Birth is personal and different for every single family and when it comes to who will be present when your baby (or babies!) arrive, every mom should be able to choose who gets in the invite.
Some moms feel comfortable with a crowd, some want only their spouse, and some would rather have their mom present.
Whatever makes you feel most comfortable should be the choice you make.
My very first OBGYN’s office was lined with framed magazine pages and plaques. The Best Of The Best! Top 10 Best OBGYNs! Another Important Award! I can’t remember exactly how I chose this office, but I do remember feeling really proud of (smug about) that choice when I saw all these accolades at my first visit.
When I was 20 weeks pregnant, I sat in the award-winning OBGYNs office, and I said to the “accomplished” male doctor who appeared to be in his 60s, “I’ve been thinking about trying for a med-free birth. Do you know where I should start as far as books to read or classes to take?”
He shrugged his shoulders, swatted his hand in the air like I was a fly, and said, “You know who gives birth without meds? Cows. We’ve come a long way from having to give birth like a cow. You don’t want to give birth like a cow.”
And that was the exact moment in my head that I told myself, “WELP. No way this asshole is getting anywhere near my vagina again.”
Shortly after, I found a local Bradley Method class, and the instructors told me about a lovely midwife practice in the neighboring suburb. They delivered in a hospital! I had no idea midwives did such a thing.
And so, halfway through my first pregnancy, I left a practice that I knew wouldn’t support me in labor the way I wanted them to. I’m really glad that doctor was so blatant about his disinterest in helping me through a med-free birthing experience. That would have been an awful thing to discover at 5 cm dilated.
I went on to have the best birth experience for me– a med-free birth in a hospital with a midwife.
That wasn’t the only time I’d have to leave a practice mid-pregnancy. Not even close.
We moved to Texas shortly after our first was born, and when I got pregnant again, I specifically sought out a practice that offered midwives who delivered in a hospital. I found one that came highly recommended. The midwife on staff had amazing reviews. At my first appointment, I learned she had left for a practice in Fort Worth, but the OBGYN who saw me instead assured me that they would be hiring a new midwife soon, and I’d be seeing her regularly by 20 weeks, for sure.
By the time 20 weeks rolled around, there was still no new midwife hired, and they could no longer say for sure they would have one. That, coupled with the many suggestions that I go ahead and plan to induce before Christmas (my due date was 12/24), made me uneasy enough to change practices again.
The good news is this lead me to a really lovely midwife who delivered at a hospital downtown. I saw her for the last half of my 2nd pregnancy, and I wound up with another wonderful med-free birth experience when she delivered my daughter.
I saw her through nearly all of my 3rd pregnancy, too… until she was let go from the OBGYN practice she worked for because of a situation that, to me, was a clear case of a midwife doing what midwives do- striving to help mothers birth with as few interventions as possible in a safe way- in conflict with an OBGYNs office and hospital system that doesn’t always align with that approach.
I was nearly 35 weeks pregnant and faced with either staying in that practice that clearly did not support midwifery care and possibly wouldn’t support me, or find a new midwife at another practice. As stressful as it was so late in the game, the obvious choice was to leave.
For the 3rd time, the practice I began my pregnancy with did not end up being the one I ended with, but just like the last 2 times, the move was worth it. I had a 3rd med-free hospital birth with my midwife when I delivered Lowell. And then I got to keep that same midwife all the way through my 4th pregnancy, and she delivered Wallace, too! It was pretty nice to make it through an entire pregnancy without having to look for another provider for once.
Posing with my midwife Jeanean Carter of Adriatica Women’s Health in McKinney, TX
As I wrote Wallace’s birth story, I thought about how lucky I’ve been to have all the great birth experiences I’ve had. And then I thought, well, was it all luck? No. So much of that was because I advocated for myself, up to the point of leaving 3 practices when I felt they wouldn’t support me the way I needed them to.
Here’s the thing- it’s not ok for your OBGYN to brush off your wish to birth med-free. It’s not cool for a practice to pressure you to schedule an induction for no reason other than “You’ll be home in time for Christmas!” There are a ton of things that birth professionals do that may make you feel uneasy, no matter how many awards they’ve won, and no matter what kind of birth experience you want.
Yeah, advocating for yourself isn’t just for moms who want to birth med-free. I honestly can’t imagine that first OBGYN I saw would have had any kind of bedside manner after a c-section, either.
