Today marks the last day of Pregnancy Week 34 . I am big, big, big. I had a midwife appointment the day before Thanksgiving during which I learned I had gained 6 lbs in three weeks, which is more than the recommended 1/2 a pound to a pound a week.
Not exactly a great way to kick off Thanksgiving weekend, but it’s not like I had made any major changes to how I’ve been eating and/or moving (answer: kind of a lot, and not much, at this point, TBH). I think the baby is just packing on the ell-bees him or herself, and I have not been getting in the way of that.
I did eat salad during both Thanksgiving dinners I enjoyed this week (and avoided seconds, for the most part), and have been filling up on kale smoothies during breakfast #2. I certainly don’t want to get myself into any health trouble, but I also am trying not to panic about something I have limited control over.
The week remained busy as heck as I tackle an extra freelancing project, and The Toddler’s most recent foray into part-time child care has, of course, brought with it a nasty cold that has made each night an endless battle. If it’s not a crying toddler waking me up, it’s the pregnancy insomnia. I’m feeling pretty worn out.
While I know that I’m not going to feel less exhausted when this baby is out, I’m looking forward to being able to get off the couch (or the floor, or out of bed) unassisted. Labor has become less of a faint, fuzzy memory and more of a looming reality.
One way I’ve begun to prepare is to start eating dates each day. I’ve had an unusual craving for dates throughout this pregnancy, but I’ve ramped up my consumption to six a day over the past week or so. There have actually been a few publishedstudies demonstrating a statistically significant difference in the overall duration of labor and need for pitocin between women who eat dates in the weeks leading up to labor and women who don’t. (There was no evidence that dates start labor any earlier than it would have otherwise.)
The Husband has made this task much nicer with a lovely just-because (you’re huge and miserable) gift, a sampler box of different types of dates.
So sweet. (The Husband and the dates.)
So. Judging by my to-do list, I’m not ready for this baby, necessarily, but I do feel done with pregnancy. If it goes the way my pregnancy with Baby 1 did, I have just over four more weeks to go. That measure feels both impossibly endless and like no time at all.
The latent sense of not feeling prepared for the baby at the end of this pregnancy is becoming more of a constant buzz in my consciousness as I find myself at the end of my 33rd week of pregnancy. Assuming I go into labor around the same time I did with my first, I have just five more weeks to get my shit together, and my to-do list looms long and neglected while life keeps getting in the way.
At 33 weeks, the baby is somewhere in the 17-19 inch range and anywhere between 4 and 6 pounds, and the estimations from here on out look to be pretty sketchy at best, as babies start to really diverge as they approach their final birth weight/length. Judging by the movements I’ve been feeling lately, the baby is mostly feet. One weird progression I read in my weekly updates is that, while awake, baby is keeping his or her eyes open in utero. I wonder what it looks like in there.
As for me, well…
I think this about sums it up.
I’m humongous. I can’t stop eating, but also, heartburn. I can’t breathe. It takes me 30 seconds to roll over in bed and a full minute to get up off the floor. My back hurts if I’m on my feet too long (oh, and also if I’m sitting too long). I’ve been super emotional–crying over very silly things, or for no reason at all. My abdominal muscles hurt from being stretched. I’ve had a few dizzy spells. I’m getting to the stage where only really long maternity shirts cover my huge, huge belly. My huge, huge belly that my toddler thinks is a trampoline.
And while I’m starting to look forward to not being pregnant anymore, this past week with The Toddler has also reminded me that I’ll be trading in immobility and indigestion for mind-numbing sleep deprivation.
While I’ve been using it as a blanket excuse for every behavioral hiccup for the past five months or so, The Toddler is finally, truly sprouting two-year molars, and that has manifested in really rotten sleep. He’s pretty miserable, and his parents are pooped. I think it’s affecting his dad more than me, because in the middle of the night, I am the last person The Toddler wants to see. So I get to go back to bed while The Dad tries to soothe him. It’s a good thing we put a twin bed in his room.
