Subtitle: "Like God, I have created man." --Jack Donaghy (30 Rock)
Seems like the story of Ivar's birth starts with my Fallopian tube rupturing back in September. I'll skip that story (although it's a good one), and just say that since my surgeon wouldn't give us a straight answer, and since I'm a big believer that your body won't get pregnant if it isn't ready, and since we both felt like it was okay with God, we didn't do any preventing and managed to get pregnant again pretty fast (thank you Dr. Christopher herbs!). One of the scary things about an ectopic pregnancy is that if you have one, you're more likely you'll have another, and since we were already "driving on the spare," so to speak, it is now super important for me to know I'm pregnant right away and rule out the possibility of an ectopic pregnancy before it explodes my remaining Fallopian tube, and I become infertile.
Seven weeks after my emergency surgery (and 8 days after my blood/iron supply had been deemed "back to normal"), I had already been feeling pregnant for about a week. I was taking pregnancy tests every morning, but they were always negative. One morning (Halloween, coincidentally), my toddler came into the bathroom screaming right as I was reading my negative test, and I got distracted before I could throw it away. Several hours later, I was in the bathroom chatting with my husband when I picked up the pregnancy test to throw it away, and I noticed it was positive! (Turns out when the instructions say "Wait five minutes," they actually mean it. That's not an optional step.) Such great news!!! And fun that he was there to share it with me. But how long had I been pregnant? Was it implanted in the uterus or elsewhere? Would it rupture before we could figure it out? For the rest of my life, finding out I'm pregnant will be a mixed bag of emotions.
Luckily, I was able to get my first blood test that day, and two more over the next week. The numbers from those tests were encouraging, but to be conclusive I'd need an ultrasound. The earliest an ultrasound will show anything is 6 weeks, and at 7 weeks is when the embryo will rupture the Fallopian tube. The blood test will give you a window of how pregnant you are, but the acceptable range of hormone levels is so huge that it can't say for sure. The timing for these things is tricky!!! The midwife and I decided I'd get an ultrasound that Friday, since I was leaving for a week in California with my in-laws on Monday. (If it was too early to see anything, at least we'd know I was safe for another week.)
We went to our awesome ultrasound clinic and even got our favorite technician. The ultrasound revealed that I was six weeks and one day pregnant, and the baby was in the uterus! Yay!! Tears were shed. It was wonderful to breath a sigh of relief and really celebrate being pregnant. So, so, so blessed. (That had been a hard week.)
This pregnancy was different from my first one. Maybe it's because my body was still recovering from surgery when I conceived. Maybe it was chasing after a toddler instead of working a desk job. Maybe it's a second pregnancy thing or because I'm older. Maybe even a girl/boy baby thing. But I was SOOO tired. ALL THE TIME. This is how I felt like I spent at least the first three months (only not so smiley):
I'd lay on the sofa, and if Adele felt like it, she'd come lay with me. I'm not sure how I managed to get anything done. In hindsight, I probably didn't. Reading my journal from this stage, most days contain some form of "didn't make dinner again tonight" or "I don't remember being this tired before" or something along those lines.
But, as most women do, I survived. I survived the "my uterus hurts all the time" phase, the "random, painful muscle cramps in my legs" experiences and the "once again I'm too tired to cook/clean/etc" stage. I even survived several bouts of false labor, or as my optimistic midwives call it "labor preparation." I was (mostly) just thankful to be pregnant, that my feet weren't painfully swollen like the first time, and that the false labors had never tricked me into calling my midwives. And so, so thankful for the unending support of my wonderful hubby (although he got a fairly nasty two-week virus towards the end. It was hard when we were both feeling so miserable. You know, you think you appreciate all the kind, thoughtful things your husband does for you, until he has to stop doing them and then you REALLY appreciate him.)
