What I Did Two Years Ago
Happy Birthday, Babygirl. 
Two years ago . . .
I woke up on Labor Day and decided that I must catch up on the ironing. I was nine months pregnant and due in three days. My husband went to the office for a few hours to get caught up on work and planned to come home after lunch to take the boys to the swimming pool. I showered and got busy ironing and doing laundry.
When I finished the ironing, I decided to tidy up the main bathroom. Then I thought I should clean the toilets and sinks. I figured I may as well vacuum my room since the vacuum cleaner was upstairs. Then I noticed the dusty lampshades near by bed and vacuumed those, too. Then I dusted my entire room as well. Finally I realized it was close to lunchtime and went downstairs to put a frozen pizza in the oven. An enormously pregnant woman does not care if her already alive children must subsist on frozen pizza. She just does what she must to get by.
While I was in the kitchen (cleaning it while the pizza cooked), I noticed what seemed to be fairly regular cramps. I hesitated to call them "contractions" since I was still three days from my due date--my other baby hadn't been born until 9 days past his due date--so I just worked right through them. They were about four minutes apart, though, which I noted on the kitchen clock. At 1 p.m., the pizza was ready and I fed the kids. I made a batch of chocolate "no-bake" cookies to take the the pool later on. Then I made myself a tuna sandwich and got on-line for a few minutes to catch up on email. The contractions continued on steadily every four or five minutes.
My husband came home. He planned to take the boys to the swimming pool since Labor Day was the final day it was opened. He'd leave at 2 p.m. and I intended to stay home and rest until 4 p.m. when we planned to have a little cook-out with our friends. At about 1:45 p.m., I told him I was having contractions but that I didn't think they were really labor. He offered to stay home, but I said, "No, just go." I really thought they would slow down if I took a bath and laid down. My other labor lasted 43 hours and came and went, lollygagged, really.
I called the midwife at 2 p.m. and told her that I was having these fairly regular contractions, but that I intended to rest and see if I could make them go away. We discussed that "real labor" would mean that the contractions would progress in some way--they'd get stronger, closer together, more intense. I told her I'd call her back if I couldn't make them stop.
2 p.m.: Ran a warm bath, sat back, relaxed. Contractions continued.
2:30 p.m. With great effort, I lift my pregnant body out of the bath. I relax on my left side and watch the Labor Day episodes of "A Baby Story". Just for hoots, I decide to time contractions. They are now two to three minutes apart, sometimes four and last a minute usually. I vaguely remember that the length of the contractions matters more than the space between them.
3:00 p.m.: After half an hour, I grab "The Birth Book" to find out what I can about the length of contractions. I still can't decide whether to call the midwife, but contractions are starting to hurt. I'm breathing through them, sitting on my labor ball in the bathroom. The book says contractions closer than four minutes and longer than a minute mean it's really labor.
3:30 p.m.: I decide to call the midwife, but now I've started crying during contractions. Just when I compose myself, another contraction starts. I page her. When she calls back, I answer, "Hello," and then have to say, "Just a minute," and put down the phone while I'm having a contraction. I tell her how close they are and that I don't know why I'm sobbing during them. She says she'll come and assess me.
I decide to go downstairs and wash the lunch dishes. But on the way, I see the disaster area in my boys' bedroom. I stop and crawl around, picking up toys and clothes and cleaning. I stop every two minutes to have a contraction. I decided to stop crying and now I'm talking to myself through each one: "this is the last time I'll have this contraction" and "it's all right . . . it's all right" and "I can do this" and "see, it's over" . . . Since the vacuum is still upstairs, I vacuum and put clean sheets on their bed.
4:00 p.m.: When I take the vacuum downstairs, I see that the living room is a bit messy. So I tidy it up. I kick plastic army soldiers to one spot so I don't have to bend over too many times. I put the couch cushions back into the couch and straighten the pillows. I kneel at the coffee table and hold on and moan during contractions. I sit in the chair and watch out the window and breathe. I figure the midwife will be here by 4:15 p.m. or 4:30 p.m. I can make it until she arrives.