If the OB or MW you’re seeing makes you feel uncomfortable, unheard, small, or stupid, I encourage you to think real hard about getting the hell out of that practice- right up to the very end if you need to. Go to the next town if there’s nobody else near you. I’ve driven as far as 45 minutes for my appointments and given birth at hospitals nearly an hour away.
And if all else fails, and you’re stuck, look into at least hiring a doula.
You deserve to feel supported and to respect and connect with, if not love, the person who helps you bring your babies into this world- no matter if they are an OBGYN or a midwife. I want you to have the best birth experience possible. You can’t control how it will happen, but you can surround yourself with great people.
Scott got to the hospital a little after I got checked into a labor room. I think sometime around 8:30. He was excited to discover a Blues hockey game on TV. We cut cable long ago, and he usually has to listen to the game via a radio app.
Like old birthing pros, we chilled in the room with no sense of urgency. Him watching the game, me giving the yoga ball a half effort. I thought I should at least attempt to move labor along, though I doubted it would do much.
There was no rushing to set up battery operated candles or fill the room with calming music. We laughed at how mundane the routine had become.
Around 10 I decided to try to get some sleep. I requested extra blankets and reclined in the not super comfortable labor bed. I don’t know that I ever really managed to fall into a deep sleep, but I rested off and on for the next couple hours. By then, my contractions were coming every 5 ish minutes, but only 2 or 3 an hour were uncomfortable until about midnight.
I rejoiced when it was past midnight because I knew that bought us an extra night at the hospital. Kendall, my first, was born at 12:30 in the morning, so we technically got 3 nights at the hospital since the first night didn’t really count, and I was looking forward to the same scenario.
I LOVE our hospital (Baylor Scott White in McKinney, TX for those wondering). It’s like a hotel. I also have 3 other kids at home, and 3 dogs, and was in no rush at all to get out of there. Call me crazy, but I’ll take a nurse checking on me every 3 hours over 3 kids “checking” on me every 30 minutes.
Scott remarked around this time that we’d “probably have a baby by 5 in the morning” and he wondered if he should drive home before or after the morning rush hour to shower and get the big kids. I laughed in his face. “A whole lot is going to have to happen really fast for us to have a baby by then. That’s not going to happen, so don’t worry about it.”
From about midnight to 1:30 my contractions became more consistent and uncomfortable. I was having to breathe through every one by the time I called the nurse in to come check me again a little before 2. I was hoping this was a sign of a little bit of progress- at least enough to ease my fears about having to start Pitocin when the sun came up.
When she told me I was still at a 4, I felt like all my worst fears were validated. I sat on the bed, crying, convinced that I really couldn’t handle the pain of contractions after my water broke.
I remember a previous midwife telling me that your bag of water cushions things, and makes contractions more manageable, and I’ve always believed in that fully because once my water does break (usually at 8 cm), all hell breaks loose and it really, really fucking hurts. (Though this is always the start of transition for me, too.)
I cried because these contractions didn’t feel like 4 cm contractions. I was doomed.
Meanwhile, Scott the badass dad pro asked the nurse to get the shower ready. If you read my last birth story, you may remember that I labored with Lowell in an AH-MAZING shower with a million lovely shower heads. It’s a heavenly set up. So I agreed to head that way, wiping my tears on my hospital gown as I took it off.
I remember the nurse saying something like, “I have a feeling you’re starting something, not stalling.” Of course, I assumed this was a lie to get me to calm down.
As soon as I sat down, my contractions started coming on super strong and super fast, with only about 30 seconds between them. And I began my first ever campaign for an epidural.
In my mind, I was in for this kind of pain for the next 6 hours, and then they’d inevitably start me on Pitocin, and hell if I was going to go through all that only to wind up with an epidural then. Fuck that. I wanted it it asap. I just wanted to sleep.
This visibly shocked Scott for a minute, and he tried to talk some sense into me. He knew I had to be progressing. And looking back, DUH, but in that moment I was just like, STFU, and tell the damn nurse to get the damn anesthesiologist.
The nurse, also clearly knowing what was actually happening with me, asked if she could check me again. Then I heard her ask the other nurse to call my midwife and tell her to head in. I thought that was dumb and mean because my poor midwife needed sleep and I wasn’t ever going to have my baby anyway.
It had only been 20 minutes since she last checked me, but I figured sure. They could check me, and I’d still be at a 4, and then they could all leave me alone and let me get the epidural.
Good plan! Except I was at an 8.
OH. Turns out it hurts REAL bad to go from a 4 to an 8 in 20 minutes.
