I had a cheeseburger the night before Lukas was born. I will always remember that because I thought my early contractions were just the gurglings of an unhappy pregnant tummy that had just been fed junk food. We were at my parent's house, just to get out for a bit and get our minds off of the waiting game. Lukas was not born nearly four weeks early as his sister had been. He was born two days before his due date, and at that point, I'd been through so much pre-labor (false labor) that I didn't even realize it was the real deal. I sat at my parent's house that Thursday night, before contractions began, and just zoned out. I was exhausted and hadn't been sleeping much for at least 4 weeks at that point, and the thought of going into labor while feeling that tired was actually freaking me out a little bit. Being at my parent's house made me feel calm, vegging out and watching Funniest Home Videos while Ella played with Nana. And after the third or fourth fast food commercial, even the non-pregnant people in the room started commenting that a cheeseburger sounded pretty good. Once we'd eaten and sat around for a while longer, we headed home to start another restless night's sleep.
I started the night off in my bed, and I remember getting up to go to the bathroom probably around 1 or 2 AM and feeling Lukas shift and hit my bone. One of my midwives had told me that once Lukas' head clicked into place, labor would probably start immediately. I jokingly thought to myself, "Gee, maybe this is it" but I didn't think much more of it at that point. I couldn't get comfortable in bed like usual so I ended up spending several hours on the couch, trying to sleep while sitting up. I had a stomachache but nothing was coming in rhythm or even felt like contractions at that point. Eventually, I was tired enough to sleep in my bed, but after an hour or so of laying down, Ella was awake and crying. I remember it was 4:30 in the morning because I remember that I'd only been asleep for about an hour at that point and I clearly thought to myself, "I can't believe it's 4:30 in the stinking morning and I've only been asleep for an hour and Ella is awake." Stephen went to check on her and came back to tell me that she had a bloody nose, which was so strange and random. He cleaned her off in the bathroom and I went in with them because I had to pee (like usual). He put Ella in our bed and I called him into the bathroom to share the lovely news that I had lost a whole lot of "stuff". I hate to even write it because even the words are so nasty... but let's just say it rhymes with fucous flug. ;) I remember saying that labor might finally be starting, but I'd been losing my plug off and on so I didn't think too much of it. I went back to bed and laid down, finally awake enough to realize that I was definitely having contractions. I started timing them and they were coming rhythmically, though somewhat irregularly, but after a half hour I nudged Stephen over Ella's sleeping body and said that it might be time to pack up and go in the coming hours. It was 5:30, and I decided to get up and go to the bathroom again. Only this time, there was blood, so I called to Stephen and said, "Ok, it's definitely time to call my mom."
It was weird, because even after seeing the blood, I still had this, "I wonder if this is really labor" thought, but in the few short minutes it took Stephen to call my parents, the contractions starting getting really intense. He hadn't even hung up the phone yet when I yelled at him to tell them to come FAST! I got myself ready (well, all that really means is that I put on a sweatshirt over my tank top and capri pjs) and started walking around my house. It had been 5:45 when Stephen called my parents, and by the time my mom and Gelsea got there at 6:15 I couldn't talk through the contractions and I had to lean on something to take the pressure off my back during each one.
We left pretty much the second that my mom arrived, and on the way there, Stephen made the decision to jump on the freeway even though we'd previously discussed avoiding the freeway so we wouldn't get stuck in potential traffic. It was one of those things that even though we'd talked it through and even though we both know that traffic is horrible on this particular freeway 90% of the time, he just couldn't shake that "the freeway will be faster" thought and decided to go for it. Unfortunately, even at 6:15 AM, the traffic on I-84W is horrible. Even more unfortunately, there's no exit for a couple of miles once you get on the freeway near our house, so we were in it to win it whether we wanted to be or not. So, yes, just like in the movies, my husband was weaving in and out of traffic as I was waving and yelling at cars next to me while pointing at my stomach as if to say, "Do you SEE this?! You WILL yield to THIS!!!" Of course, everyone avoided eye contact with the crazy lady so it didn't even help us and I spent at least ten minutes considering the possibility that I would give birth on the side of the road.
It was during this time that I knew I was in the transitional phase of labor, which is something that happened after I was at the hospital with Ella. The thought was really jarring, knowing how much faster things were going and how exhausted I already felt. When we got to the hospital, I didn't even think I could walk across the parking lot so I had Stephen drop me off at the door. I waddled in and made it as far as the visitor's welcome desk. The woman who was at the desk was so incredibly kind. She smiled and said, "You must be heading to the maternity ward" and then I squatted on the floor, hanging on to the counter with my palms, and she realized that I needed some help pronto. A guy was walking by and stopped to ask me if I needed a wheelchair, a look of concern on his face. I honestly couldn't come up with a response to that question because my decision-making ability was out the window at that point, but I eventually said no, that it'd be better for me to keep walking. The amazing woman from the desk, who looked like she must be a grandmother, came and walked me to the elevator. She held my shoulders and stopped with me while I breathed through contractions and knelt against the wall, holding on to the railing. By the time we got to the elevator, Stephen had met up with us and we all rode to the maternity ward. I went to the check in desk and squatted on the floor, grasping the counter and moaning. They told me I could skip the paperwork and took me to a birthing room.