The contractions don't ease up, no matter what I position I try, and I try everything: I lay on the bed, I hold on to the wall, I kneel, I lay on the ground, I sit in a chair, I walk, I lay my head on the cool kitchen counter while I grip the edges of it. My dog, Greta, is crated and barks at me when I moan in the kitchen. I realize I can't possibly stand at the sink to wash dishes and settle for filling a waterbottle with ice and water. I go upstairs.
4:30 p.m.: The midwife arrives and I hear the doorbell, but I'm in the middle of a contraction, so it takes me a minute to get downstairs. I tell her that if this is not actually labor, I've changed my mind and I no longer intend to have a baby.
We go upstairs and I have a few contractions before she actually checks me. I lay down and study her face and think "I'm probably not even dilated at all." So, I'm shocked when she tells me I'm definitely in labor; I'm at 4 cm. She wants to leave her hand there and feel the strength of the contractions. At the end of the next contraction, she tells me I am now 5 cm and I'm going to have a baby!
5:00 p.m. We are trying to get the birth tub filled with water. She has to get the hose from outdoors where it's stored (in a special box). I was not prepared at all to actually have a baby. The tub is set up, but the hoses are still outside. I am no help, because everytime I have a contractions, I fling myself to the ground and moan and writhe. This happens every two minutes.
She calls her assistant and her student midwife. I call my sister, who tells my mother and calls my other sister. I call my labor support people, but I can't reach one and leave a message. The other lives 2 hours away and I tell her that she needn't hurry, but that I am in labor. My husband calls from the pool and I tell him I am very definitely going to have a baby, but that he should keep the kids at the pool as long as possible. All of these phone calls are interrupted by hard contractions in which I throw myself to the ground or the bed and moan. I hear my midwife telling her assistant on the phone that I am having "whopper" contractions every two minutes apart.
5:30 p.m.: The student midwife has arrived. I am now moaning through my contractions. They call it "vocalizing," in Birthing From Within, and that's the chapter that I skimmed through, confident that I would handle this labor as I handled my previous labor: stoically, silently, with steady breathing and counting and hand-holding.
But these contractions are nothing like my prior experience. These are knock-me-down-without-warning contractions. These are roller-coaster-at-50-miles-an-hour contractions. These are prize-fighter-hit-me-in-the-gut contractions. I cannot find any relief, despite position changes. At last, the pool is full enough and I get in. The contractions do not ease up or slow down. I clutch the sides of the pool and moan. I ask my midwife how much closer the contractions will get. She tells me this is it! They won't get closer. I am so relieved.
The labor is nothing like my first labor. Instead of easing into each contraction and breathing as it peaks, I enter each contraction full-force, no time to breathe, no time to visualize. I haven't lit my candle, I haven't turned on music. There is no time. I merely hang on to the pool, relax my body in the water and holler. I am impressed with the variety of screams and yells and hollers and moans and groans and whoops that I make. I sound very much as if I'm at an amusement park, on the scariest, upside-down ride going fast, really, really fast.
6 p.m.: My mom and sister arrive. I'm between contractions, so I look up at them calmly and say, "Hi. I'm having really hard contractions and I'm going to scream in a minute. Don't be alarmed." Then I float on my side and begin screaming, really screaming like Drew Barrymore in "Scream." I am aware of them getting cameras set up and between contractions, I tell my sister it could still be awhile and not to take too many pictures of me just screaming.
6:15 p.m.: I hear the phone and realize it's my husband, but I can't stop screaming anyway. They tell me he's on his way.
6:15 - 6:30 p.m.: I ask, "Do you think it's going to be soon?" and the midwife offers to check me. I get out of the pool and she tells me I'm at 8 cm and will soon be pushing. When I get back in, the contractions have changed and now at the end of each one, I can feel pressure and I realize my body is pushing. My vocalizing changes with each push.