My mood improved greatly for a little bit. I was no longer in uncharted waters. It’s like I finally had a map in a language I understood. 8 cm and my water’s broken? This I could do. This I knew. I wasn’t going to like it, but I’d been there.
I didn’t want an epidural anymore, which is good because there wouldn’t have been time anyway. I asked the nurse to fill the labor tub for me and she was like, “Girl, no. I’m sorry. We don’t have time for that.”
So back into the shower I went, just in time for the holy-shit-why-did-you-do-this-AGAIN contractions. I have no idea what time this was… maybe I was in there from 3 to 3:30 ish? I don’t have a good grasp on time at this point.
My good mood faded, and this marked the beginning of the part of labor that feels like I’m being dragged against my will. Like, if you’re being dragged through a field of thorns, the worst thing you can do is flail and kick and fight (I’d imagine). You just have to relax into it, don’t fight it.
Dumb, lacking analogies aside, this is the part that really sucks. And I knew that. I knew that the only way out was through, and I did everything I could to let my body take over and do what it could. I didn’t like it. I cried. But I knew what I had to do.
After a few really hard contractions, I started to feel a little like pushing. I was suddenly real glad my nurse had the foresight to call my midwife in. They got me out of the shower and moved me to a birth stool. My midwife walked in after one or two contractions there, and after a couple more I knew I was going to need to push soon.
I had the option to stay on the birth stool, but I’ve only ever pushed my babies while sitting in the bed, and I needed that familiarity. I moved to the bed between contractions, and with the very next one the rest of my water broke (the first break was only a small tear), and gushed everywhere.
I dreaded what was coming next, but again, more dragging and giving up control, and just knowing I had to get through it for it to be over. Pushing, for me, is super awful. I can’t recall exactly how awful because that’s how nature tricks us into keeping our species going, but I do know that every time I’ve been there, I’ve made a mental note that it’s the absolute worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life.
The positive to this is that I am a fucking boss at pushing by now. I do. not. fuck. around. I pushed for about 20 minutes with my first, 2 pushes with my 2nd, my 3rd was born with one push.
And just like the last time, I began to push and would not let up until he was out. This one was also born with only one push. I paused briefly after his head crowned and then again to slow down his shoulders – like a damn PRO, not needing anyone to remind me.
I still screamed like someone was ripping me in half from the inside, though.
I remember the nurses kept telling me to look down and meet my baby, but I am the least sentimental person when I’m trying to get a human out of me. I would meet him soon enough. I needed to focus. I needed to close my eyes and get the job done.
And then, there he was, and it was immediate relief. I cried.
Not just because labor was over, but because the whole dang thing was- the pregnancy, the anxiety about labor. It was all finally behind me. “You did it!” everyone kept cheering. They had no idea how much I doubted that I could.
“I can do hard things,” I thought to myself as I looked down to finally meet my baby.
2016 tried to dismantle me, and I’m not talking about all the celebrity deaths. It pushed me and picked at me in a lot of ways I won’t get into here. But with 10 days left, at 4:59 am, 2016 gave me Wallace Austin Krause- 9 lbs 1 oz, 21.5 inches long- and reminded me I can still do hard things.
I’d been pregnant for about… 7ish years. In my head. Technically, I was 40 weeks, 5 days, but in my head? A full seven years.
My body was revolting against me. I had a testicle/cyst growing larger each day (oh, you really should read all about that), and at my 40 week + 4 day appointment, my midwife had to utter the word “induction” to prepare me for the possibility that it might be the only way to stop me from being pregnant for ETERNITY.
(Please do stop yourself if you’re about to comment about how nobody is pregnant forever, babies pick their birth dates, blah blah. Rational arguments were lost on me at that time. That’s what I’m saying.)
The next morning, July 30th at 7:30am, I woke up to a small gush of something down there. My first thought as I shook off the fog in my brain was, “Oh, hell yes. Please let this be it.” Followed very quickly by the following train of thought:
“Oh. Shit. Get off the bed, get off the bed, VERY CAREFULLY GET OFF THE BED. Back your ass out of this thing. Scoot backwards. Don’t roll over. Oh, holy crap. Please don’t be my water breaking, please don’t be my water breaking.”
See, we recently purchased the bed of my dreams. A very expensive bed of my dreams. One made of foam that I imagine is pretty absorbent. One that we did not have any sort of plastic barrier on because my water NEVER breaks on it’s own.
And that’s a good thing, my midwife told me the day before, because I had SO MUCH amniotic fluid this time and the baby was floating so high up in it that IF my water did break, we might have a serious situation on our hands. A situation that would definitely require an immediate drive to the hospital, and possibly an ambulance ride if I felt “anything slipping out down there, like an umbilical cord… or an arm.”
