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Yes, it took me 17 months to get this to a point where I want to share. Ha! Beware: it's VERY, very long. If you want to get to the good stuff, skip to "And then my water broke."

E’s Birth Story

Here’s the good thing about having a baby right after the holidays: you don’t have time to wonder when you’re going to go into labor! So January 3rd was a perfect due date for me, because I was really anxious about labor and could have worked myself into a tizzy if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in all the holiday hoopla.

I’ve never considered myself a physically tough person—I’m kind of wimpy when I’m sick and I’m not the type to push through injuries. I really didn’t know how I would do during labor and childbirth. Because of the back surgery I had to correct my scoliosis, I knew I couldn’t have an epidural. That was scary, but I’d known it for so long that it was just kind of a fact of life.

Because of this, we’d taken care to prepare well. We worked with an awesome team of, hired a doula, and attended a Bradley birthing class. We knew what to expect. And you know what that means: it was nothing like we expected.

So, I knew didn’t want her to come early, because we were hosting DH’s whole family for Christmas Eve (at 38 weeks, 4 days) and so I needed her to stay in at least until then. But I was starting to wonder if I’d ever have any signs of labor. Lots of my friends, family members, and coworkers had been asking if there was any progress, and as far as I knew, there hadn’t. Looking in the mirror, I sometimes thought she’d dropped a little bit, but even that was hard to say for sure. I wasn’t having any contractions in my belly—in fact I never even had Braxton Hicks—or losing bits of my mucous plug (sorry), and my midwives don’t check dilation so I had no reference point there either. I made up my mind that I’d probably go past my due date, and started focusing on the 42-week mark: the longest my practice would let you go before an induction. In my mind, that became my new due date. I knew it would help me be less disappointed when January 3rd came and went, so I went with it.

It was so much fun to have everyone over for Christmas, although being on my feet for so long during the cooking and cleaning in preparation turned out to be a lot tougher than I expected. (I know, I know…you’d think I would have expected it.) My feet got really swollen and I was completely exhausted, but it was worth it. And I didn’t have a baby before I hosted (or while hosting) a huge holiday dinner, so I’d call that a win.

The week after Christmas, I got a weird cough. It was just a cough, but a really intense, chesty one. There were absolutely no other symptoms. Unfortunately, a terrible cough is not great for a very pregnant lady who has been mourning the loss of bladder control for weeks already. But there’s no need to get into all that, is there?

I stayed home from work for a couple of days just in case it was contagious, and then went to work on New Year’s Eve. Throughout the day, I started to get a little stuffy, and hoped that it wouldn’t turn into a full-blown cold. Unfortunately, my hopes were dashed and I rung 2015 with my good pals Kleenex and Vicks Vaporub.

DH and I were both off work on New Year’s Day. We stayed around the house all day and got a ton of stuff done—we took down the Christmas tree and all of the holiday decorations, and cleaned the house really well. We knew we needed to do all that before the baby came, but we’d been exhausted from Christmas and finally got around to doing it. I was feeling worse and worse and grateful for the day off work. That night, we went on a long walk on Monument with SIL and her BF. We walked about 4 miles, and it felt awesome to be moving, and to be outside even though it was freezing. I was still certain that I’d go overdue, so I wasn’t even thinking about all of my friends who used long walks to get labor started. We had a great time on our walk, and we headed back home as usual. It had been such a nice day—productive but relaxing at the same time, and I sat around for a couple hours wishing my cold would go away. Finally, I gave in and texted my manager at 6:30PM to tell her I was keeping my germs to myself and would work from home the next day.

Around 10PM, I started to feel really grumpy. It’s hard to explain, but after my enjoyable day, all of a sudden I hated everything. Hindsight’s 20/20, but at the time I just hated everything and then got mad that I hated everything. I was a real joy at that point. When we were finally getting into bed at around 11:30, I had a horrible coughing fit. I was sitting on the edge of our bed, hacking and hacking and hacking. When I finally got through it, I turned around and looked at DH. I said “I am MISERABLE.” He reached over my side of the bed and squeezed my arm and told me it wouldn’t be like this forever. He said “You won’t be sick forever, and you won’t be pregnant forever. It’s going to get better.” I was momentarily pacified (and so grateful for my level-headed husband), and so I took a sip of water and lay down in bed.

And then my water broke.