Once inside, I met my nurse Summer who insisted on putting an IV on me so she could give me antibiotics for group B strep. I was so frustrated with the monitoring and the IV process, because I knew the antibiotics would be pointless. I kept wiggling around on the bed, knowing I needed to move around. My midwife Linda checked me and I was 8 cm. At that point, it was around 7 and we'd been at the hospital for 10 or 15 minutes. I asked to use the jacuzzi tub but it had to be cleaned because someone else had been using it. This really annoyed me since I was not in a patient mood and after ten minutes or so, I realized there was no point in waiting because I wouldn't have any time to use the tub anyway. I asked to use the shower in my birth room and my midwife gave the go ahead. We finally got the IV thing in the top of my hand, which was really uncomfortable and I just wanted to get in the shower so badly. I remember yelling (yes, yelling) at the nurse that the IV didn't matter because there's no way I'd have the antibiotics in my system long enough to make a difference anyway. They have to be in your system for 3 hours before giving birth for them to have any positive affect whatsoever. She still insisted on putting it in, which is hospital policy I'm sure, but we never did get the antibiotics in my system so it was pointless. I feel justified a bit by pointing this out. Pardon my self-righteous attitude for a minute. Just let me indulge myself. Stupid IV. I finally got to use the shower and the hot water on my back helped alleviate some pain, but it wasn't the soothing relief I'd been hoping for. I remember getting in the tub when I had Ella, and those moments in the water calmed me and gave me a chance to catch my breath. No such luck this time. After about five minutes, I told Stephen that I needed to push and he went to get the nurse.
When she came in the room, my nurse Summer told me that Linda was with another mom who was ready to give birth and it was possible that Summer would be the only person in the room if I were to give birth right away. It just was all happening so fast and they weren't prepared for it, especially because I was apparently one of many moms who decided to have her baby on Friday morning. The maternity ward was hopping! Summer checked me and I was at 9.5 cm but I had a bit of a lip hanging over Lukas' head so she helped to stretch that while I pushed slightly. Around that time, Linda came in and laughingly said that I was going to beat the other mama who had been in labor for much longer than I'd been at that point. She broke my water for me and told me to get ready to push.
I wish I could say it was one of those zen birth experiences and my body handled the pain like a champ, but that would be a lie. Don't judge me, but I was cursing like a sailor and crying my eyes out because it felt like my hips were being ripped from their sockets. It was the worst pain I'd ever experienced, and I felt so out of control. I kept wanting it to slow down, to give me a chance to catch my breath, and I remember repeatedly saying that I couldn't push because I was too tired. I felt drained. But I did push, as hard as I could, and in three or four monster pushes, Lukas was out and on my belly. I fell back onto my pillows and cried with relief because never in my LIFE had I wanted so badly for something to be over. I was in such a state of shock, holding my gorgeous boy, and I kept laughing and staring at Stephen in total wonder at the fact that any of it had even happened. It had been 5:30 that morning that I'd realized I was in labor, and here it was, 7:51 AM and I was holding my son. Less than 2 1/2 hours from start to finish, and they were by far the most intense 2.5 hours of my life.
Lukas was 8 lbs 3 oz, and 21 inches long. He was perfect. Beautiful red skin, a head covered with thin, shiny golden brown hair and the cutest little eyes. He was born with a furrowed brow, with such a swollen little crease between his eyes that it made him look like a tiny little bulldog. He started nursing within ten minutes, and he went for a full 15 minutes on each side before I stopped him and gave my poor body a break. He was so calm, this swaddled little bundle of baby looking up at us and sleeping off and on. I started to process the events of the morning and realized that it had been a very traumatic experience. I'd been prepared for a natural birth and I knew it would likely be fast. Ella's labor was quick as well, but the early labor phase for Ella was longer and I was more rested going into the experience. It was much smoother. With Lukas, it felt like a train wreck. I was shell shocked. The pain had been excruciating. One of my other midwives, Lisa, stopped by later that day and she helped me to process. She explained that because my labor had gone so quickly, my body did not have the chance to release all the necessary hormones that would have dulled my pain a little bit and helped to calm me down. Normally, during a natural birth, the body has a chance to absorb these hormones and it works at a natural pain-killer to numb the body a little bit. That didn't happen for me with Lukas like it had for Ella, and I attribute all of that extreme pain and trauma to the speed of the birth. There's no other way to say it... it was just so stinking fast.
Lukas' birth left me in such a state of shock and it took me a while to recover. In some ways, I'm still recovering because I still can't tell his birth story without recalling the sense of panic and fear that I felt during the process. Of course, it wasn't a negative experience and the story of his birth makes me feel happy and proud but it felt like something that happened TO me rather than something that I DID, if that makes any sense. I'm still sorting through the emotions behind it and if I'm honest with myself, it still makes me scared to think of doing it again someday. It also makes me feel like I should probably move next door to the hospital just in case it's even faster next time. But seeing my son now makes me sure that I'd go through the experience a thousand times more if that is what it took to have my sweet boy. I am so in love with him. Life hasn't slowed down much since having him, which is why I'm only now writing this and he is five months old. But he is the best thing to have happened to our little family of three. Ella loves her brother and we could not be more blessed. I mean that genuinely... the blessing of my husband and my children bowls me over and hits me deep at my core. I think about how grateful I am for them and sometimes I can hardly breathe, knowing how imperfect I am and what a gift it is to be twice trusted to nurture a child. And now, five months later, I have finally written down his story so we can all remember it as he grows. My little boy, who came crashing into the world... I love you. I'd do it again and again just to be with you.