After getting to the bathroom without dropping a water balloon out of my vagina on the way there (or an arm), I determined it was probably my mucus plug I felt, not my water. PHEW. And EW. There was spotting, and then a contraction.
The contraction was nothing to get excited about. I’d been having them for about 6 weeks. But the other signs were making me a little giddy. Scott was working from home that day, so I told him he might need to let his boss know he needed the day off (and the next month- three cheers for a month of vacation days saved up!). After about an hour, I called my midwife’s office. Contractions were pretty irregular and not painful at all. Sometimes I’d go 15 minutes without one. I didn’t expect things to happen anytime soon, but the office wanted me to head to the hospital anyway.
We live 45 minutes from it, and I knew that I was capable of going from 0-60 very fast, based on my 1.5-2 hour labor with Leyna. So we calmly packed up the car and left about an hour and a half after that. Then we stopped to get something to eat. It was all very casual. I’m sure the good people at Panera had no idea I would walk out with a bagel and cream cheese, then push a baby out by the end of the day.
Last bump selfie, just before heading to the hospital. Who’s happy to get this baby out? THIS GIRL.
The contractions were such a joke that by the time we got to the hospital, I was expecting them to just send me home. Nope. I was at a 4/5. (I was barely a 2 the day before.) Problem was the baby was still very high, not at all engaged. I was admitted anyway because everyone was confident I was in active labor, but I was preparing for a long day and night. Scott and I took off for a walk, which seemed to make the contractions stop. When we got back, I was monitored for a bit, then I opted to take a little nap. I was suddenly very tired.
The whole time I rested, I didn’t feel a single contraction. Not for the entire 40 minutes. But my anxiety started to ramp up as I started to feel really hot, and like I couldn’t breathe. I was dizzy. It made me freak out. OMG, did I have a blood clot? WAS I GOING TO DIE? Maybe my testicle-cyst was trying to kill me!
Seriously, the anxiety was a bitch. I begged Scott to get the nurse. I explained to her that I was afraid something was very wrong with me. She asked if I’d felt any contractions. In my head, I was all:
“Contractions? Let’s forget about the labor thing for a minute and focus on how I’m ABOUT TO DIE because CLEARLY something is not right.”
But she insisted on checking me. Hilarity! I hadn’t had contractions in more than an hour.
I was at a 6, almost 7. Baby was definitely engaged, much lower, I was 60% effaced. So a good portion of this labor progressed with the help of a panic attack instead of contractions. Lucky me?
Mostly confident that I was actually NOT dying (at that point), I decided to get in the labor tub. I was suddenly really worried that things were going to go super fast. I texted my birth photographer- Monica of A Sacred Project– and asked her to head on up to the hospital. Then I just… hung out. Just all chill in the warm water, casually kicking back. I felt contractions every 5ish minutes, but they didn’t hurt. I was laughing and talking through them. I was that woman in labor that people probably hate.
Don’t worry. I paid for it later.
Anyway, Monica got there about an hour after I got in the tub, so this is the point in the story where I’ll start to provide her lovely visuals for you all. And by “lovely” I do mean that some are terrifying. (But NONE are of anything below the bump or NSFW.)
(This post is going to be crazy long, so please click through from my homepage to read the rest and see the slideshow at the end of the post!)
Then summer keeps happening.
And my 3 hours of productivity a day are often spent putting on and taking off little swimsuits, and covering little legs and arms in sunscreen.
Or taking Leyna to the potty. She’s nearly potty trained, but not really. It’s a strange little tightrope we’re walking with it all right now, but I’m very hopeful she’ll be mostly out of diapers (except for night and naps) by the time the baby comes… except not on days she has Mothers Day Out. Just for the summer session. She’ll be in Pullups those days (trust me, I’m groaning with you right now, I HATE them) because she only has one teacher in her classroom most of the time. So… it’s… we’re working with them on this. For now.
And, uhhh… I’m currently looking into switching to a new midwife. At 35 weeks pregnant. It’s a long story that I really can’t get into right now, but I will eventually. So that’s been a real blast.
Tomorrow we head off to the Great Wolf Lodge in Grapevine, TX for a little family staycation. A few months ago, I planned to take the family to the beach this month. Then I got really pregnant and decided that was the stupidest idea ever. But an indoor water park that’s 30 minutes from home? Yes. We can do that.