I was pretty sure that’s what it was, right off the bat, because even though it wasn’t a huge crazy gush, it was definitely a flow and I was laying flat on my back. Without saying anything, I got up and went to the bathroom. Sure enough, something was still happening. No color, no odor. I called out to DH. “Babe? I think my water broke.”

He was in the bathroom in about half a second. We wondered if this was really it, we talked about what to do, and at one point I actually said “This isn’t pee, right? This can’t be pee?” I was still sitting on the toilet with my water just trickling out. Oh, the dignities of pregnancy. He asked me if it felt like pee. I said I didn’t even have to pee, and he told me to call the midwife.

I talked to the midwife on call, who was miraculously the person who I’d seen most throughout my pregnancy, and she said it did sound like my water had broken. Since I hadn’t had contractions yet, she told me to try and get some sleep, and call back in the morning if I hadn’t progressed by 8:30 or 9. By this time, it was just before midnight. Looking back, her instructions were funny—spoiler alert!

While I was still in the bathroom, I also texted S, our doula. She told me the same thing K had—get some rest. I was going to have a baby! I sent her lots of excited emojis and planned to follow her instructions.

I went back into our room. As I sat down on the edge of the bed again, I felt some back pain. It happened again pretty quickly, and this time I felt my belly. It was rock hard. I told DH I thought I was having contractions.

And contractions they were. Immediately after those first two, active labor started hard and started fast. The next contractions that came had me bent over the bed, in the shower, and walking as fast as I could around our house. DH downloaded a contraction timer and I would yell out from wherever I was in the house (I needed to move A LOT) when they started and stopped. At one point, when I was in the shower, I remember crying out “They seem too fast! Are they happening really fast?” He told me they were 2 to 2.5 minutes apart.

Even though I didn’t know it at the time, DH kept texting S throughout the night/early morning hours. Because of the baby’s positioning at my last appointment a few days prior, we were all afraid that these were just turning contractions—meaning they wouldn’t be dilating me, just getting the baby into the right position. Truth be told, after all DH and I had learned about natural childbirth, we were expecting a much slower start to the whole labor-and-delivery business. Even though neither of us would admit it until later, we both thought I was in “early” labor and was just turning out to be really bad at it. We were both terrified that I wouldn’t be able to make it through the whole process if it was this bad from the outset.

I remember wondering if something was wrong, because I wasn’t feeling anything in my belly. All of my contractions were in my back, and I had heard it before, but man. Back labor is no joke. None of the positions on our Bradley handouts or in our doula packet (yes, we were looking at the them while I was moaning and groaning and yelling and running around our house in pain) felt good to me. Everything made me hurt more. DH tried some of the counter-pressure techniques that had been suggested. His efforts were met quickly with a “Nope! Nope! Nope!” from me, at which point I went back to my brisk walking around the house.

I was in serious pain from the time that third contraction started until E was born. I was amazed by how my body just knew what to do, but because I expected to be in labor for such a long time, I kept saying I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t think I could birth her. I didn’t think I could handle it. DH was amazing, and kept encouraging me and helping me in and out of the shower and following me around the house.

At about 2:30ish, he told me that S thought I should get in the tub and have a glass of wine. Sounds nice, right? Well, it sent me over the edge. We had talked about this—and so I knew that that was what you do if you want to slow things down, and it confirmed my suspicions that S thought these were probably turning contractions, not active labor. I told DH I would crack the bottle over his head if he brought me any wine (note to self: if Pinot Noir doesn’t sound good, it’s most likely the real deal) but that I would try to get in the tub.

You can guess what happened next. The tub situation did not turn out well.

Let’s just say our tiny little tub could not handle what I had to offer just then. I was huge, I was hurting, and once I got in there, well, I didn’t have a whole lot of space. So, when a contraction came, I was trying to work through it but ended up flailing around and crying because I couldn’t move. Needless to say, I didn’t last long in there.

Around 3:30, things were not getting better. The contractions were still coming hard and fast, and I was having to moan really deeply to make it through them. I wasn’t saying a whole lot to DH by that time, and he was perfect. He was letting me do my thing, and keeping the right distance. Somehow he knew—when I needed him close, he was there. When I needed some space, I had it.

Finally, he told me S wanted to talk to me. She called his phone, and he handed it to me. I was upset, and right after we started to talk I felt a contraction coming. “I have to give you to DH!” I said. “There’s one now!” S told me to put her on speaker. She wanted to hear me work through the contraction.