For about eight contractions, I know that the baby is coming. I reach down and can feel the bag of waters nearly bulging out. I tell the midwife I can feel it "and that means the baby is right there, too, right?" I ask with pitiful hope, but severe doubt. I'm pretty sure no baby will ever come. She assures me that it is. A few more contractions and I say, "Do you think I should change positions?" and the midwife says, "You can do whatever you want. You can get out if you want." And I say, "No, I don't want to get out. I don't want to get out. I don't want to get out." I decide to get on my knees.
I position myself on my knees, with my arms and head leaning on my bed. When the contraction starts, I feel a pop, then I feel the baby move down and begin to crown. I yell, "The baby's coming!" On the next contraction, I feel the head move out and the body begin to emerge. I yell, "GET THE BABY" several times because I am pretty sure that the baby will float out and no one will notice. The next contraction, the baby is out.
I flip over and the baby is in my arms. We're all rubbing its back. It looks so little! Finally, someone says, "What kind of baby is it?" and I say, "I'm going to check!" and I turn it over on its back and see that it's a girl! I yell, "IT'S a GIRL!" and my mom squeals and we all cheer and the baby cries.
Ten minutes later, my husband arrives.
And that's the story of Babygirl's arrival. She was born at 6:52 p.m., after less than 6 hours of active labor. She weighed 8 pounds, 8 ounces, was 21 inches long. She doesn't have much hair, but she has long fingers and toes and is surely the most beautiful baby ever.
And now, I blinked and she is two years old. Happy Birthday, Babygirl!
Two years ago . . .
I woke up on Labor Day and decided that I must catch up on the ironing. I was nine months pregnant and due in three days. My husband went to the office for a few hours to get caught up on work and planned to come home after lunch to take the boys to the swimming pool. I showered and got busy ironing and doing laundry.
When I finished the ironing, I decided to tidy up the main bathroom. Then I thought I should clean the toilets and sinks. I figured I may as well vacuum my room since the vacuum cleaner was upstairs. Then I noticed the dusty lampshades near by bed and vacuumed those, too. Then I dusted my entire room as well. Finally I realized it was close to lunchtime and went downstairs to put a frozen pizza in the oven. An enormously pregnant woman does not care if her already alive children must subsist on frozen pizza. She just does what she must to get by.
While I was in the kitchen (cleaning it while the pizza cooked), I noticed what seemed to be fairly regular cramps. I hesitated to call them "contractions" since I was still three days from my due date--my other baby hadn't been born until 9 days past his due date--so I just worked right through them. They were about four minutes apart, though, which I noted on the kitchen clock. At 1 p.m., the pizza was ready and I fed the kids. I made a batch of chocolate "no-bake" cookies to take the the pool later on. Then I made myself a tuna sandwich and got on-line for a few minutes to catch up on email. The contractions continued on steadily every four or five minutes.
My husband came home. He planned to take the boys to the swimming pool since Labor Day was the final day it was opened. He'd leave at 2 p.m. and I intended to stay home and rest until 4 p.m. when we planned to have a little cook-out with our friends. At about 1:45 p.m., I told him I was having contractions but that I didn't think they were really labor. He offered to stay home, but I said, "No, just go." I really thought they would slow down if I took a bath and laid down. My other labor lasted 43 hours and came and went, lollygagged, really.
I called the midwife at 2 p.m. and told her that I was having these fairly regular contractions, but that I intended to rest and see if I could make them go away. We discussed that "real labor" would mean that the contractions would progress in some way--they'd get stronger, closer together, more intense. I told her I'd call her back if I couldn't make them stop.
2 p.m.: Ran a warm bath, sat back, relaxed. Contractions continued.
2:30 p.m. With great effort, I lift my pregnant body out of the bath. I relax on my left side and watch the Labor Day episodes of "A Baby Story". Just for hoots, I decide to time contractions. They are now two to three minutes apart, sometimes four and last a minute usually. I vaguely remember that the length of the contractions matters more than the space between them.