Oh, and then there’s this thing I’m doing this Friday. Remember I told y’all how I’m going to make my national TV debut by revealing to the world that I eat sand? Yeah. That’s a real thing. So I’ll be Skyping from Great Wolf Lodge to… further embarrass myself? Is that even possible?
Great news, the baby looked healthy! Better news, there is only one (not that 2 would have been bad news, but 1 is PLENTY!). Scott’s been convinced that there were twins, and with the level of exhaustion and nausea I’ve had, I wouldn’t have been surprised, but no. I guess I’m either a wuss this time around or the baby is some sort of super ninja, zapping every last ounce of energy from me, leaving me with no choice but to recharge twice a day.
The new “official” due date, according to the office, is 12/24, even though the baby is actually measuring 9 weeks today, aligning with the ovulation date I predicted (based on, well, me knowing my body) and a due date of 12/22. *Sigh* On the one hand I’m happy to have a due date that’s later than the one I was going by because that gives me a couple extra days before people start getting antsy about inductions, but I also hate to think of the challenge of going into labor on or around the holidays (and I know an estimated due date has nothing to do with that).
For now, I’m staying with this OBGYN’s office, even though the midwife who I originally intended on seeing just left the practice and they are currently without a replacement. It’s a tough decision, and not one I’m sure I’ll stick with, but the OB I met with today was 100x better than the OBs I left in Virginia in favor of a midwife practice. She encouraged me to seek out a doula and talked to me about how they would handle a med free labor and delivery at the hospital. I really do like the hospital, it’s certified “Baby Friendly” and has a labor tub. It’s the only one in the are that does. And while they don’t offer wireless monitoring, she did put my mind at ease telling me that they aren’t going to be pulling me in and out of the tub to monitor the heart rate often if everything is looking good.
Our only other option is to deliver at a birthing center (we did end up finding one covered by our insurance, though not our first choice) with a midwife. And while I have nothing against birthing centers and know so many women have amazing experiences there, I’m just not sure it’s for us. For one, this center is 10 minutes from a hospital, which is a little beyond my personal comfort level. And as much as I know I can do this without the epidural and will try everything in my power to do so, I just feel more comfortable knowing, if for some reason I really need it, it’s available, which isn’t an option at a center. Finally, and this is really the kicker for me, the moms who deliver at the birthing center are sent home 5 to 8 HOURS after delivering! I just. can’t. imagine. It’s not like a hospital is my favorite place, but I actually enjoyed my time recovering there the last time. Sure the food sucked, but that’s why I had my mom and Scott bring me takeout the whole time. I was such a, well, a MESS that soon after having Kendall. I’m really glad it wasn’t my sheets I was ruining.
I don’t know, I’m certainly not meaning to knock the birthing center experience. I wish it felt like a comfortable option to me, and maybe it will with time, but for now I’m going to stick with the OB, hope they hire a midwife soon, tour the hospital and look into hiring a doula. In a fantasy world I’d have Scott take a 6 month detail back in VA/DC and I’d go back to my midwives (I’ve seriously proposed this). Maybe I’m romanticizing things, but I just feel like I had a nearly perfect birthing experience with Kendall and that nothing else is not going to live up to it.
I’m glad I have some time to figure this all out.
Nearly 9 weeks pregnant
As bad as labor and delivery hurt, I felt prepared for the pain. I had spent months teaching myself how to cope with it with various techniques. I was mentally prepared for what was going to happen to my body leading up to Kendall’s grand exit. And it was pain with a purpose and a wonderful reward. However, I foolishly neglected to prepare myself for the pain of postpartum recovery. It’s not anything I heard anyone really explain in detail prior to having him.
Yes, I knew there would probably be tearing. Yes, I knew I would be sore, but I didn’t KNOW to what extent. I just figured that everything would pale in comparison to the pain of L&D and that I would be up and bouncy and fine in no time. Imagine my surprise when immediately after delivering Kendall I find myself freaking out as I see the world’s largest needle headed straight toward my already battered and bruised vagina to numb me up for the stitches! It was like I went from being the “I just kicked med-free birth in the ass because I’m rock star bad ass” to a “You’re going to stick that where? No! I’m such a wuss!” In a matter of minutes.
So I type this, the *rest* of the story, NOT to scare you (which I’m afraid is what I did with my birth story for so many of you) but to INFORM you. I think it’s important to know what you’re getting into. I also think it’s important to blog this as it’s fresh in my mind so that when I start to suffer from mom-nesia, I can look back and read carefully before deciding to put myself through this again (not that it hasn’t been worth it the first time around). Please keep in mind that I by no means am saying you are going to have the same experience. I don’t know what my pain tolerance is in comparison to yours, and I DID have a big baby. I’m sure that has something to do with it.