When that one was over, I asked her what I we should do. “I really can’t tell," she said. "I think you need to call K. You sound to me like you’re in transition—which, for your sake, I hope you are!—but I just can’t quite believe it’s true.”

I understood. I had only been in labor for 3.5 hours.

I agreed to call the hospital again, and K wanted to hear me during a contraction, too. It wasn’t hard to grant that request, since they were still coming so frequently. After the first one she heard, she asked me if I wanted to come to the hospital. “I don’t know!” I told her. “I want someone to tell me what to do.” Right after I said that, the worst contraction yet hit me. “Here’s another one!” I yelled. In Xena, Warrior Princess-fashion, I pushed our huge, heavy coffee table away from me and got on all fours in front of our couch. “They’re getting worse,” I groaned to K.

When I was done, K addressed me first. “I think you need to come in,” she said. “I think you need to get here.” Then, she spoke directly to DH. “How soon can you get her to the hospital?” she asked him.

He promised her 20 minutes, and we all agreed. We were going.

Okay, true confessions here. This is humiliating for a planner like myself, but OUR BAGS WERE NOT ALL THE WAY PACKED. I know, I know. So ridiculous. But I had been so certain this baby was going to be late. And the holidays, you know? And it was still a whole day before her due date! Anyway, we threw a bunch of random stuff into a duffel bag and got into DH’s car.

Anyway, we got to the hospital. I remembered S telling us early on that when you’re in labor, you should keep walking and moving around as long as you could. So, we parked, and I started walking. I walked to the stairwell, up one flight of stairs, and into the main doorway. Just through the motion-activated doors, I had a huge contraction. I stopped to breathe and probably made more noise than I’d like to remember, and I could tell the desk guy was giving me the side eye. In his defense, I had on cropped sweatpants, moccasins, and DH’s t-shirt and coat (because it was January, after all—and I didn’t have any coats that would close all the way).

When we got to the desk, we told him we were headed to L&D, as if he couldn’t figure that out already. He asked if we wanted a wheelchair. I grunted “Nope! I’ll walk!” and waddled to the escalator. He was giving DH this look, like “Dude, you are crazy. Put that woman in a wheelchair.”

When we got to the sixth floor to check in, I kept having strong contractions. It was about 4:30AM by this time. I wish I could see the papers I signed to be admitted….I was having contractions in the middle of my signature and I have no clue if I even hit the line! While DH was figuring out the paperwork, a woman and her husband got in line behind us. She was super pregnant, too—and snapping her fingers and dancing. “It’s go time!” She was singing.

I’ll be honest, she totally got into my head. At this point, I was still afraid that these were really tough turning contractions, and that I’d get into the room and be told I was 2cm or something. I just kept thinking “If that’s go time, I MUST be doing something wrong!”

The nurse came to the waiting room to get us, and I was almost in tears walking down the hall holding onto her arm. “These are some serious contractions, honey!” she told me. Her name was Lorna and she was awesome. DH was small-talking with her, in the amazing and perfect way that he always does, and I was glad. I didn’t want to think about how much it hurt anymore and I was afraid I’d have hours and hours more time for that. I told her I hoped they were doing something—the contractions, that is. “Doing something?” she said. “They’re making you have a baby!” It was the first time someone had come out and said I must be in active labor—probably because she was the first medical professional who’d actually laid eyes on me. Seems silly now, but I appreciated it more than she knew.

When we got into the room, I ripped my clothes off. That sounds dramatic, but really, I did. I couldn’t help it. I suddenly couldn’t stand them anymore! I remember leaning over the bed, moaning. I’m still surprised by the noises I made in labor. Lorna came over and asked me if I could pee in a cup to check hydration. The look I must have given her when I looked at that cup, and then at my belly, and then moved into another contraction was enough to make her toss the cup in the trash can. “We’ll just keep you sipping the Gatorade,” she told me. A few seconds later, mid-moan, I heard her tell DH: “Your wife is laboring like a crazy woman!” I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing—but I couldn’t change it either way.

I’ve never been happier to see K than when she walked in. She helped me onto the bed so she could do a cervical check. I wasn’t ready to lay on my back yet, and it was really uncomfortable. My contractions had never slowed down, and they were killing me. I remember writhing all around as she waited for a break in contractions so she could check me.