3:00 p.m.: After half an hour, I grab "The Birth Book" to find out what I can about the length of contractions. I still can't decide whether to call the midwife, but contractions are starting to hurt. I'm breathing through them, sitting on my labor ball in the bathroom. The book says contractions closer than four minutes and longer than a minute mean it's really labor.
3:30 p.m.: I decide to call the midwife, but now I've started crying during contractions. Just when I compose myself, another contraction starts. I page her. When she calls back, I answer, "Hello," and then have to say, "Just a minute," and put down the phone while I'm having a contraction. I tell her how close they are and that I don't know why I'm sobbing during them. She says she'll come and assess me.
I decide to go downstairs and wash the lunch dishes. But on the way, I see the disaster area in my boys' bedroom. I stop and crawl around, picking up toys and clothes and cleaning. I stop every two minutes to have a contraction. I decided to stop crying and now I'm talking to myself through each one: "this is the last time I'll have this contraction" and "it's all right . . . it's all right" and "I can do this" and "see, it's over" . . . Since the vacuum is still upstairs, I vacuum and put clean sheets on their bed.
4:00 p.m.: When I take the vacuum downstairs, I see that the living room is a bit messy. So I tidy it up. I kick plastic army soldiers to one spot so I don't have to bend over too many times. I put the couch cushions back into the couch and straighten the pillows. I kneel at the coffee table and hold on and moan during contractions. I sit in the chair and watch out the window and breathe. I figure the midwife will be here by 4:15 p.m. or 4:30 p.m. I can make it until she arrives.
The contractions don't ease up, no matter what I position I try, and I try everything: I lay on the bed, I hold on to the wall, I kneel, I lay on the ground, I sit in a chair, I walk, I lay my head on the cool kitchen counter while I grip the edges of it. My dog, Greta, is crated and barks at me when I moan in the kitchen. I realize I can't possibly stand at the sink to wash dishes and settle for filling a waterbottle with ice and water. I go upstairs.
4:30 p.m.: The midwife arrives and I hear the doorbell, but I'm in the middle of a contraction, so it takes me a minute to get downstairs. I tell her that if this is not actually labor, I've changed my mind and I no longer intend to have a baby.
We go upstairs and I have a few contractions before she actually checks me. I lay down and study her face and think "I'm probably not even dilated at all." So, I'm shocked when she tells me I'm definitely in labor; I'm at 4 cm. She wants to leave her hand there and feel the strength of the contractions. At the end of the next contraction, she tells me I am now 5 cm and I'm going to have a baby!
5:00 p.m. We are trying to get the birth tub filled with water. She has to get the hose from outdoors where it's stored (in a special box). I was not prepared at all to actually have a baby. The tub is set up, but the hoses are still outside. I am no help, because everytime I have a contractions, I fling myself to the ground and moan and writhe. This happens every two minutes.
She calls her assistant and her student midwife. I call my sister, who tells my mother and calls my other sister. I call my labor support people, but I can't reach one and leave a message. The other lives 2 hours away and I tell her that she needn't hurry, but that I am in labor. My husband calls from the pool and I tell him I am very definitely going to have a baby, but that he should keep the kids at the pool as long as possible. All of these phone calls are interrupted by hard contractions in which I throw myself to the ground or the bed and moan. I hear my midwife telling her assistant on the phone that I am having "whopper" contractions every two minutes apart.
5:30 p.m.: The student midwife has arrived. I am now moaning through my contractions. They call it "vocalizing," in Birthing From Within, and that's the chapter that I skimmed through, confident that I would handle this labor as I handled my previous labor: stoically, silently, with steady breathing and counting and hand-holding.
But these contractions are nothing like my prior experience. These are knock-me-down-without-warning contractions. These are roller-coaster-at-50-miles-an-hour contractions. These are prize-fighter-hit-me-in-the-gut contractions. I cannot find any relief, despite position changes. At last, the pool is full enough and I get in. The contractions do not ease up or slow down. I clutch the sides of the pool and moan. I ask my midwife how much closer the contractions will get. She tells me this is it! They won't get closer. I am so relieved.