Though the teething hasn’t been particularly fun this week, we have pressed on in one important way toward preparing our household for the baby: The Toddler has started going to daycare (though we’re calling it “school”) a few mornings a week. I’ve been both meaning to do this forever and putting it off, first because my freelance work has been so feast-or-famine, and then because I wanted to feel he was fully through potty training before I threw off his routine.
So when my freelance work picked up this week, it ended up being the perfect catalyst for getting him out of the house a few mornings a week. (And, conveniently, the perfect excuse for further baby-prep procrastination.)
The Toddler has been struggling with drop-offs a little, but otherwise has a great time. And so has his mom! I’ve gotten a bunch of work done–mostly the paid version, but this morning I spent most of daycare time blowing leaves that have piled up on our front sidewalk and then did some shopping.
I picked up some stuff for my hospital bag (future post to come–after my next midwife appointment this week I plan to finalize my checklist to share with you) and for those special breastfeeding-time play kits to keep The Toddler occupied. That, too, will be a future post.
In the meantime, here’s hoping those teeth pop so The Husband and I can catch up on some sleep and tackle more of our to-do list.
Today closes out week 26 of my pregnancy with Baby 2, and also wraps up the nesting frenzy that started last week.
First, a quick stats and symptoms rundown:
Baby weighs in at about 2 pounds and measures 14 inches from head to foot, or the size of a butternut squash, a slow loris, a bowling pin or an adult human skull???
Me? Oh, I’m good, thanks. Just rushing through this post on my way to nap-town because I was awake for hours last night with insane heartburn, which was 100% deserved because I celebrated my (presumed) passing of my glucose test by eating the following yesterday:
Breakfast: Homemade apple pie (my husband is amazing) and most of an everything bagel (split with The Toddler) and Neufchatel cheese
Lunch: Homemade apple pie with vanilla ice cream, also half a mango
Afternoon snack: Vanilla ice cream
Dinner: French fries
I am contrite. This college freshman diet will not happen again during this pregnancy–if not for the sake of my unborn child’s health, then for my own sake.
Speaking of my husband is amazing, we plowed through a ton of to-dos over the week he took off work, despite the unrelenting heat wave. Rather than rewrite the list, I’ll direct you to my Instagram post listing off all the stuff he made possible.
What I really want to talk about this post is what’s been weighing on my mind this week aside from prepping our physical space for another baby: Impending labor, and how I hope to approach it this time around.
My first childbirth experience went pretty much how I hoped it would. While we were bound by insurance to deliver in a county hospital with 90 percent+ epidural rates and limited accommodations for anyone pursuing an unmedicated birth, I managed to get through L&D *without an epidural and felt like a goddamned rock star. (Here’s my birth story if you’re interested.)
.*I super don’t care how you gave birth or plan to give birth–alone in the woods, with an epidural in place beginning at 36 weeks, or a scheduled C-section and tummy tuck, so please don’t take my satisfaction at my birth going how I wanted it as judgment about your birth plans or experience.
That said, there were parts of my experience that I hope to improve upon this time around, and now that I’m approaching the third trimester, I’m starting to consider these goals in more concrete terms. I’ll probably tackle this topic from a few directions in the coming weeks, but I thought I’d start with a general list of worries and hopes, and go from there:
I hope my labor is shorter than last time, but not alarmingly so. With Baby 1, it was 12 hours start to finish. I waited as long as The Husband could stand it before we left for the hospital, but back then it was a (very difficult) 10-minute drive. This time, we’re looking at a 40-minute commute, so I’m hoping to balance getting labor off the ground at home and not pushing our luck on the road.
I’m worried my more sedentary second pregnancy is going to make this labor harder. I wasn’t insanely in shape the first time, but I was walking 3-4 miles almost every day, and that’s just not in the cards this time around. I’m trying to work exercise into my days when I can, but I don’t know if it will be enough to give me the strength, stamina and flexibility I had last time
I want pushing to go better this time around. I talked to one of the midwives at my appointment this week about how the directed pushing (the counting, the nurses and doctor telling me when to push and how long) just didn’t feel right, and how it resulted in some moderate (and painful) tearing, along with a lot of popped blood vessels in my face and eyes. She told me she doesn’t ascribe to this method, and generally advises moms to let their bodies tell them when and how to push, so I’m hoping with enough preparation on my end and a more supportive environment at the birthing center will mean a better time of pushing, and less damage control in the aftermath.