I was definitely more moody this pregnancy. And I had some periods of pretty intense stress, which didn't help. (Well, intense for me. I know I have a blessed, peaceful, conflict-free life.) And sometimes I would worry about how I was going to manage two children when even one sweet, healthy, loving, mostly obedient child was wearing me out so badly. But, I consoled myself with the idea that people far less competent than I have pulled it off.
25 weeks (and our first ever professional family photo shoot)
38 weeks. At my dad's funeral. But that's another story.
Our first child was born on her due date, which we certainly weren't expecting. So we hadn't had any of this anxiously waiting "will it be today?" stuff before. To make it worse, this go-around I, for some reason, never trusted the due date (determined by the ultrasound) and always felt like the baby would come at the end of June. Sadly, this caused me a few weeks of unnecessary anxiety. And normally I pride myself on being an un-anxious person. But that hasn't been the case the last few months. Thanks pregnancy hormones.
By the time my actual due date (July 2) rolled around, I'd already been expecting the baby to arrive any minute for more than a week. The day before the official due date, I decided to do whatever I could to move things along. I went and saw the chiropractor. I ate tons of watermelon (that's how my mom got my little brother out). I got a labor-inducing pizza for dinner (and it was super delicious, though ultimately ineffective). I even got out of bed at midnight to make labor-inducing cookies. (Sadly, the instructions said to eat at least five and I could only manage to eat one and a half. I can't eat very much at a time when I'm pregnant.) All for naught.
But (as is so often the case) it was just as well that my due date didn't work out (or the false labor days before that). I got a text from one of my midwives in the morning telling me not to come to my scheduled office visit because they were all at a different birth. That midwife stopped by my house in the late afternoon to check on me, and it turns out they had delivered four babies in the last three days. They were very thankful that I was "waiting my turn."
So I kept waiting. For some reason, at this point I honestly didn't think the baby would ever come. I could see myself dying at the age of 90, still pregnant. I started asking Matt 20-30 times a day if he really thought the baby would ever come. He said he was very sure. I was not at all sure, but I clung to his faith.
We decided (well, I decided and Matt went along with it) that the 7th would be a good day. It's Matt's mom's favorite number (all of her kids have seven letters in their names), and it is Hebrew for being holy and complete. And 7/7 is an awesome birthday. But I had "chosen" several good birthdays before this, so I didn't take it too seriously.
I was tempted to try some labor-inducing stuff on the 6th, but I decided not to set myself up for failure again. But when we went to bed at 10:30, I remembered my sister's advice to take a vigorous walk. That's how she's gotten all three of her children out. So, I got out of bed and went on a walk. Matt offered to come with me, but I reminded him someone had to stay home with the toddler. I decided to just walk up and down our street so that if something did happen and Matt had to come pick me up, it would be close enough that he could just leave Adele at home briefly. While I walked, I told my body how awesome it was and tried to get it pumped up about opening up and delivering the baby. I felt invigorated and optimistic. Then I went home and went to sleep.
At 12:30, Adele woke up, so I went and got into bed with her. Instead of demanding a bottle right away, she went back to sleep and so did I. But not too long thereafter, she woke up and asked for a bottle. So, I got up to get her one. I stepped the four steps out of the bedroom and (fortunately) as soon as I was off of the rug and on to the hardwood floor in the hall, my water broke. This was very unexpected! You know, only about 7% of women's water break before they go into labor. I only know of two women that it's even happened to. But it happened to me.
As I rushed blindly to the bathroom and turned on the light, I could see (even without my glasses) that the amniotic fluid was green and murky. Bad sign! I got into the bathtub and started calling for Matt. This was easier said than done because he's a very deep sleeper, we had three fans on, and I was trying to yell quietly so as not to disturb Adele. As soon as I got his attention, I told him my water broke and he should get Adele a bottle. I was hoping she would go back to sleep, but obviously that was a pipe dream.
