Isaac's Birth Story: One year later

(Suzannah's first birthday happened to occur over Memorial Weekend, which afforded me the luxury of spending the day reliving the morning we became a family and gave me plenty of time to write her a long letter in the journal I keep for her. Today, I foolishly did not take the day off from school and I wish I had, because I am having the hardest time actually doing all the professional things I am supposed to be doing. I really just want to sit here and look at birth/newborn photos all day long. And right now I should be grading a bunch of sophomore notebooks, but there is no way I can concentrate on any of that until I write this out.)

One year ago at this time, I was snuggled on the couch nursing my brand-new baby boy. I spent most of the day there, sending Matt out for food and calling people on the phone and just basking in Isaac's perfect newborn smell. Patti, my doula, called a few times and gently reminded me to get some rest -- but I was riding the most incredible high of my life. It didn't even matter that I hadn't slept since midnight the night before, when I dozed for about forty-five minutes before my water broke in a giant, splashy, dramatic way as I jumped out of bed and vaulted into the bathroom.

I remember singing at the top of my lungs on the way to the birth center; Matt had made me this great Labor Mix that included songs like "Revelation Song" and "Float On." I remember the way he grinned a bit when I chanted along to Modest Mouse when I wasn't moaning through contractions. I remember turning to him and saying, "We're having a baby today!" I remember the light covering of snow on the ground out at Lake Tapps, and the way it made everything seem so beautiful and clear and impossibly perfect. I said to Matt, "When we tell our child's birth story, it will begin with 'You were born on an icy December night.'"

I never posted his birth story here, mostly because I am wordy and it is long, and also possibly because I was a bit distracted in the days and weeks following his birth -- but I thought his first birthday, a day on which I am practically drowning in nostalgia, was an appropriate time to share a part of it.

Nancy was waiting for us when we pulled into her driveway shortly after two in the morning. The outside lights snapped on, and Matt hurried around to help me out of the car. Nancy was beautifully dressed -- I swear she doesn't ever sleep -- and the rooms were warm and dimly-lit, with soft music playing in the background.

She did a quick check -- I never thought I would want to be checked at all, but suddenly I was terribly interested in exactly how far dilated I was or how much "progress" I'd made. When I arrived at the hospital with Suzannah I was 6 cm already, and I was just so confident that I'd made significant progress already this time, too. Matt helped me lie back on the bed and I realized my legs were shaking uncontrollably, although I didn't feel cold. Nancy reassured me that it was totally normal. It was not the last reassuring thing she said to me throughout my labor; she has a way of being both fairly hands-off but very competent and in-control, so I always felt totally free to do what worked for me but also very well cared for.

"Well, you're about 2 cm dilated," Nancy said. Her tone of voice was as soothing and cheerful as if she'd told me I was 8 cm. I was unimpressed. Two? TWO? I was two at my last appointment. I'd probably been at TWO for the past three months. Two? Are you fricking kidding me? What about these contractions?

But I tried not to dwell on it much. Nancy's demeanor was so calm and in-charge that I didn't feel worried or tense, just momentarily discouraged. She asked if we wanted to watch a movie or anything to distract ourselves, if the contractions weren't too unmanageable. Patti wasn't there yet, so we popped in Sleepless in Seattle. I'd always thought I'd start my labor at home that way -- watching some mindless comfort movies or something -- so the thought appealed to me. I wasn't in agonizing pain yet, so it seemed like a decent way to pass the time.

Except that Patti and Dori, her assistant, arrived about thirty seconds after the movie started, and I promptly lost all interest in watching anything. For one thing, I was just so happy to see her; for another thing, the contractions were slowly getting stronger, and I realized I didn't really want to watch anything. I much preferred just talking with Patti and Dori. They were so cheerful and upbeat and seemed so genuinely happy to be there; Patti hugged me warmly as soon as she came in the door, and I felt so loved and supported. This was such an important part of the entire experience for me; I knew I was completely supported and safe.

I did, however, express my disappointment in my TWO. FRICKING. CENTIMETERS. Patti reminded me that I was still making progress, that these contractions were working for me. I'd been sitting on the couch when she arrived, but as the contractions picked up I moved to the birth ball, which felt wonderful. At first I just rocked back and forth and swiveled my hips while Matt applied counter pressure and did hip squeezes. This worked for quite awhile, and in between contractions, we all talked and laughed about a million different things. It was so relaxed, even enjoyable. Patti and Dori kept complimenting me, telling me I was doing such a great job of letting my body move and work, that they practically had to beg some women to move because labor just made them lock right up. The idea of sitting still or lying down was drastically unappealing to me, so this was difficult for me to comprehend.

As the contractions picked up, I found it more comforting to have Matt in front of me, so I could lean against him. Patti and Dori took turns doing hip squeezes through the contractions, and they all breathed with me. At one point, Matt had to run to the bathroom, so Patti stayed in front of me and rubbed my shoulders and stroked my forehead and the side of my head, reminding me to stay centered, to let go of tension, to go deep inside myself, and I found that incredibly calming. She's so gifted at what she does, truly -- she always seemed to sense when I really needed her to be hands-on and when she could work better by helping Matt support me.

Later, Patti remarked about how happy I seemed through it all -- I'd just smile after every contraction, a mixture of sheer relief and excitement. I just felt like I had the best cheerleading section on the planet. At one point, I felt a contraction coming on and I turned around and grinned at Patti: "Here we go!" And everyone laughed.

After awhile, Patti asked if I wanted to try leaning over the birth ball instead of sitting on it, so I did that for awhile. She talked me through some pelvic rocks, and at that point I could feel the baby kicking a bit. It felt strange to feel kicks during contractions, but in a weird way I tried to pay close attention to them because I knew that soon I'd be missing them (as eager as I was to kiss my baby's feet outside my body).

