I spent the majority of this last pregnancy absolutely certain that my baby was going to be born on the side of the road on the way to the hospital. I told Jon he had to watch some YouTube "how to deliver a baby" tutorials or something, because he was definitely going to have to catch this baby. Finn was born in 90 minutes, start to finish, and I knew that if that happened again there was no way I would make it to the hospital this time since we now live so far away. The math went like this: 10-20 minutes for me to be sure I was in labor, 45 minutes for my mom to get here to watch the boys, 45 minutes to the hospital (more than an hour if it was rush hour) = baby on the side of the road. The numbers didn't look any better if I went into labor while Jon was at work. Then two weeks before my due date, my cousin gave birth to her third baby in an ambulance, not two blocks from her house. See? IT RUNS IN MY FAMILY. (I have this theory that since we come from an unbroken line of Catholic peasants, we are exceptionally uncomplicated birthers. Right? Wouldn't our genetics just favor fast, easy deliveries? Someone needs to do a study.) I kept running scenarios over and over in my mind, trying to figure out the best plan.
So when I started having regular contractions about three weeks before Cass was born, I put everyone on high alert. I thought I had had Braxton-Hicks contractions with Conor and Finn, but I must have imagined them, because these hurt. Really hurt. I stopped working and started spending all of my time focusing on the contractions, as if I could will them into turning into real labor. It was exhausting. I finally decided to ignore them completely and go on with my life, and immediately felt much better. My midwife stripped my membranes at my 39 week appointment, which cause the contractions to get more intense that night, but it faded away by the next afternoon. I was already three centimeters dilated, but I knew that that didn't mean much - I had been that dilated with Conor and Finn for weeks before they were born.
Three days after my due date, Jon and I were at the home inspection for the house we had just bought. We walked around the house and property for about two hours, and at some point during that time something changed. The contractions didn't feel any stronger or any closer together, but something was just - different. I think the baby must have dropped very low, or it was just intuition, but as my mom (who is also my realtor) was leaving I said "Keep your phone on tonight."
We took the boys out for pizza for dinner, and when we arrived home, we got the news that Jon's 92-year-old grandmother, who we both loved dearly and were very close to, had passed away from cancer earlier that evening. Jon had traveled to New Jersey to see her and say goodbye a week before, but I had hoped to have the baby before she went so she could meet her little namesake. Even though we had expected the news, the grief was still overwhelming.
I stayed up too late that night, watching Breaking Bad reruns I think, and didn't get to bed until midnight. At 1:30 I woke up with a staggering, overwhelming sensation in my abdomen - just a phantom memory of pain, a contraction I had while I was asleep. I woke Jon up to time the contractions. Yup, seven minutes later, another one. We jumped out of bed right away, knowing that we were racing against the clock. Jon called my mom and the midwife, who told us to come straight in. While we were waiting for my mom to come and stay with the boys, I got in the shower. I had eaten an orange the night before, and for some reason I thought I could still smell it on my hands and the smell was really bothering me. I get preoccupied with little things during labor.
The contractions kept coming - every five minutes, then every three. I did a lot of moaning and hanging off the staircase banister, or the counter, or the back of the couch - anything that could support my weight while I swayed. Jon started out by rubbing my back and saying "shhh, you're ok" during contractions. After I told him to stop saying that because I was most certainly NOT ok and did not care for being shushed, he switched to "you're doing great" which was much better.
My mom got to the house, and Jon already had the car running and our bags inside, a towel on the passenger seat, and my favorite Decemberists songs playing. I had wanted to take our minivan because I thought that the space in the back would be useful for the roadside delivery I was sure we were facing, but was glad that Jon chose the stations wagon because - heated seats! That heat felt so nice against my back during the drive.
Jon made it to the hospital in about 25 minutes, which is 30 minutes faster than I was ever able to do. Good man. I was so happy to be there. We went in through the emergency room since it was about 2:00 a.m. at that point and the other entrance was closed. By then I was feeling a lot of pressure and just wanted to be in a bed, so I was maybe a tiny bit rude to the inebriated ER patient who wanted to chat about how many kids I have during a contraction.
Because I'm a little delusional, I guess, I refused the wheelchair and walked up to labor and delivery, stopping every minute or two to hang onto a hand rail along the side of the hallway and moan through my contractions. A very worried-looking aide got us to the maternity triage area, where Mary, the midwife on duty, helped me to undress, got me onto a stretcher, and checked me. I remember her saying "you have fast labors, right?" I said yes, that my second had been born within minutes of getting to the hospital. She said, "Well, it looks like you're going to do it that way again! You're at nine centimeters."
They rolled my bed down the hall to a delivery room, and things get a bit hazy after that. I remember that the room was very dark, and that it was just me, Jon, Mary, and a nurse. I was on a fetal monitor, but couldn't see the feed or hear any machines beeping. Time is strange when you're in labor - everything seemed to slow down dramatically. I remember feeling like the time between contractions lasted forever, and turning to Jon and saying "I think my labor stopped. I haven't had a contraction in 15 minutes." He looked at me like I was crazy and said I was having contractions every minute or so. I remember praying to Jon's grandmother, who I am sure was already with God and watching out for us, to ask God to help me deliver this great-granddaughter of hers. I thought of my friends dealing with miscarriage and infertility, and tried to offer some of my pain for them. These were fleeting, half-formed prayers, but I know they were heard.
I wanted so badly for the baby to be born, and for the contractions to be over, but felt very overwhelmed and confused. Both Conor and Finn had been delivered by midwives who were of the legs-back-count-to-ten-PUSH variety, which I didn't mind and was expecting. Mary, however, just kept saying that I was a strong, healthy woman, and that I should do what my body was telling me to do. I had no idea what my body was telling me to do. I tried a few pushes - nothing. I just wanted this baby to come on her own, without me having to do anything. I wanted to lie still and have her just arrive. I was scared of the pain of the delivery, and I remember whispering to Jon that I didn't want it to hurt.
I asked, "Can you see her yet?" Mary said, firmly now, "Well, you have to push. You know that." So I lay on my back, pulled my legs back, and counted, like I had with Conor and Finn. I still couldn't figure out how to push, and started to feel nauseous. Mary said "Try lying on your side, you'll feel less nauseous. I can catch her however you want to deliver her." So I lay on my side, and gave a couple of small, grunty pushes. That did it - her head was born right away, and her body followed in a rush with a couple more little pushes. It was 3:30 a.m. on May 14, and I had a daughter.
They put her on my chest and she started to nurse right away - she nursed for more than an hour, and then they wheeled me to the recovery room. We were able to leave the hospital the next day and get her home to her eager big brothers and extended family, who welcomed this little one with a particular joy. She was, and is, a spot of bright light in their, and our, sorrow.