And that's when the pain started, or at least when I could started noticing it. This was not at all like the "pain" I experienced with my "
hippy dippy textbook-perfect" first birth, which I would hardly even call pain at all (intense, yes; painful, not so much). And it wasn't like the pain you read about in labor and delivery preparation books: no peaks, no waves, no ebbing in and out-- just all pain, all the time, turned up to high. I sat in the tub and sprayed hot water on my uterus and that helped a bit. But I was in a lot of pain, and I had no idea what was going on. I didn't know if I was actually even in labor and was especially worried about the murky amniotic fluid. And as I was hosing myself off to manage the pain, I started shaking so much I was worried I might be going into shock.
Matt came in (I guess he brought my glasses because I had them at this point) and called the midwife and told her what was going on. She agreed the situation was quite atypical (i.e. the pain not coming and going in waves) and said we might have to go to the hospital. I was bad enough off and worried enough that I asked if we should drive or take an ambulance, and she said that was up to me. She asked if the baby was moving, which he wasn't, which obviously really added to my stress level. Then she said she would be there as quick as she could be. That gave me some courage, and since I really didn't want to go to the hospital (that's why I planned a home birth after all), I decided I would wait until she got here. Then Matt called his mom to come pick up Adele. Then he called my mom so she could be praying for us. We were both pretty worried. But I couldn't really focus on how worried I was because I was in a lot of pain and it required pretty much all my attention. But I was praying for my baby to be safe as best I could while dealing with it.
I was so thankful to be in the tub because the water really did help a lot. But it's not a big tub and as I moved around to get in comfortable positions, most of my body wouldn't be in the water at all. Somewhere around this time, the pain did start coming and going a tiny bit, just like pain is supposed to during labor, and that made me think that maybe, hopefully this was just regular labor after all. As an act of faith, I told Matt to go ahead and start filling up the birthing tub (which, thanks to my bouts of false labor, was already inflated and ready in the bedroom). The disadvantage to this was that the water supply for the shower had to be used to fill up the birthing tub, so I lost my very soothing hose. But, I was largely past the point of being able to manage the hose anyway.
I should note that at this point, Adele was, of course, out of bed and wandering around, very interested in what was happening. I was trying to seem calm and happy so she wouldn't freak out, and I must have been acting more put-together than I was feeling because it seemed to be working. She was wandering around like usual, trying to control things like whether or not I should have the bath water on. At one point Matt came in and told Adele that he needed to wash her feet. I had noticed that her feet were really dirty when I put her to bed, but I remember thinking, "Seriously Matt?! That's your priority right now?!" But I told myself that he could have whatever priorities he wanted, and I should just let him do his thing. I mentioned that to him after the fact, and he told me that he was washing her feet because she'd been walking through the amniotic fluid on the floor of the hall. I'm glad I decided to just let him do his thing! (I just like how this illustrates the benefits of trusting your partner, even when they seem crazy.)
I remember really, really wishing that I had my contacts in, but I knew there was no chance that I would take the time/energy to do that. I also remember being really, really thirsty, but I also knew that I absolutely would not be able exert the energy to drink water, even though one word from me would bring the straw right to my lips. But I couldn't do that, even though I was dying of thirst. Birth is funny.
Around this time, I remembered how much low moaning had helped manage the "pain" during the most intense part of my first birth, so I started doing that. It did help quite a bit, but not as much as I remember it helping before. And I really missed the support and comradery of having my three midwives there helping me to remember to moan lower. They had also been rubbing my back and holding my leg during this time. I felt quite alone in comparison. I mean Matt was there, thankfully, but he was pretty busy running around doing other urgent things.
Matt's mom arrived in record time (we were both shocked at how quickly she got there), and I was thankful not to have to manage/worry about Adele anymore. The midwife arrived a few minutes after. The first thing she did was check the baby's heart rate, which was fine. Hallelujah, Hallelujah! That took my stress level down considerably. She then checked the baby's position, and he was positioned perfectly. That was additional peace of mind because when I had been feeling my belly in bed earlier, it had seemed to me like he had gone sideways. (I had been planning on popping by the midwives' office the next day for a position check.) Then she checked my cervix and declared that I was already in transition (the very last part before you start pushing, and the most intense part of the whole labor). Everything made much more sense now! All of my stress and anxiety had been resolved, and I was ready to have a zen birth. At that point and with reassurance from the midwife, I felt like the pain became much more manageable. I was still in the tub alone while Matt and Melissa (the midwife) ran around getting things ready, but I remember the pain being better (even without my soothing, pain-relieving bath hose, which you'll recall was being used to fill the birthing tub).