The labor is nothing like my first labor. Instead of easing into each contraction and breathing as it peaks, I enter each contraction full-force, no time to breathe, no time to visualize. I haven't lit my candle, I haven't turned on music. There is no time. I merely hang on to the pool, relax my body in the water and holler. I am impressed with the variety of screams and yells and hollers and moans and groans and whoops that I make. I sound very much as if I'm at an amusement park, on the scariest, upside-down ride going fast, really, really fast.
6 p.m.: My mom and sister arrive. I'm between contractions, so I look up at them calmly and say, "Hi. I'm having really hard contractions and I'm going to scream in a minute. Don't be alarmed." Then I float on my side and begin screaming, really screaming like Drew Barrymore in "Scream." I am aware of them getting cameras set up and between contractions, I tell my sister it could still be awhile and not to take too many pictures of me just screaming.
6:15 p.m.: I hear the phone and realize it's my husband, but I can't stop screaming anyway. They tell me he's on his way.
6:15 - 6:30 p.m.: I ask, "Do you think it's going to be soon?" and the midwife offers to check me. I get out of the pool and she tells me I'm at 8 cm and will soon be pushing. When I get back in, the contractions have changed and now at the end of each one, I can feel pressure and I realize my body is pushing. My vocalizing changes with each push.
For about eight contractions, I know that the baby is coming. I reach down and can feel the bag of waters nearly bulging out. I tell the midwife I can feel it "and that means the baby is right there, too, right?" I ask with pitiful hope, but severe doubt. I'm pretty sure no baby will ever come. She assures me that it is. A few more contractions and I say, "Do you think I should change positions?" and the midwife says, "You can do whatever you want. You can get out if you want." And I say, "No, I don't want to get out. I don't want to get out. I don't want to get out." I decide to get on my knees.
I position myself on my knees, with my arms and head leaning on my bed. When the contraction starts, I feel a pop, then I feel the baby move down and begin to crown. I yell, "The baby's coming!" On the next contraction, I feel the head move out and the body begin to emerge. I yell, "GET THE BABY" several times because I am pretty sure that the baby will float out and no one will notice. The next contraction, the baby is out.
I flip over and the baby is in my arms. We're all rubbing its back. It looks so little! Finally, someone says, "What kind of baby is it?" and I say, "I'm going to check!" and I turn it over on its back and see that it's a girl! I yell, "IT'S a GIRL!" and my mom squeals and we all cheer and the baby cries.
Ten minutes later, my husband arrives.
And that's the story of Babygirl's arrival. She was born at 6:52 p.m., after less than 6 hours of active labor. She weighed 8 pounds, 8 ounces, was 21 inches long. She doesn't have much hair, but she has long fingers and toes and is surely the most beautiful baby ever.
And now, I blinked and she is two years old. Happy Birthday, Babygirl!
posted by Melodee at Thursday, September 02, 2004
5 Comments:
Happy Birthday, Babygirl!
Wow, what a story. I'm glad to find myself smiling at the end of it, as that surely sounds like enough to turn a woman off from wanting to give birth. Though I suppose if the story of my own birth wasn't enough to deter me, this won't either.
I'm very happy for you all. Sorry years go by so quickly, guess it just means you have to pay more attention more often so you'll have the most amount of memories for after the pass. Best of wishes to your family!
I remember this birth story...because who could ever forget it...It is wonderful!
Happy Birthday BabyGirl!
~Tina
Great tale telling! I could almost hear the screams... heh.
Happy birthday to that sweet little girl. :)
Happy birthday, Babygirl!
I couldn't stop laughing!!! I HATE cleaning so I can't imagine being in labor and worrying about dust!!! You are a riot!
What a wonderful story. I felt like I was right there with you! Uhm, sorry about that since I don't know you but thanks for letting me share that day with you.
Fantastic story!!
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