Okay, so let’s revisit that needle thing. I had just handed Kendall off to go get weighed, measured, etc. when I look down to discover my midwife coming at me with what looks like a needle big enough to euthanize a cow. Typically, I’m not afraid of needles, but let’s just say I was a little jumpy about ANYTHING touching me down there, especially a needle of that enormity.
I have no idea to what degree I tore or how many stitches I needed. I mean, really…why do I need to know that? All I know is it took them a good thirty minutes to put things back in place, and while I couldn’t feel the needle pierce me, I could feel the sensation of the thread/string/whatever it is they use to stitch you up being pulled through….ick…I totally shudder just thinking about it.
As gross as that was, what scared me the most was hearing my midwife say to the nurse, “Yeah…we’ll have to take our time with the right labia”. O….M….G. She must have done a good job, though, because every nurse who came in as I laid there spread eagle commented on how good things looked down there. I also got several compliments from the recovery team. I’m so glad everyone got so up close and personal with me.
Then there was the second big ass needle that came at me in the middle of being stitched up. This one was for the Pitocin. I guess my uterus wasn’t contracting enough on it’s own and I was starting to loose a lot of blood. They tried the uterus “massage” a few times, which is such a misleading term. Massage would, to me, imply something gentle, soothing even. Not this one. This should be more appropriately termed the uterus “smack down”. Two nurses took turns kneading my lower abdomen like a lump of bread dough. There was nothing gentle about it. When that didn’t produce the results they were looking for, I got jabbed in the thigh with the Pitocin. I have to give my husband some more credit here because as all this was going on, he left Kendall (only feet away) to come and hold my hand. We both had him in clear sight, and in fact he was what I looked at to keep my focus off the pain, but it helped tremendously to have Scott there to inflict just a little of my misery on via hand squeeze.
About an hour after birth, the room started to clear out. I was informed it was now time for me to get up and head to the bathroom. This was a terrifying challenge. My fabulous nurse Karen assisted me into the room with the magic tub that had once brought me such comfort. She sits me on the toilet and asks if I have to pee. Uhmmm…no. Nothing is coming out of me down there for a long time. She then informs me I have 6 hours to make myself urinate or I will have to get a catheter and says, “You girls who go without any meds…I don’t want to be the one to put a catheter in ya… it’s not pretty. So you gotta drink lots of fluids, okay?” Okay. Will do. And I drink probably two bottles of Gatorade in the next six hours, along with a bottle of water.
Then nurse Karen pulls out a giant bag full of all sorts of lovely medical supplies. She begins to make a super pad concoction for me. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten in 9 hours, or the $5 Subway Footlong jingle that’s stuck in my head, but I can’t help but think how much this pad and all it’s “fixins” resembles a sub sandwich. It’s a footlong pad, topped with a cold pack, lined with round witch hazel “pepperoni” pads, and “dressed” with a good coating of Dermaplast. I will forever think of them now as Heiney Hoagies, and I will think of them fondly. The combo of the cold pack mixed with the witch hazel pads is heavenly, despite the fact that you are waddling around with a footlong sub stuffed between your legs.
At this time I was also introduced to the wonderful Peri Bottle. It’s merely a squeeze bottle that you fill with warm water, but it will become your best friend. Not only does it help clean you up down there without having to subject yourself to harsh and scratchy TP, but that warm stream also provides a lot of relief, especially when you pee on your stitches (ouch!).
Now, I must interject a PSA at this point because, as I type this, I am dealing with the fallout from too much Peri Bottle and not enough TP. Here’s the thing – as much as you don’t want ANYTHING touching you down there for a long time, please suck it up and make sure you pat yourself dry every time before slipping on your lovely Heiney Hoagie. I have spent the last two weeks in pads and made the mistake of rarely using TP to pat things dry. I just washed off with the bottle and pulled up my mesh panties (another fabulous medical invention). I now sit here with what can only be called an adult diaper rash. It’s terribly itchy and the only thing I can do is air myself out, spray Dermaplast all over it, and smear Kendall’s diaper rash cream on. Yes, I know that if I would have given it just a little bit of thought it would seem common sense that sitting in a moist pad for two weeks would lead to this, but I’m telling you you aren’t thinking that far in advance when all you can focus on is how bad the stitches hurt.