I hope my husband feels equipped to help me with birth, without a doula, this time. This birth is costing us more, so we’re not hiring a doula, and while The Husband was a great labor partner last time around, it was also really nice to have a doula to support us both. He’s got some studying up/refreshing to do (hoping to get a hold of this book soon), and I also need to do my own work to figure out what types of affirmations, massage, positions, etc. I remember being helpful last time or that I think I’d like this time so he can be ready to help me get what I need when the time comes.
As I think is extremely common with second-time moms, I’m anxious about how we’ll make sure The Toddler feels included in welcoming his new sibling, how our relationship will evolve, and (of course) how the heck I’m going to survive on 3 hours of sleep a night for a few weeks while also being responsible for a 2-year-old.
Speaking of The Toddler, looks like he’s not going to be napping for awhile, so neither am I. Better wrap this up.
We’re halfway through Week 10 of pregnancy with Baby No. 2. I have no exciting updates to tell you about my symptoms. I’m still exhausted, still nauseous. Maybe more than the weeks before, so it’s my hope I’m at peak yuck and will be feeling better soon. The food aversions I had during my pregnancy with The Toddler hadn’t cropped up much this time around, but lately they have returned. I managed to put a frozen pizza in the oven for the family before retreating to my bed as soon as The Husband came home, and then ended up eating feta cheese on Flipside crackers. In bed. For dinner. Because pizza, and basically anything except Flipside crackers and feta, sounded absolutely repulsive.
Enough about my appetite, though. I went to a baby shower for my college roommate over the weekend, and it got me thinking about what I’d register for if I did it all over again. So instead of directly inundating my roommate (and several other friends) with unsolicited advice about what they should get, I thought I’d make a shortlist of things I’d get if I were a first-timer, and they can choose to read or ignore as they wish.
*My blog is too smalltime to make any money. I’m not getting anything out of recommending these.
**For real, fam & friends: This is a list of suggestions/cool things that have come out just in the last two years to help out other expectant parents. Some of this is stuff I already have, and some is just a better version of something I already have. Don’t take this as an unsubtle request!
Forget your tricky, cumbersome travel cribs of yore. This is super easy to set up, with a cushy mattress, a backpack-style carry case, and a zippered side panel so you don’t have to figure out how to lower a sleeping or nearly sleeping baby all the way to the floor through the top. I used this a few times at a friend’s house for naps and have wanted one ever since. My only wish is that it had a silent zipper. I think we’re going to get one (our hand-me-down Pack ‘N Play tore) along with the bassinet attachments for the new kid.
We registered for glass bottles the first time around, and ended up with plastic. Which is fine, but while Dr. Bronner’s may be touted for being anti-colic or whatever, having FIVE pieces of a bottle to wash and reassemble every time is less. than. ideal. I saw an ad for this on Instagram, which converts your basic 4 oz. or 8 oz. mason jar into a bottle, and WANT! We use mason jars for food storage, drinking glasses, etc. so this is a natural next step in our collection. I like the silicone sleeves to help prevent breakage, too.
Breastfeeding was the mystery of mysteries before The Baby arrived. It was the apex of the unknown that surrounds new parenthood. I didn’t know how to do it, or how it would feel, or what I’d need, so I didn’t get much before The Baby arrived. (And what I did get was gifted to me by friends who knew better.) One thing that would have really come in handy, especially those first weeks when my supply was out of control and we were still working out the latch, was a way to catch any extra. These handy little nursing covers collect that leaked milk so it doesn’t go to waste.
Babywearing was clutch for me from the very beginning. Intimidated at first by the complicated baby wraps, I got a Baby K’Tan for both me and The Husband (two of them, because they’re sized to the wearer.) They were pretty easy to use, but I ended up finding my stretchy wrap to be more comfortable as The Baby got bigger, and the K’Tan ended up being a short-lived, though very helpful, piece of baby gear. If I did it again, I’d get us a set of these, instead. I’m definitely not spending the money when what we have now will suit us fine, but if you’re building your registry and don’t already have a newborn babywearing solution, I think this is pretty sweet!
