“Are you sure you don’t want a mirror?”: my daughter’s birth story part 2

7:30am

The first contraction washed over me so slightly I might not have noticed if not for the climbing line on the monitor beside me. Breathing deeply, I counted the seconds as the line slowly dropped back down to zero. The room was dark, silent except for the steady thumping of my daughter’s heart over the monitor and the rustle of sheets as my husband stirred slightly in the corner, and I vainly attempted to empty my mind of excitement, anxiety, overwhelming emotion that I would meet my daughter in a matter of hours.

On the screen, the line began to rise once more, and I felt my belly tighten and then slowly soften, knowing that the ability to relax through contractions wouldn’t last much longer. My eyes closed and I lay back in a futile attempt to sleep.

The IV had been steadily feeding me pitocin to start my labor for over an hour–despite my resolute desire to deliver with as little medical intervention as possible, my daughter’s plummeting heart rate determined otherwise and the doctor decided an induction was the safest option–and I tried to ignore the stories I had read about pitocin. The failed inductions ending in emergency C-sections. The pain of pitocin-induced contractions compared to regular ones. Delivering without medication was extremely important to me and I had prepared extensively to do so…

But I hadn’t prepared for an induction. Many of my methods of pain management were out the window and so I did my best to quiet my mind, knowing fear and tension would be the greatest enemies during labor.

More contractions. They were quickly getting stronger, and it was taking more and more focus to steady my breathing. I heard my husband’s voice from the sleeper sofa on the other side of the room.

“Hi,” he smiled sleepily.

“Hi,” I sucked in a deep breath and noticed his querying look. “It’s just a contraction. They put me on pitocin about an hour and a half ago. They’re getting strong.”

He moved to sit by me as another contraction washed over me, we turned on a movie, and I snuck food to keep my energy up. By the time the movie was finished, I was gripping my husband’s hand in pain. The nurse had told us our daughter’s heart rate had dropped once more but she had stabilized and we shouldn’t be concerned.

12:00 noon

The doctor on shift entered the room and introduced herself.

She offered a pelvic exam and I declined, not interested in knowing how far along I was. At that point, it took all my concentration to talk during contractions and they were coming hard, strong, and close together. Clearly, I was already in active labor–I didn’t need anyone up in my business to tell me that–and my body would progress as it was ready to do so. They mentioned breaking my water and I again declined, because once my water broke the contractions would only become stronger without necessarily being more effective. If I was progressing, as I was, there was no point in interfering with that.

12:30

My husband, trying to be helpful, asked if I wanted the epidural. I considered drop-kicking him out the window for his dastardly suggestion.

(But he was wonderful, really. He sat by me for hours letting him squeeze his hands until they were numb, pulling me out of the fog of pain with his steady voice and encouraging words.)

Due to the monitors and wires and lack of access to my belly, most of my methods of pain management were out, and we were left with breathing techniques, Panaway rubbed along the part of my belly my husband could reach, and changing positions. Panaway would work for a second and then the contractions would become stronger, and breathing and changing positions seemed to be doing nearly nothing. I once read a very unhelpful birth story where a mom advised imagining the sensation of a limb being ripped off, saying that’s what labor can feel like. I scoffed because that’s ridiculous, right? But it turns out she wasn’t that far off. The pain was literally unimaginable and try as I might to conceptualize breathing my child out and picture contractions as waves I could ride, and every contraction brings me closer to meeting my child, the pain was not lessening one bit.

It came down to lack of mental preparation, I know. I had prepared physically instead and my induction tossed those plans right out.

I wanted that epidural.

But, I was committed to a medication free birth (as medication free as possible, seeing I was induced and all) and I pressed forward.

3:30pm

The pain was beginning to take over and I knew that panicking would only make it worse; still, I could feel my whole body starting to tighten and the tears brimming. My mind was relatively calm but physiologically, the panic was setting in and I was losing control. My husband could feel this in the way I had gone from gritting my teeth and gripping his hand with all my strength to my grip weakening and me not being able to do anything except, erm, yell. Yes, that was me–the lady hollering her way through labor.

There were only seconds between contractions. Even though through all of this my mind still felt calm, I was struggling not to hyperventilate and my tears were purely physiological, not emotional. That’s when I knew I was losing the battle against the pain. My daughter would come one way or another but due to lack of mental preparation, my labor was going to be so much more difficult because I couldn’t relax.

I was almost fully dilated when I requested the epidural, then it was nearly an hour before the anesthesiologist arrived and still another half an hour before the epidural set in and I had any sort of relief. By the time the epidural had been administered I was ready to deliver, but instead, I asked for half an hour to rest and the nurse gladly obliged.

5:00pm

Due to the two hours of sleep I had gotten the night before, my husband suggested I take a power nap, and I briefly considered it but there was something else I wanted to do before I delivered.

My makeup.

Yes, that was also me–that lady doing her makeup minutes before delivering her child. Call me crazy.

That’s what was important to me. I felt physically depleted, I looked like a hot mess, and my body had been host to a tiny human for nine months–it was about time I did something for myself as an individual person before I became mom to an itty-bitty newborn who needed me all hours of the day (and night.)

The nurse wheeled over the mirror used so moms can watch their babies coming out–eww–for me to use and I spent my last fifteen minutes as a mom-of-only-one moisturizing and coloring and foundation-ing, because nobody does well when they feel like a mess. Then it was time to go. (PS. Cover picture is me literally two minutes before delivering.)

5:15pm

My room once again filled with a sea of blue scrubs and encouraging faces and the doctor prepared for delivery.

“Are you sure you don’t want a mirror?” the nurse questioned. Umm, eww, no I don’t. What on earth came over me, I have no idea, but suddenly as she started away I cried for her to stop. It’s a beautiful thing, yes, but regardless of having done it before, I still personally thought watching births was gross–however, it’s also fascinating and weirdly transfixing so I decided, why not? (Yes, at that point in my labor I was reaching the point of why nots.) Worst case scenario, I would have a traumatizing memory.

We discussed my birth plan a final time–immediate skin to skin, delayed cord clamping, episiotomies were 100% out of the question, and I didn’t want coaching. My water still hadn’t broken so we’d work that one out too when it came to it.

5:18pm

My son took a whopping eight minutes of pushing before he made his entrance so I knew my daughter would come quickly.

Plus I had definitely been doing abdominal exercises throughout the duration of my pregnancy. My abs were top notch.

I told my husband I was ready and took a deep breath, then went at it with all my might. In the mirror, I saw a dark head appear and suddenly the doctor was in the way–a tiny, wee babe in her hands.

It had been maybe 30 seconds of pushing, probably more like 10.

Hah! That was so easy.

And then the puniest, tiny squall filled the room. The cry I had been waiting to hear for nine months. My sweet daughter had arrived, 6lbs 4oz with a dark quilt of hair, purple feet, and grey-blue eyes; she was perfect in every way.

Tiny humans are adorable when they look so angry with the world and our little girl was no exception. Finally, our family was complete–at least for now!

And just like that, the pain of labor was forgotten. Actually, I couldn’t feel anything and 100% fell on my face trying to walk to the bathroom a few hours later. The nurse freaked out and I laughed but nobody else thought it was funny that I had insisted on walking on my own only a few hours after an epidural; I had no problem when my son was born but I guess every epidural is different too.

Everything felt surreal–I had a perfect new daughter and an appetite to rival a horse’s and did I just have a child moments ago??

I have never felt like such a boss.

Welcome to the world, baby girl.