a very strong contraction while I was washing my hands, and informed Casey when I came out. During this time, the midwife Karen had arrived, after Casey had informed Evelyn of how far along I was, and it was apparent that there was no way Evelyn would be able to join us in time for the birth. Almost as soon as I had told them that I had had a strong contraction in the bathroom, I had another one, just as strong. “Holy cow!! Those were practically right on top of each other!,” I complained.

And before I knew it, they were all practically on top of each other. Melinda started coming in and out of the room, wanting to watch, but since nothing super interesting was happening, was fine with leaving again. Brittney soon arrived, and offered to take the kids out back to play. Melinda just couldn’t pass up that opportunity, and dashed out of the room to put her shoes on and play. (Her hierarchy of priorities: TV is less interesting than birth, but birth is less interesting than playing outside!)

It seemed practically no time at all before I was suddenly feeling pushy during the later parts of the contractions. I announced it, and all I got was a cheery “That’s fine.” Casey and Karen encouraged me to stay upright and let gravity help, and positioned me at the foot of my bed, leaning on my hands to support myself, with my legs apart so I could sway my hips through contractions. I eventually felt very tired of supporting my weight with my arms, and asked if it was okay to kneel down instead. “Of course!” they said, and made sure I was helped down. I soon buried my face into the mattress, Jesse holding my hand and rubbing my back, whispering encouragement in my ear. I was starting to have trouble through contractions, and the pushy feeling intensified to the point where I was grunting and giving small pushes through many of the contractions. Soon enough, I was fully pushing, and very uncomfortable. If there would have been time enough between contractions, I later remarked, I might have cried from the intensity of it all. But there was very little in the way of breaks – only enough time to catch my breath before the next contraction, really. During one of the later pushes, my water suddenly broke, and then I could really feel the baby’s head in the birth canal. It did not feel good, and since I’m so great at stating the obvious, I said, “I can feel the baby’s head in the birth canal!” Everyone thought that was hilarious, apparently. Karen said, “What did you think was there, a cabbage head?” And Jesse joked, “I don’t know, it looks like it could be a pony, maybe!” And it was all odd enough that it pulled me out of the intensity for just a few seconds, and I had myself a little laugh right along with them.

But then it was back to work, and I pushed with each contraction. Not with any coaching – nobody told me how or when to push, I just pushed when my body told me to. If I had been in a hospital, I might have been told I was doing it all wrong – the pushes were short, definitely not to a count of 10, but they were effective. The head was soon crowning. I could tell, it was a familiar enough sensation, and the most uncomfortable part of all, but nobody was telling me that the head was crowning, and I guess it frustrated me a little bit. I asked quickly and breathlessly, “Is the head crowning??” “Yes, the head is crowning.” Of course it was. What I felt was accurate; I knew what was going on. But it was still nice to hear it. Another push or two, (pushing with all my might, but backing off a little with the fear of tearing) and the burn of crowning went away. “Is the head out?!?” I asked, a little panicky. “Yes, the head is out now.” Of course it is. Thank goodness. Another couple pushes, and then the pain really intensified again. “Is it the shoulders??” (PLEASE, say it's the shoulders!) “Yes, it’s the shoulders now.” Oh, good, what I felt was right. Thank goodness again. They had me put one leg up, so I was on one knee and one foot, to help make room for the shoulders to come out. A couple more pushes, and the shoulders were out. I remember in my past labors, once the shoulders were out, the rest of the baby’s body just slipped out without any effort at all, and that slipping felt like such a huge relief. This time it felt a little different – not so much an effortless slipping out, as it was a slower “oozing” out.

Alex was quickly placed on the floor in front of me, born at 3:27pm, only about 45 minutes after I had gotten off of the phone. I sort of just looked at him with a little bit of disbelief! I definitely remember thinking, “Wait a minute, a 9 pound baby should look bigger than that….” It took me a couple seconds to realize, “Hey…I’m supposed to pick that baby up!!” And I did pick him up, and held his slippery, blue-purple body against my chest, a little awed that I was finally seeing him, that he was finally out. Casey and Karen helped me sit down, put some pillows behind me, and I just stayed there on the floor, between the foot of my bed and the file cabinets behind me. Alex wasn’t suctioned out, his cord wasn’t clamped and cut…. nothing was happening except for me meeting my baby. After a minute, they laid some warmed receiving blankets on top of Alex, but that was it. It was so different from hospital births. Alex cried, and I couldn’t seem to really soothe him. He wasn’t interested in nursing just yet. While I was still sitting on the floor, Melinda and Jacob were brought in to see the baby, but they didn’t seem especially impressed, and just wanted to go outside to play some more!

Several more minutes went by, and I was helped up to the bed to rest until I felt cramping again, to birth the placenta. I tried several more times to nurse Alex, but he still wasn’t interested. Then I was asked to push with the next cramp I felt, and with that push came the placenta. Alex’s cord was clamped and cut at that point.