I might have already included these on a long-ago registry recommendation, but they’re so good. It’s really hard to keep things on baby feet. This is the exception. They snap snugly around the ankle, are super warm and super cute. I bought a size big so they’d last a little longer (and because The Baby has giant feet.)
That’s all I can think of right now, and I gotta shower before The Toddler wakes up from his nap. One more quick recommendation for soon-to-be moms: The Birth Hour podcast. I’ve started listening to it to reacquaint myself with the thought of childbirth, and more than I could have imagined it has taught me some really helpful things about preparing for labor and childbirth. I’m focusing on the low-intervention/unmedicated stories, because that’s what I’m aiming for, but this features everything from scheduled C-Sections and epidurals to some more unusual circumstances. (Obvious caveat: Only listen to what you’re prepared to hear. There are stories about loss and emergencies and such.)
I’m a little turned off by the fact that a lot of the storytellers are also “sponsors” of the episodes (people with Etsy shops for baby headbands, birth centers themselves, etc.) and the host isn’t the most compelling interviewer, but the moms themselves are usually really good storytellers, and so far this is the best I’ve come across in terms of pregnancy/childbirth-related podcasting content. It definitely has value for anyone with a due date in the future, and I’m glad I found it despite these minor complaints.
May your (baby) shower be as relaxing and invigorating as the shower I’m about to take.
Edited to add: Backpack-style diaper bag, because it’s really fun when your shoulder bag swings around and bashes your kid while you’re getting him out of his carseat.
I have alluded to my IRL friend, new mom and far more dedicated blogger Melissa a couple of times. She has a six-ish week old baby, the lovely Sir FW, and I thought it would be a fun idea to interview her about where she is at in the great adventure of motherhood. She agreed and interviewed me, too.
We both had so much to say that this has now become a miniseries. This week, she’s answering my questions about pregnancy.
Without further ado, here’s Part One of my interview with Melissa. (If you’re into fitness, baking, healthy eating and/or new mom stuff, I highly recommend you check out and subscribe to her blog! She’s an inspiration in all of these areas without making you feel like a failure – a rare and wondrous balance in the world of fitness/food/mom bloggers.)
Ask A Mom: Melissa at I Crashed The Web
Part One: Pregnancy and becoming a mom
Has motherhood changed your perspective on the world in any way?
I’m much more sensitive to stories in the news, on TV (real or fake), etc. that deal with violence, tolerance and/or children. I want FW to grow up in a world that is peaceful. I want him to live in a world that tolerates him and his beliefs- whatever they may be. And I want him to be safe. I’m now so much more affected by what’s going on in the world around me, now that my world is so much more than me- it’s me and my family.
What was the worst parenting or pregnancy advice you got before baby arrived?
Sleep when the baby sleeps. Okay, so this isn’t exactly awful advice (I did take a 40 min nap today while FW slept, yay!), but do what works for you. Some days, your baby won’t sleep much or only in spurts of 10-20 minutes, so don’t rely on this for your naps. Sleep when you can and do what you wanna do while the baby naps. Yesterday for me, this was baking lemon zucchini bread. Another day it was working out. Do what you need to do to stay sane – whether it’s sleep, shower or just sit on the couch and eat a brownie (or two).
What was the hardest part of pregnancy for you?
Slowing down. I thrive on being busy and productive and I had to change my lifestyle somewhat near the end. I got tired more easily, especially during the end, and I had to make sleep a bigger priority. I no longer could run 5 miles, meal prep, blog, go for a walk, and hang out with friends all in one day – it was too tiring! Running a 5k felt like a half marathon and I was pooped. I had to prioritize and spend my free time doing more relaxing than usual.
What surprised you about pregnancy?
How easy it was for me. I was really lucky in that I had a relatively easy pregnancy. I didn’t have morning sickness. I didn’t feel toooooo large or uncomfortable until the end and I was able to keep up a somewhat active lifestyle throughout – I continued running (I did a 5k at 38.5 weeks) and walking throughout. I know that not all pregnancies are that easy and I feel so lucky!