So that leads me to the stitches…. ow, ow, owie, ow, OUCH! First lesson to pound into your mind – do NOT try to cross your legs! I made this mistake when we were taking our family pic together before leaving the hospital. It was second nature to me to sit that way, and as soon as I did I regretted it.
Second lesson – do NOT look down! The day after delivery I dropped my Dermaplast on the bathroom floor while making a Heiney Hoagie and happened to catch a glimpse of the carnage on the way back up. It was merely a glimpse and I was terrified of what I saw. I vowed to not look that way again until I was sure things were healed. I won’t even let myself look that direction in the mirror when I walk past to get in the shower.
Third – take a pillow everywhere with you for at least the first week and avoid hard chairs. I couldn’t even eat at the dining room table without sitting on a pillow and a large folded up comforter. Overcoming the pain from the stitches was the part of the healing that surprised me the most.
At two weeks postpartum, I would say I feel about 90% healed. This time last week, I thought I’d feel, as my husband so kindly put it, like someone beat me with a baseball bat down there forever. In addition to that, my tailbone is STILL healing from what felt like being crushed as I pushed Kendall out. I spend most of my time sitting shifting back and forth from one butt cheek to the other so I can avoid direct pressure on it. It DOES get better. I keep telling myself that.
Finally, the pain that was the worst (and I mean worse than labor and delivery itself) was the catheter I ended up getting at 6:30 am the day I delivered. After Karen made me promise to drink lots of liquids, I hydrated myself constantly, convinced that I would have no problem peeing in the 6 hour time frame. Well, by the time 6 am rolled around, I had to pee sooooooo freaking bad, and yet was so scared to do it at the same time, that I had to have Scott come with me to the bathroom to hold my hand.
We both sat there, door wide open, nurse coming in and out, as I tried and tried to pee (as you can see, modesty is completely out the window at this point…forget any mystery that is left between you and your husband…it is gone forever). The nurse tried everything from spraying me with warm water, to turning the water faucet on, to dropping an ammonia tablet in the toilet (I have no idea how that is supposed to help). Nothing worked, and yet I felt like I was going to pop.
I reluctantly agreed to the catheter. It. was. TERRIBLE. Scott was there again to hold my hand (his must have been terribly bruised by this point). I had two nurses try unsuccessfully to get it in before angel nurse Karen finally came to the rescue. Remember the “right labia” comment? Yeah…those stitches were dangerously close to my urethra. That made the whole thing 100x worse. The ordeal lasted about 30 minutes and I sobbed through the whole thing. I think Scott thought I was dying. Seeing me in pain in labor and delivery never bothered him because we both knew how to handle it…we were prepared and knew it would be over soon. However, seeing me like this was a whole other ball game, and I could tell it was killing him. When they finally got the catheter in they managed to drain a LITER of fluids from me. Looks like I did a good job re-hydrating myself!
So, are you scared out of your mind yet? I’m sorry. Let me just say this. Even after writing and re-living all of this, I would do it all over again 100,000 times the same exact way if if meant having the same outcome. Kendall is amazing. I love him more than I ever thought possible. He was/is worth all the pain. Because here’s the thing about having a baby…. no matter how you go about it, it’s never going to be pain free. Epi or not, c-section or vaginal… it’s going to hurt, but you usually come to terms with that by the end of 9 months, and you don’t care. You do it for the reward. And as whiny as this post may have come across, I didn’t write it merely to complain. I wrote it to show you how much you can go through and still come out saying, “Man…that was really hard, but it was worth it”.
15 days old
No. That’s not what I whisper to my husband every time I lean in to kiss him. I practically gag at any song on Top 4o that makes reference to someone being someone’s “Boo”. That is, however, the “code line” that I must say if I am absolutely 100% positive and dying for an epidural.
So…yeah….we’re trying this whole natural birth thing. I wasn’t all that into it when I first started thinking about labor and delivery, I’ll be honest. However, after taking into consideration that fact that I had a TERRIBLE reaction to a spinal tap years ago and have no desire to ever have a needle near my spine again, and that my mom, who had me at 18, was able to deliver me and my two younger siblings naturally, I started to really consider it. By 20 weeks I was convinced it was the right choice for me, and my husband, who is a complete freak when it comes to medication and drugs anyway, was 100% supportive of it.