It must have been at that time that Melissa, showing the foresight and wisdom earned by her years of delivering babies, stated that she definitely did not foresee us having enough time to finish filling the birthing tub, so we turned off the water. Everyone was too busy to detach the hose and bring it back to the regular bath tub, but that's okay. Melissa was very busy bringing all sorts of bins and equipment into our rather small bathroom (oddly, that was probably my clearest memory of the entire birth).
Around this time, I asked Matt to ask Melissa if I could start pushing. She said not quite yet because I still had some cervix left. Then I thought to myself, "Why did I even bother asking her? She's not the boss of me. I'm having a hippy dippy birth, so I'm listening to my body." So, I started pushing.
Let me tell you, once I started pushing, I became the happiest person on God's green earth. I could have been the poster child for blissful birthing. It was quite euphoric. I was all laughing and smiles. At this point, I told Matt that we'd be able to have more children after all. Melissa assumed that I said that because I had been overwhelmed by the pain of labor, but in fact, it was because in the last few weeks of pregnancy, I had been so tired and my uterus so sore that I had told Matt several times that I didn't know if I could be pregnant again. But the pushing gave me such a rush that I felt like I could endure any amount of pregnancy inconvenience in the future. Bring it on!!
By the time Melissa was able to start video taping the birth (bless her for remembering how much I wanted a video!!), the baby's head was already mostly out. She was holding the camera, so she started coaching Matt to go catch the baby, but I asked her to please do it, so Matt was unceremoniously handed the camera. I'm so, so thankful for the video, but I do have to say that this birth was not as photogenic as my first one. Between my lack of time to put on my official birthing outfit (I was wearing my "birthday suit" instead of my "birthing suit") and the camera man's very (appropriately) divided attention (meaning he was paying attention to me and not the video--he was busy pouring water on my stomach, as I had instructed him to at some previous point)), well, let's just say that not many people will be seeing this birthing video. (my bare bosom is very prominently featured.)
I was so, so happy to be pushing, that I couldn't stop, as is obvious from the birth video. I will give you a partial transcript:
Melissa: With your next push, you're going to have a baby.
Me: Really?!! That wasn't so bad!! [remembering the beginning part of labor] Well, that was sort of bad. Is he okay?!! Is he breathing?!!
Melissa: Well, not yet. He's snorkeling. [his head was still under water] He's getting oxygen from the cord.
Me: [pushing]
Melissa: Is that a contraction?
Me: [pushing] I don't know. I just want to push. [more pushing]
Melissa: You should probably wait for the next contraction.
Me: [pushing] Do I have to? [more pushing]
Melissa: Well, that's usually how it works.
Me: [pushing] Are you sure? [pushing]
Melissa: I think so. That's how it usually goes.
Me: [continues pushing]
So, pretty much, nothing was keeping me from pushing. I was a pushing machine. At this point, Melissa comments that his hand is up by his head. And he was born about 15 seconds later.
Fifty-one minutes after my water broke.
Nineteen minutes after the midwife arrived. It was pretty fast and furious.