Are you happy with your childbirth experience? Is there anything you wish would have gone differently?
I went in without a birth plan – I told the nurses and doctors my plan was “to have a healthy and happy baby” and I got it. Would I have liked to have been able to manage without an epidural? Yes. Would I have liked to have had only one epidural instead of having them have to do it twice because the first one didn’t work? Yes. But overall, I’m very happy.
This is the final part of my three-part birth story. Catch up on Part 1 and Part 2.
Last I left you, I had just yelled something about my digestive system I haven’t uttered aloud since preschool with what I think was probably a lot of volume in a room full of strangers and the man who at some point in the recent past I had convinced to make a baby with me.
But so is the beauty of childbirth.
Anyway, Dr. Not-my-doctor-but-fine-anyway posted up with his catcher’s mitt as the urge to push descended on me. It wasn’t quite as strong or as much of a relief as I had read it could be. The contractions still hurt like a mother and I didn’t really feel like anything was coming out. It just HURT. So much so that my bovine moans turned into panicked, I’m-being-chased-by-an-axe-wielding-maniac screams. This is where my doula Rachel came in sooooo clutch. I think The Husband was holding my hand or one of my knees or something but probably also trying not to panic/pass out (as I surely would have been, in his situation), and while he was a hell of a support, neither of us knew what to do at this point. Rachel got in my face and kindly but very firmly told me I COULD NOT scream like that, that I was wasting my energy and not helping the baby out at all. She talked me off this ledge and I got back to the business of pushing for real.
The doctor and nurses started making excited-sounding comments, letting us know our baby had a full head of hair (as I fully suspected, having myself come into the world with what looked like an adult’s wig.) I think someone encouraged me to reach down and feel the baby’s head, and I tried to but I don’t remember it very clearly.
The pain was still incredibly intense and I was ready to get the baby out. I remember a thudding headache like when you’re trying to blow up a balloon that won’t expand but maybe multiply that by a few million. I tried to curve my body in a C position as I grabbed onto my leg. I remember it being difficult to push all the way through a contraction; I kept wanting breaks to breathe.
In a little more than a half hour from the time I started to push, I felt the weirdest sensation as the baby slid out. I opened my eyes wide for the first time in hours as the doctor lifted him to place him on my chest. I remember seeing his scrotum and being truly surprised it was a boy, having been sure it was a girl throughout my pregnancy.
The Baby was born at 3:36 p.m. on Christmas Day. He was placed on my chest and he cried. The Husband was gazing at him over my shoulder and I saw a tear fall on his cheek. I want to say I also cried tears of joy but I was so exhausted and relieved to be done with pushing that the happiness and the weight of motherhood hadn’t settled in me yet.
Trigger warning, this is where things get a little graphic (not too bad, but again – babies come out of human bodies), so scroll at your own risk.
The Baby’s umbilical cord was so short I think his exit basically pulled the placenta out right behind him. I remember the cord being stretched taut from where he lay on my chest to the place he just emerged from and telling the doctor it was hurting. I don’t remember pushing, but I do remember a huge gushing feeling right after. I dumbly asked the doctor, “Whoa, was that amniotic fluid?” The look on his face as he prepared a measured response so as not to alarm me made me realize that no, silly, it was about a gallon of blood.
The nursing team/cleaning crew got to work while the doctor placed a few painful but necessary stitches.
Really, though, all this was not a huge deal. I lost “on the high side of normal” amount of blood, so they started pumping me full of Pitocin to stimulate more uterine contractions.
The Dad cut the umbilical cord and got a good look at the placenta, which our childbirth instructor strongly encouraged dads to do, “because it’s so gross and so cool.”
We had narrowed our list of potential boy names down to two, and I let The Dad pick. The Baby was nursing within a half hour of delivery and kept at it for a full hour until we finally had to unlatch him to get his vitals.
In her final act of kindness and extreme helpfulness before she left, our doula took me into the bathroom and helped me get a little cleaned up before we made the trek to our recovery room. Someone put a hand-knit Santa hat on the baby. The nurses helped me into a wheelchair and fashioned a don’t-drop-the-baby sheet sling, we took a few photos and were wheeled down the corridor to introduce The Baby to our waiting family members and settle in for recovery.
