I'm usually later than I ought to be with writing up our birth stories, but as baby is now comfortably past his first birthday, I may be pushing it a bit.
But hey, that's life with six children.
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| Baby nowadays. |
Every birth brings new experiences. This birth was the labor with no warning. Normally, I know very well when labor is imminent. False labor, an upset stomach, etc. There's always something.
Not this time.
During our 39 week visit, being puzzled by this total lack of pre-labor symptoms, I asked our midwives if births ever occurred without warning beforehand. They emphatically said yes. One of our midwives said that it's totally possible to have zero pre-labor symptoms and then be holding a baby five hours later - which is exactly what happened. (As in, to the minute.)
At 5:00 p.m. on Friday, June 10th, I saw my wonderful chiropractor for a prenatal adjustment. She said that she didn't see any indicators that I was close to labor (which she is commonly able to feel during adjustments) , but hoped that the work she did would be able to move us closer to labor.
That evening, my mom (who was staying with us) asked, with a bit of impatience, if I shouldn't be out walking in order to get labor started. I replied with a grumpily emphatic, "Are you crazy? NO!" - never having liked labor enough to actually encourage it.
But...
At 12:05 a.m. that night, I awoke suddenly with a strong, no-nonsense contraction. No graceful intimations, no slowly-building-up sort of thing. Just awake, incredibly uncomfortable, and wondering what on earth was going on.
For the next three hours, I waffled uncomfortably about the bedroom, alternating between sitting on the toilet (uncomfortable!), walking around (uncomfortable!), or lying down (uncomfortable!) - thoroughly exhausted and sleepy the whole time, and wondering bitterly why my body couldn't kindly knock it off and let me get some sleep and then labor - if we had to - at a more sane and civilized hour, say, 10:00 a.m. or so, after coffee and a leisurely breakfast.
And, of course, I did my utmost to stay firmly in a state of denial that this could be the real thing. ("Maybe I'm not in labor! Maybe this is false labor! Yes, definitely false labor!")
Apparently, my body wasn't listening to me.(Shucks.)
At 3:00 a.m., my water broke. This broke through most of the last few layers of denial . I didn't quite let go of my dream of labor STOPPING FOR A WHILE and letting me SLEEP, but I also knew that with my water broken, I was - if I didn't go and wake my husband - now running a risk of being stuck by myself in a back room giving birth to a baby by myself. (You know, like what happened with baby #4.)
That being the case, I sighed and gave in to the inevitable.
I first borrowed my husband's phone and fooled around with it for a while until I figured out how to send a text, and then texted my midwife to let her know that my water had broken, but that we didn't need anyone yet. (Why do I always say this? Why?)
I then woke up my husband and told him that we might be in labor. (Or might not. In which case, we could stop this whole thing and I could go back to sleep. Did I mention that I don't do well being woken up for middle-of-the-night labor?)
He watched me labor through two contractions, and then heaved his usual why-is-my-wife-so-dense-during-labor sigh, and told me that the midwives needed to come over. Right away.
We texted the midwives around 3:30 a.m., and the three of them (one midwife, one senior student, one junior student) arrived between 4:00 and 4:30 a.m. Our midwife - who has attended two of our other births and is a dear friend - arrived first. She asked me how I was feeling, and I said, "Crummy!" We both chuckled.
As during our last labor, I found that I wanted to labor alone. So I set up a bath, the midwives turned off the lights, and they and my husband camped out in our bedroom while I labored in the tub. I can't say that it was wonderful - we are, after all, talking about childbirth - but it was a wonderfully supportive and positive environment. One of the midwives would come in every few minutes to check on baby and me, and then quietly slip out again. (Midwives are wonderful. Especially ours. I hope you, dear reader, have experienced as much love and support from your birth teams as I have from mine.)
At 5:00 a.m., pushing contractions hit, and baby was out in two or three contractions. (Translation: I pushed for something slightly short of eternity, which the rest of the world somehow experienced as a couple of minutes. Strange, that.) I remember having the disjointed feeling that pushing contractions felt somehow off - as in, not the sequence of sensations that I quite remembered from our other babies, and in having to push longer and harder. I may or may not be correct in that observation. However, I did tear during the birth, something that hasn't happened since a minor tear during my labor with our first. (It healed well, with no complications.)
Aside from that, baby was fine, healthy, and weighed in at 9 pounds, 2 ounces - our second-biggest baby. We named him after a beloved family friend who died of cancer about a month before baby began his life, and our little guy is a joyful reminder of that friend.
We had managed to conduct our labor so quietly that the rest of the household - five children and my parents - had slept through the entire thing. The midwives were heading out as the household awoke, so the children and my parents quite literally woke up to find me sitting up in bed and holding our newest. In hindsight, it was a nice change from the never-ending questions and interactions that a troupe of young children can bring to labor, so I was - in the end - quite happy that our labor happened during the wee hours, despite my endless whining. (God knew what he was doing. Fancy that.)
I believe that all of the work I did before labor to prepare for labor and birth really, really helped. I can feel the difference, both mentally and physically, when I put in the work to prepare. You can see my list of pre-birth preparation tips here.
Is baby #6 our last?
We do not know. I am now (at baby's first birthday) at age 41, so my fertile years are numbered. However, I have known women who had babies up until age 50, so we may or may not be at the end of our childbearing years. Either way, we are committed to accepting joyfully any children that God sends to us. We didn't start with this attitude, but we have embraced it for the past ten years, and it has been a blessing.
So time will tell.
My dear readers, I regret that I do not have the time to blog more regularly at present. I would like to check in more often, and perhaps I will be able to. (While stopping in to write this birth story, I did at least take the opportunity clean up my link lists, so that visitors can now have an updated list of resources and websites.) In the meantime, life with six children keeps me busy-busy-BUSY. But always feel free to teach out to me via email! I love to keep in touch with those of you who have the ability to do so!
I wish and pray for you all a wonderful rest of 2022!