So at our 20 week appointment we were all fired up to talk to the doctor about it, find out what books and classes he recommended, what we should start doing to prepare. However, we left that appointment not with encouragement and resources, but with disgust and a mission to FIND A NEW DOCTOR! I believe his exact words when I told him we had decided to go med-free were, “Well, it’s going to be the worst pain of your life. I don’t think you realize how bad it’s going to hurt (to which I couldn’t help but think, and do YOU know how bad it will hurt… SIR?).” His response to my inquiry about the Bradley Method, a popular method used for natural childbirth, was something along the lines of, “NO. Take Lamaze. Bradley was created on a farm for animals.” Well…last time I checked, none of the horses or cows were begging for epidurals or ending up with unnecessary c-sections, but….okay. He also ended the conversation by saying, “You know 99% of women in this county end up with an epidural anyway.” Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.
On our way home we talked about how we couldn’t believe that he would just interject such a negative opinion. I mean, this was MY choice and MY body. If I’m going to be in pain, so be it. I’m a smart enough girl to figure out that no pain meds = pain. I don’t need him to REMIND me of that. Sadly, as we have witnessed since then, that’s just the way it is with a lot of people. Even people who have never/will never give birth!
We visited my husband’s family for Christmas shortly after that appointment and encountered so many of the same exact reactions that I had to ask Scott to stop telling people about our plans when they asked. I just couldn’t see one more jaw hit the floor or hear one more “You are absolutely crazy…you can’t do it…you will end up with an epidural anyway…just wait till you see the childbirth videos…you only THINK you can do it…it’s so different when you are actually there”. Then a few months ago a woman at work asked me what I was planning to do, and I simply said, “I hope to make it through without any medication,” learning by this point to not get into detail because it just gives people more fuel for the fire. A customer who overheard this went out of her way to come across the store and tell me, “You know…you should really, REALLY think about that because if you get too far along, they won’t be able to give you an epidural. Even if you really beg for it. It’s probably better to just go ahead and get it as soon as possible.” The look on my face must have screamed, “I think I may launch this baby bathtub at your face,” because she shut up and quickly left the store.
Now, true as some of that may be, what gives you the right to say that? Let’s switch roles for a second. If I were to ever tell a pregnant woman that she’s crazy for wanting an epidural, that she’s hurting her baby, etc. (which, let me just clarify, is NOT at all how I feel.. just using as an example) I would be a “pusher” of my beliefs on her. So what the hell makes it okay for someone who had or plans to have an epi, or has never or will never give birth the right to tell ME that I’m crazy, especially after they asked ME what my plans were?! And to feel so passionately that I will fail and then to feel the right to express that to me?! Listen, you can laugh at me all you want. You don’t have to believe I can do it, but please spare me the “Oh, just wait and see” lecture. And for the record, all your disbelief does is fire me up even more to do it. Yes, I LOVE doing things people tell me I can’t do. I think it’s that whole problem with authority thing in me.
Since that 20 week appointment, a lot has changed…mainly the medical professionals responsible for delivering my son. We switched to a Certified Nurse Midwife practice, which I have to say, I always considered way too “crunchy” before this whole experience. Ahhh…but that’s what pregnancy does to you, I guess. Just another thing I ended up doing that I thought I never would. We are VERY happy with them. We will be delivering at a Birthing Center, but also have the convenience and reassurance of a hospital which is attached, complete with all the necessary doctors and equipment needed in case of an emergency. We were lucky to end up with such a great compromise, and I don’t think my paranoid husband would be so supportive of the “crunchy” route if we hadn’t.
We completed a 12 week Bradley Method class, and are currently trying to keep up with our relaxation exercises. I’ve got the bag packed with tennis balls for massage and battery operated candles to help me relax in the tub. The Ipod is stocked with relaxing spa-like music and the birthing ball is by the door, ready to go. I feel we are about as prepared and supported as we can be for a natural birth. But a couple weeks ago my husband expressed his first signs of anxiety about the whole coaching/laboring process. See…he knows me well. He knows that I may ask for medication, that I may looking into his eyes and beg him to get me an epidural, and that if he gives in and runs to get the anesthesiologist, I may very well end up kicking him in the balls after the baby is born for giving in to me too easy. He talked to our CNM about this recently. How would he know if I was really, really, REALLY serious? She had a good suggestion.
See, I may very well end up with medication. As much as I’m not even allowing myself the option of thinking about it right now, it’s still an option if I so choose it. Just know that if I come back here after the baby is born and tell you all I had an epidural, I would have had to look my husband in the eyes and utter our “code line” (the CNM’s suggestion), which we have decided will be….”Baby, you’re my Boo,” because we both now how incredibly out of character and hard that will be for me to say.
38 weeks 4 days