So that’s it, my Christmas birth story in three parts. I have plenty more to say about the parts leading up to it and the aftermath, but I want to leave you with a few key points:
I was really lucky. Every book and blog and childbirth educator and doctor tells you to go ahead and plan for the birth you want, but to understand that plans can change and you have to be able to adapt and be okay with whatever birth story you end up with. I feel very proud and empowered that I was able to have an unmedicated childbirth, but I am not smug about it. A lot of what happened was luck and circumstance. Fetal distress, or a ruptured placenta, or a spike in blood pressure or an upside-down baby or a long list of other circumstances completely out of my control could have changed how things went down. Hell, five more minutes of that “transition”-y labor and I would have been begging for someone to knock me out by whatever means necessary. My body was strong and I had amazing support and I got the birth I wanted and I don’t take it for granted. If your birth goes differently, it’s not a failure. (But you ARE allowed to mourn if it doesn’t go the way you planned. You are allowed to be happy for a healthy baby and be bummed about a C-section or a wicked tear. Mixed emotions are the right of all mothers and childbirth is hard work no matter how it shakes out.)
I had an amazing team. My husband was great, from his successfully convincing me to go to the hospital when I was in complete denial, to his words of encouragement and his instantly protective and comforting approach to fatherhood as he let The Baby hold his finger while he was getting examined. He also was supportive and let me convince him to hire a doula, which was the best few hundred bucks we could have spent. She helped him help me better, kept us both calm, served as our birth historian (I’ve been consulting a stream-of-consciousness email she sent me tracking every event from the time we called her to the time she left the hospital) and checked in on me via text for weeks afterward. If you can afford it, even if you’re planning to get an epidural, I think it’s way worth it. They’re not hippie-dippy nutjobs who will shame you if you get the meds or try to force feed you your encapsulated placenta. They are there to support you in your choices, help you have the birth you want and help you adapt if things don’t go as planned. Learn more about doulas and find a few to interview if you’re thinking about it at DONA International.
Don’t stress eat junk food while you’re in active labor. You will not be thinking, “Damn, I really wish I had grabbed a handful of cookies before we got here,” while on all fours feeling like your bones and organs are jockeying for front row seats to a cage match in your cervix. You just won’t.
This is Part 2 of my three-part birth story. Catch up on Part 1.
We left off with me finally emerging from denial that I was in rapidly progressing labor on Christmas Day and getting into the car to meet the doula, and eventually my baby, at the hospital.
I buckled in for the 10-minute drive, clutching my phone with the contraction timer app and trying to focus on the imagery of waves crashing on the beach as I rode out three more contractions. As we pulled into the parking garage, I begged The Husband to “just fucking park now now nownownownownow” and as soon as he did I flung open the door so I could lean over the hood and not have to sit through another contraction.
As logistics would have it, The Husband’s hands were full of our hospital luggage and I was tasked with carrying in the birthing ball on my shoulder like an absurd parody of Atlas because my belly was in the way. We walked through the hospital doors and the receptionist gasped and clapped her hands together with glee. “A Christmas baby!” She said. I nodded, and a nearby doctor pulled a wheelchair around to help me into. I (hopefully) politely declined and said I’d rather walk, and the receptionist directed us to follow the arrows down a long series of hallways that was vastly different from our hospital tour.
Halfway between the gift shop and the elevators, I dropped to the ground with my front half on the birthing ball and waited out a contraction. A passing food services employee asked if I was all right and I think I said something witty in reply but probably not.
We got up to labor & delivery, and after answering absurd questions like my height and occupation while sitting on the birthing ball well below the receptionist’s line of sight at the desk, I was ushered into a triage room where a kind nurse asked me questions as quickly as she could and handed me two hospital gowns to put on – one facing front and one facing back. She allowed The Husband into the room while I was in the bathroom getting dressed, but first — another contraction! The Husband sounded a little panicky as he asked me if I was okay from the other side of the door, but I emerged in my new outfit and kicked my clothes to him to throw into my bag as a resident entered the room to check my progress.