The order of things that happened after that is a little bit blurred for me. I believe that the placenta was examined first. Casey called it a beautiful, perfect placenta. I watched her examine it… I’ve seen placentas before, but it’s still something interesting to watch. It looked so much bigger than I would imagine a placenta to be. Alex was also weighed and measured. Karen and Casey had a little exchange: “How big do you think he is?” “I don’t know, I think he might be 10 pounds!” I sat in disbelief, hearing how big they thought he was. Evelyn had said at a recent prenatal appointment that he was “definitely” 9 pounds, and that was about what I was expecting - just a bit bigger than my other two babies. But 10 pounds sounded a little on the crazy side! They put him in the blue fabric sling, and weighed him – he was pronounced to be not only 10 pounds, but 10 pounds 10 ounces! “You’re kidding!” I exclaimed. “What on earth is wrong with me, that I look at a 10 pound 10 ounce baby and think he looks small?!?” I really couldn’t believe it. I have always loved hearing about the births of bigger babies. I have always believed myself capable of birthing a bigger baby. But I was expecting something at least a full pound lighter at this birth, so I was a little bit shocked!! His length was 21 inches, and his head was an incredible 15 ¼ inches around. He cried through the measuring, and got very upset. When I had him back, he was finally ready to try nursing, and managed to do it with no correction needed!

After measuring and weighing him, Karen checked on me. I had a slight tear. She said it could have used maybe one or two stitches, but when she and Casey both looked at it, it was a nice clean, straight tear and looked like it could heal itself fairly easily. We all decided it would be far less traumatic for me if we just skipped stitching altogether. I’m glad for that decision – I’ve had practically zero pain in that area since the birth, compared to the stinging and tenderness for the first few days I’ve had with the others. They also made sure my uterus was shrinking normally, and that the bleeding wasn’t too much, and found me in good condition. Soon, they were cleaning up and on their way out. And I was still snuggled nicely in my own bed, in the comfort of my own home. It all felt perfect to me.

We had quite a bit of company that day. Between both Liz and Brittney (with her 2 boys) there to watch the kids, and then my visiting teacher Andrea showing up just as the midwives were leaving, it already felt much more lively than I’ve experienced in my hospital births, where nobody was there except for hospital staff, myself, the baby and Jesse. And of course, the other major difference being that Alex was born in the afternoon instead of the middle of the night. Usually I was done birthing and so exhausted that all I wanted was to sleep! But this time, I felt wide awake and thrilled that everything had gone so nicely, and happily chatted with my visitors.

The first 12 to 15 hours of Alex’s life were making me a little bit nervous – he would go from perfectly content to completely upset in no time flat. He’d be nursing just fine and happy, and all of the sudden refuse to suck anymore, until I would offer a finger to suck on. Then he would be happy with that for a little bit, but go right back to being upset again. Eventually Jesse figured out that when he wouldn’t want to suck at the breast or on a finger, he wanted a diaper change, and then he would be calm again. Thank goodness for that discovery. We must have gone through about 8 meconium-dirtied diapers just between midnight and 5am. Who knew a baby could poop so much?! But after his last dirty diaper, he finally slept quietly so we could get some rest. After that he was a totally different baby, thank goodness! I was definitely not feeling ready to handle a baby who cried a lot.

I was instructed to spend at least the first two days laying in bed. Unfortunately the first few bowel movements I had after the birth were not friendly to me, and I found myself dealing with very painful hemorrhoids, just like I did after Jacob’s birth. So really, I’ve spent nearly the entire first week staying in bed. I’m feeling better now, and although the hemorrhoids aren’t gone, at least they aren’t causing me significant pain...as long as I sit on the Boppy while I’m on a hard chair, at least! I’m still trying to limit my sitting time (with the exception of typing out this long birth story, obviously), hoping to speed healing time. Aside from that one problem, though, I’ve been feeling fantastic. And Alex is also doing very well, nothing like that first 12 hours of his life. He’s been good at sleeping, nursing, and fairly easy to calm when upset. My milk came in quickly, and he was already a full ounce heavier at his check-up, 3 days after his birth. According to our doctor, Alex is just “perfect!” And how could I possibly disagree with that?

Casey visited me again a couple days after the birth, and had barely enough time to check on me before she had to rush off to another birth. While she was there, she told me that the week had been incredibly busy for them. She had been up for 48 hours at one point. I told her how hard a job like that must be (and I had just been reading “Pushed” by Jennifer Block, where I had been reading of similar situations by midwives), and she told me that yes, it was hard work sometimes, but it was also so rewarding for her. When things occasionally got very busy and difficult, she would just pray for strength, and got what she needed. She really feels like she is doing God’s work, she said. And after such a nice, peaceful birth experience, I really have to agree with her on that count.

Casey also told me that she’d been sharing my experience with all the other mothers she worked with that week, she was so proud of me! In her words, I was so calm during labor, and just a “grunt, grunt” and out this 10 and a half pound baby came! I laughed and told her it felt a little more than a “grunt, grunt”, but she said she was amazed by how calm I was during labor – not a “drama” person during labor at all. Again, I certainly didn’t feel calm through all of labor, but at the same time, I was definitely more kept together than I was during Jacob’s birth, which had similar timing. I always remember feeling very much like I had been plowed over by a freight train, after Jacob was born – my emotional response just couldn’t keep up with my body’s physical progress, and I just felt very panicky, and then shell-shocked when it was all over. It was very different for Alex’s birth. It was certainly very intense and hard at the end, but I knew what was going on, and I still felt generally in control of what was happening, and overall content with my surrounding environment. I really think that a homebirth made all the difference in the world for this birth. I’m sure, with a 10 pound 10 ounce baby, if I had been in the hospital, I would have felt just as crazy panicked – if not more – as I did during Jacob’s birth. Many people I’ve talked with since the birth have expressed how amazed they are that I birthed such a big baby at home – that I’m some sort of super hero or something! In reality, I think I was able to do it, simply because of my surroundings, being where I already felt comfortable. I don’t feel like a super hero, but I do feel proud of my choice to homebirth, and elated that it was such a good experience for me. If we have another baby, I will definitely be planning another homebirth. I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.