Sometime after 4:00 in the morning, they asked if I'd like to try the tub. OH, YES. I'd been so looking forward to laboring in Nancy's huge tub, and at that point it was really sounding wonderful. Nancy checked me again and announced that I'd progressed to "somewhere between four and five centimeters." Everyone was so encouraging -- that's great! You're making progress! Your baby is moving right down! -- so I really felt okay about the fact that I wasn't as dilated as I originally thought I "should" be. The contractions were definitely picking up in intensity, but I still felt that they were completely manageable.

I climbed in the tub around 4:30 in the morning, and things began to change. At first I knelt in the water, leaning over the side. Between contractions, I would lie back in the water or lie on my side, which felt wonderful and soothing during the breaks but didn't work during the actual contractions. I had a harder time relaxing between contractions and became decidedly less chatty. I think Patti sensed that I was growing more tense about what was still ahead, so she reminded me that my body was acclimating to the contractions gradually, that I didn't have to cope with the worst all at once, and that 2/3 of labor is the rest between contractions.

I never once wanted to be anywhere else. I still marvel at how completely safe I felt there. I'm not going to say I never felt fearful or tense, but those moments were fleeting, and I completely credit my birth team with helping to keep me centered and relaxed and trusting in my body's ability to birth my baby safely.

I hit transition in the tub, obviously, although I'm not sure when. After a particularly strong contraction, Patti asked if things felt different; I said yes, and that I felt queasy. She gave me a little bottle of peppermint oil, which I found immensely soothing and relieved some of the nausea. And then things picked up -- the contractions were hard. I was really struggling to work through them without panicking. But Patti and Matt and Dori continued to breathe with me, and I managed not to think about what was coming -- I just kept thinking, I'm doing this one. I can get through this one. I grew tired of kneeling in the water, or else I just felt like I needed to move again, so I slipped down in the water and turned over on my right side. Someone slipped a washcloth underneath my head. And then things really changed -- I had, I don't even know, two contractions in that position and I suddenly felt like I couldn't do anything to stay on top of them. I tried to keep my face relaxed and breathe or chant my way through them like I had been, but my body just took over. Something about shifting into that position, at that moment --

"I'm pushing, I'm pushing, I'm pushing! Oh, God! I'm PUSHING!" I found myself howling, suddenly totally panicked. Because that's exactly what was happening -- my body was pushing, and I couldn't stop it. I was terrified, because I thought there was no way I could possibly already be ready to push. I really thought I might break apart. Instantly, I felt hands on me, and Patti and Nancy were both right there saying, "It's okay! It's okay! Don't fight it, let it happen! Let your body work, it's okay!"

(Later, Patti told me that they never thought my labor would progress so quickly. Nancy had mentioned that she thought my contractions weren't quite strong enough to make it a fast labor even though they were obviously helping me progress, and when she checked me she noted that the baby still had to come down quite a bit. But neither one of them let on that things were anything other than moving beautifully, and for that I am so grateful. Not that it would have been a problem or an issue if things had continued as they had been for awhile, but I think I would have been discouraged had I tried to think about how long it could be. Trying to do labor math is a BAD IDEA.)

At that point, I just had to get out of the tub.

They placed towels on the floor and Nancy draped one across my shoulders, and all of them eased me out of the tub. I just wanted to get to the bed; at that point, I wasn't thinking at all. Matt helped me up on the bed and the next thing I knew, Nancy was saying, "Honey, reach down! Your baby's head is right there! Reach down and feel the head!"

I couldn't believe it, but there it was.

Pushing, at that point, felt wonderful -- I mean, oh, yes, it burned. But I had never felt anything so powerful in my life. I pushed with everything I had, and just like that, I felt my baby's head come all the way out.

"Matt, catch your baby," Nancy said.

And with another push, our son was born into his daddy's hands.

"It's a boy!" he cried.

When Suzannah was born, and I heard "We have a girl!" I cried tears of sheer joy.

When Isaac was born, I laughed.

I laughed as he was delivered to my chest, because I couldn't hold it in -- the force of that joy. I laughed because I heard my son's cry and it was beautiful and strong. I laughed because the relief I felt in that moment was profound. I laughed because I knew him. I laughed as I brought him to my chest and kissed his warm head and welcomed him into his family.

Matt cut the umbilical cord and the three of us curled up together. Isaac was so beautiful and so alert and he immediately latched on and began to nurse. Nancy covered us in warm towels, and it was all so gentle, so peaceful. It was exactly how his entrance into the world should have been.

After awhile, Nancy took him over to weigh him: eight pounds, nine ounces. She measured him on my chest, and he was nearly 22 inches long. A perfect, healthy boy.

I felt so good. So good. The high I felt in those first moments was unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. It was just sheer bliss. I felt -- and still feel -- overwhelmed with gratitude: for my strong, loving husband; for Patti's loving support; for Nancy's gentle wisdom. For the beautiful baby boy born in such a beautiful way. And for the love and support of everyone who was thinking about and praying for us that morning.

One year later, I can't begin to describe what it feels like to look at my beautiful baby boy as he squishes his cake and frosting between his chubby fingers, to listen to his shrieks of laughter as he splashes wildly in the bathtub afterwards, to nurse him to sleep in my arms. To be the mother of these two beautiful children -- to see them together, to watch them grow, to watch Suzannah pat Isaac's head and call him a "silly boy," to watch Isaac break into a grin whenever Suzannah pays him the slightest bit of attention. To touch them both, to kiss them and hold them and breathe in the absolute sweetness of their skin. My family. My arms are full. My heart, oh, my heart -- it is full.