A quick inspection of my downstairs confirmed it: I was 5 cm dilated. The nurse helped us to our labor room. It was about 12:30 by this time. The nurse had gone to call my doctor and let him know I was being admitted. She started to warn me he may not be able to come in, and we told her we knew it was unlikely he would.
The Husband met our doula Rachel and brought her back, and she immediately began to make herself invaluable, along with the very young but highly capable and enthusiastic nurses who were settling me in. Rachel did some magic with a bedsheet to make a stability-donut of sorts for the birthing ball, and draped another one over the ball itself so I wouldn’t get hospital floor filth on my exposed downstairs.
Let me pause to confirm that everything people tell you about losing any sense of shame/dignity while you’re in labor is 1,000% true. The President of the United States could have been chaperoning a class of fifth graders and a live camera crew to observe my labor and I would still have pulled my gown up like a crazed flasher to let the nurse get a better angle on my monitor belts. They told me a doctor would come by in a few hours to check my progress, congratulated me on my easy-to-read icons only birth plan (thanks, Rachel!), dimmed the lights (I think?) and left us to it.
My body decided I was not interested in sitting or lying on the bed AT ALL. I sat on the exercise ball for awhile and then moved up to leaning over the bed on a peanut ball that Rachel had supplied. She and The Husband started spoon-feeding me ice chips and it occurred to me how hilarious it was that I had been worried I’d get hungry/resent not being able to eat or drink anything at the hospital. As the contractions wore on I started to feel nauseated, a guaranteed side effect of wolfing down a handful of cookies while your contractions are 3 minutes apart.
The nurses kept having to come in and check my monitors, as I was squirming a lot and the one keeping track of baby’s heartbeat kept falling off and making alarms sound. On one of these return trips to reattach my belt, the nurse told me the doctor would be in to check soon. The on-call doctor seemed nice enough and really by this point it could have been the POTUS, a fifth-grader or a cameraman at the foot of the bed because it felt like the baby was on his or her way out and I really just needed someone who could catch. (Not to discount his contribution or the importance of having a qualified medical professional — this was just my state of mind at the time.)
All I really remember from this time when things got really serious was that I felt far better keeping my eyes shut, and I was being louder than I ever though possible. (Imagine someone directing me to imitate a water buffalo, but to really project because I’m in the middle of a football stadium and I need someone in the upper decks to hear me clearly.) I’m sure the laboring moms with epidurals in neighboring rooms were thanking their lucky stars they hadn’t done anything so idiotic as to refuse drugs.
My doula’s notes tell me that it was about 1:35 when I started to enter “transition,” also known as “Reanna’s breaking point.” The contractions seemed to be almost continuous and I remember kneeling on the bed with the back up as high as it could go, me clutching the top and saying things like, “Oh God, I don’t think I can do this,” and thinking things to myself like, “Oh God, I think I am going to have to get an epidural soon.” I remember feeling like I needed to climb away from my body.
A few minutes after that the doctor came in to see how I was moving along. I was gravely certain he was going to tell me I was only 6 or 7 centimeters, and facing the prospect of hours more of this unimaginable pressure and pain. I flipped onto my back onto the bed to try to get this uncomfortable position over as quickly as possible. The doctor examined me and exclaimed with some degree of surprise that I was, “At least 9 centimeters.” He suggested that now might be a good time to break my water, since that hadn’t happened yet. I agreed, and he got to it. I would say more about this but I really don’t remember much. I was just relieved to be close to the end.
I still couldn’t really keep my eyes open and was in the hormone-induced fog that makes unmedicated labor survivable, but The Husband tells me that some scrambling took place in the room as people prepared for delivery. Rachel changed into her scrubs, I think probably some trays of instruments were assembled, and the doctor told me he’d be right back, and that the urge to push felt a lot like the urge to poop, so to let someone know if that feeling came.
I stayed in the bed sort of lying on my side, clutching the bed rails and mentally checking out as much as possible.
In the interest of telling how things really went down, and with apologies to friends, family and future employers who may stumble across this post, it felt like only seconds passed before I called out, “I have to POOP!!!!”
Stay tuned for the next exciting installment: Santa Baby, Part 3: Hurry down the chimney tonight.