Jacob's birth story

"This is the best thing I've ever read," I thought to myself after reviewing Matthew's birth story a few weeks ago.

"There is absolutely no way I'm doing that again," I thought immediately after that. If the hour of transition hadn't been bad enough what with my moaning and dry sobbing through endless, continuous contractions, then the ten or so minutes of pushing through a crown of fire and thorns certainly sealed the deal. I was not going to have pushing like that ever again. I was getting an epidural.

That is, I was, if I ever started having regular contractions. I began having contractions early Sunday morning but I knew from previous labors that they didn't quite hurt enough to count, nor were they consistent enough for me to count. I scheduled an appointment for myself Monday morning (my actual due date) to see if they could do something to turn my self-diagnosed prodromal labor into real labor. Although it was a bit disheartening to learn that 30 hours of irregular contractions had only dilated me to 2 cm and 50% effaced, the visit was worth it to watch the nurse watch my tummy for a good 5 minutes during a stress test. The belts were a little tight so the baby in me did all he could to kick them off. For most of the stress test he was sticking his elbows and knees out to create visible bulges across my abdomen and rolling around to create ripples across my tummy.

The nurse stood there just staring for several minutes. "I've been in labor and delivery for 5 years, and I've never seen anything like this," she said. I had spent several nights enjoying this gymnastics show for the past few months, but this particular routine combined with her reaction made me giggle. After she left, the doctor stripped my membrane and I hoped for the best.

But it was not to be. The rest of the day was uneventful until my parents pulled up in their minivan which was filled to the brim with canned goods, boxes, and even a bassinet. They had made their long trek across most of the United States to help us for almost two weeks. It was as magical as it sounds.

The next few days we showed them around parts of New Haven -- the food trucks, bits of Yale, some parks, etc. My mom did an excellent job scouting out several of the grocery stores and filling our home with their contents.

But still no baby. Still no baby.

Lady Antepartum

 Then one afternoon that began to change. Although my contractions never made it to my back (which I had used to distinguish real contractions from fake ones for my last two labors), they became more uncomfortable and more regular as afternoon turned into evening. While Kevin and my dad watched Spiderman (now joining Big Hero 6 as one of the worst movies ever because I was exposed to it during labor) I timed the contractions until I was convinced they weren't going away.

"I'm going to call the hospital, but I'm going to time it so that they hear me try to talk through a contraction," I announced. At this point the contractions were about 6-7 minutes apart, so when it seemed like a good time I called. They assured me the doctor would call back soon. When the doctor did call, the timing was off.

"You sound awfully cheerful," she remarked. Rats, I thought. "You should wait another hour," she said.

"This is my third baby," I said, but it didn't change her mind. So I started throwing random items into the hospital bag and then sat around waiting for Spiderman to end. Once it was done Kevin and I headed to the hospital. Although I was grateful that I didn't have any contractions in the car, it made me worry. What if this didn't progress? What if all my contractions hadn't helped move things along? Luckily, once we arrived at the hospital, the contractions came every other minute so I stopped worrying. Then it was just more of the waiting game, bracing myself through the "internal organ hugs" (to quote Bunmi Laditan) and losing all traces of my previous cheerfulness with each hug.

Eventually the doctor showed up and checked me. "You're almost at 7 cm," she said, which wasn't too much of a surprise. Kevin and I walked with the nurse over to the delivery room where I made it clear I wanted an epidural. "Pushing hurt a lot last time. I don't want that again." She agreed heartily and the anesthesiologist showed up soon after.

When he stuck the needle in my back I flinched pretty hard, so when he told me "You're the best patient of the day," I didn't believe him, and I told him so. "You say that to everyone."

"Wow," he responded incredulously.

"He really doesn't," the nurse promised. "You're doing awesome."

The anesthesiologist kept me distracted from the rest of the epidural process by talking about Gordon Hayward and the NBA in general, and then before I knew it my thighs were beginning to feel numb. Hallelujah! I was laid down onto my left side to get it all numb, and then the doctor showed up with some residents and med students.

"We're going to break your water, and that will probably speed up labor quite a bit." Once she had done that, she said, "If I don't hear from you I'll come back in 2 hours. But . . . I'll probably hear from you before then."

I then lay down on my right side to get that side numb so I could take a quick nap. I could tell I was going through transition, but the epidural had numbed the pain on my left side and taken the edge of the right side so it was a lot more bearable. Within about two minutes of closing my eyes, I felt something.

"I need to push," I told Kevin. He pushed the call button and the doctor came back in. The baby had descended further into the birth canal, but it still wasn't quite time. She left and I settled back down to take a nap.

Within five minutes, I felt the urge to push again. I didn't care if I was crying wolf. I needed to push! The doctor came back in and said she would stick around until the baby was born since it was definitely happening soon. The resident checked me and I had gone from the -1 station (according to the doctor's measurement a few minutes earlier) to the -3 station (that is, the baby had gone back up the birth canal). The doctor made kind of a funny face at that impossibility but let it slide. "We'll give it one more minute and then you'll be good to push."

"I don't know if I want to push," I said. "I don't think the epidural has kicked in enough."

"You should be numb there, so don't worry."

And then the pushing began. I figured out pretty fast that I wasn't numb in that region, and I also figured out pretty fast that it hurt. I let out the same primeval wails of agony and wordless roars as I had almost exactly 2 years earlier.

In moments of lucidity, I had the same thought over and over. "Seriously? Seriously? Seriously? I got that needle in my back to avoid this and I still feel it? Seriously? Seriously?"

I reminded myself that as soon as it was done it wouldn't hurt anymore. Soon a baby would slide out and all would be good. I just had to get him out! After 11 minutes of fire and thorns, he came out clutching his umbilical cord and screaming up a storm.

And then, oh, sweet relief! That's a big baby!" the doctor announced. "Do you want to guess how big?"

"8 pound range," I said conservatively. After I cuddled with him for a few happy minutes, the umbilical cord stopped pulsing so they cut the cord and weighed him. 8 pounds, 8 ounces. Big enough, that's for sure.

And absolutely perfect.

We sure love him!