As soon as he was out, Melissa put him on my chest. His eyes were opened and he was looking around, so I thought everything was okay. But Melissa, in her very calm, not-at-all-panic-inducing way, was acting rather urgently, so I wised up that the situation was not picture perfect. She started suctioning out his mouth and telling him to, "come on buddy." She assured us that he was still getting oxygen from the cord, but was "a little floppidy." She started listening to his chest with a stethoscope, and then started giving him oxygen with one of those hand-held mask thingies. I could tell that things were serious, but since she was so calm, I was too (more or less). I was rubbing Ivar and talking to him and telling him how beautiful he was and how glad we were that he was here. As a hippy dippy, I'm a big believer that the first minutes after birth are super important, so I wanted him to feel very loved and safe. All told, Melissa worked on him one minute and fifteen seconds before his first breath. (When I asked at a follow-up appointment, she told me that she sees that a lot in babies born with a hand up by their face. Her theories are that it's either because the babies get elbowed in the rib pretty hard during delivery, or because their chests don't get that final squeeze on the way out.)
This not-breathing-when-he-came-out situation made me so, so, so thankful that we had a home birth for three reasons: (1) if we had been trying to drive to a hospital, he would have almost surely been born in the car, and who would have helped him start breathing then? I hadn't even notice that he wasn't breathing. (2) I'm so thankful that his whole intervention happened on my chest, and that he wasn't on the other side of the room on a cold table being resuscitated, thus interfering with the important first few moments of life. (3) Throughout the whole thing, he was still connected to the umbilical cord, so he was getting all the oxygen he needed in the meantime. I really don't understand why everyone doesn't do
delayed clamping.
So, he was born, then he started breathing, and then we got to bond.
I love this picture! Look at how happy I am! And all bright-eyed and bushy tailed. I'm still on the pushing high.
Matt called his mom to tell her the baby had arrived. I could hear how surprised she was, which made me smile even more. She was not even home with Adele yet (and they only live about 20 minutes away). I'd imagine Matt called my mom too, but I don't have as clear a memory of that.
Then Matt and Melissa were back to rushing around doing I don't know what, and I sat in the bathtub bonding with Ivar. Eventually I asked for a glass of juice, and someone brought me my special Trader Joe's green juice purchased especially for the occasion. Again, this was quite different from the post-birth pampering and surrounding love and attention after my first birth. C'est la vie.
Eventually I moved into our bed, where I pushed out the placenta. No problems there. I did need just a few little stitches, and that wasn't so bad-- I held the baby, and Matt held my hand, and I was very brave, and it hardly hurt at all (a local anesthetic was used).
At some point, Matt and Melissa emptied and removed the partially-filled birthing tub. There's a bit of a story there, but I'll skip it.
Ivar David Harker
July 7, 2015, 1:49 a.m.
9 lbs. 1 oz., 22 in.
Melissa left around 5, and we slept for a few hours. Then in the morning, Grandma brought Adele over to meet the new baby, which was fun.
Then Adele went back home with Grandma, and Matt and I spent the day laying around, watching TV, and sleeping. Here's me doing some skin-to-skin on Day 1.
Looking back on the labor and delivery, I laugh because in many ways, it was just like what happens on TV, which natural birthers tell you doesn't happen: the water breaking before labor starts and the mother instantly being overcome with birthing pains. I laugh because I didn't have the labor I was expecting: hours of laying in bed relaxing through the contractions while Matt rubbed my back (I was really looking forward to that! Matt gives great back rubs.) And mostly I laugh because I'm so glad Ivar "finally" arrived and was safe and sound. I still think of those 20ish minutes laboring in the bathtub waiting for the midwife and not knowing if he was okay. It really super duper makes me appreciate his safe arrival.
Since his speedy arrival 3 1/2 months ago, Ivar has really had a "get 'er done" attitude. He lost his umbilical cord 36 hours after birth, starting smiling at Day 4 (really! not just gas! Yes, I'm bias, but they were real smiles), and was so strong that every doctor, nurse, and chiropractor that has worked on him has commented on it (he really gave the nurse pricking his heel on Day 3 for his PKU test a run for her money), and even rolled over once on Day 6.
He is so happy and easy-going. Stable and calm, just like his dad. Very different from his mom and sister. He makes our family so much better, and we are so so glad to have him.
Thank you for being born, Ivar!