So she did, and she didn’t say anything while she was, ahem, in there. But then, in her matter-of-fact way, she pulled her hand out, snapped her latex glove off, and smiled. “You’re fully dilated,” she said. “Baby just needs to move down a little bit!”

“What?” I said.

I thought DH’s head would snap off his neck. “How many centimeters?” he asked her, to double-check.

“Ten,” she said. “Baby girl just needs to move down.”

I was freaking out. “Well?! How do I get her to do that?!”

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” K said. “Keep laboring, and she’ll come.”

Admittedly, that wasn’t the answer I wanted. And to be honest, I never knew before that you could be 10cm dilated and not ready to push. But there I was! And hallelujah—I was already dilated and would be having a baby soon and, well, probably should have taken the desk attendant up on his offer for a wheelchair. Hindsight’s 20/20, right?

Right after we found out I was fully dilated, S arrived. She was such calm presence, and made DH and I feel proud that we’d come so far already. While she filled up the labor tub for me, DH came into the bathroom with me while I stood in the shower. All I wanted was hot water on my back, because the contractions were still hard and fast. I wasn’t in the shower long before the tub was full.

I don’t know what I would have done without that tub. It was a life saver! During contractions, I held onto the edge or to DH’s arm. S helped him keep a cool washcloth on my face, because I wanted the water super hot. During my short breaks between contractions, I leaned back against the corner of the tub.

Finally, I started feeling like I needed to poop. When I said that, S said I should probably get out. K, having felt how high the baby was before, I guess, let me stay in a teeny bit longer. At one point, S told me to reach down and feel the baby’s head. I told her I didn’t want to. She had me try anyway. “Is that it?” I asked, feeling around down there. “If you feel something, it’s the baby!” she assured me. “I don’t believe you,” I said. “I just feel a lot of wet puffy stuff.” Nice, right? Hopefully I’m not the first dummy to not be able to tell!

Finally, I got out of the tub and got wrapped up in the warmest, biggest towels ever. At least they felt that way! Weirdly enough, at this point, I could only really handle laying on my back, despite not being able to handle that position just a little while prior. I’d planned to labor in all kinds of creative positions, but I was so worn out by that point that my back was the best I could do. DH and Lorna helped me hold my knees and I started pushing.

Honestly, I loved pushing. Since labor started so hard and fast for me, I got the biggest break I’d had so far during my pushing contractions. They were almost 5 minutes apart, and since I hadn’t slept at all, I was falling asleep in between them! It was just after 5AM by this point.

Everyone was telling me I was doing great pushing, which started to get on my nerves because, well, I had no baby yet. Ha! K asked me if I wanted the mirror. I said no. And, in her infinite wisdom, she yanked it over in front of me anyway. “It’ll help,” she said simply.

And she was right. They’d been telling me they could see the baby’s head. When I saw that they actually meant a tiny sliver of the baby’s head, I was all “You’ve got to be kidding me!” And I got motivated. I remember thinking “If they want to see a head—I’m going to show them a head!”

S was taking pictures this whole time, and I’m so grateful for that. Even though they’re kind of hard to look at now—my goodness, you can see the pain on my face—they are my best, proudest, most priceless memories.

At one point almost an hour and a half into pushing, I asked Lorna and K how many more pushes they thought it would take. Lorna said five. I said that was too many. K said two. I said I liked that better. After two pushes, I was apologizing because she wasn’t out yet, and K was cracking up at me for saying sorry. But, her head was out on the next push! K had used olive oil to keep me from tearing, which was a big concern since labor was so fast and it was baby #1. When E’s head was out, K told me to reach down and get her. “She’s here!” she said. “Reach down and get your baby!”

And, in DH’s favorite part of the whole thing, I reached down, just after 6:30AM, grabbed her under the arms, and pulled her up onto my chest. I looked hideous, I sort of had no idea where I was, and I was happier than I’d ever been in my life. Within minutes of her being born, I said “DH! I just had a baby!” immediately followed by “Babe! I’m not pregnant anymore!” And then, as he was examining E while she laid on my chest, he said “For the next one, let’s not find out if it’s a boy or a girl.” I gave him an evil eye severe enough for him to know that I needed, you know, maybe at least an hour before I started thinking about number two.