McKinley's Birth
I had Braxton Hicks contractions regularly from my 7th month…big ones. Hold-my-breath, husband rub-my-back, scrunch-my-forehead and get into a more comfortable position ones. My doctor, my midwife, even my birth class coach expected me to go early. Twice I thought I had actually started labor and called my family. Imagine my surprise when I was closing in 41 weeks and Baby was still securely wrapped in the womb.
I woke up at 5:30am on Wednesday, January 5, 2011 with more of the Braxton Hicks, but just-in-case, I crept out of bed without waking my husband to time them. Until 8:30am I watched my contractions get closer and then further apart, ranging from between 9 and 11 minutes apart. At 8:30, with contractions 11 minutes apart, I decided it was another cruel tease and that I should get a quick hour of sleep before heading to work.
At 10am I headed to work at the child care center. I worked in the office for most of the day, talking with my boss, peeing A LOT, and holding my side when I had a particularly tough one. Still, I wasn’t sure this was “it.” I played with the kids in after care and chased them around the playground, occasionally stopping during crafts to explain that “my body is getting ready for the baby, so some times it tightens up.” I drove home at my usual time at 5:30 in rush hour traffic and half way in to my 45 minute commute, I was timing contractions at 3 minutes apart. I thought about pulling over, but what good would that do? So I drove myself home during labor and called the midwife.
I came home and decided that giving the dog a bath was my biggest priority while waiting for my midwife. By 6pm my house was bustling with the noise of my midwife, her daughter and a midwife in training she had brought with her. For two hours, the five of us (husband, midwife, her daughter, midwife in training, and me) hung out in the living room, chatting and laughing. Each time I had a contraction I fell to my hands and knees, got silent, focused, and then sat back up, happy to engage in conversation (but feeling a bit like a socially awkward hostess). I was still kind of nervous that this might be another false alarm because my contractions didn’t feel much more difficult than the “tough” Braxton Hicks I’d been experiencing for months. By 8pm I noticed my panties were a little wet and it turns out my water had a slow leak! Yay!!
I was feeling like maybe all the people were being a distraction and thought about some stories I had read in Ina May Gaskin’s book where women surrounded by strangers did not progress, so my husband and I retreated to the bedroom with everyone else downstairs. After 20 minutes or so of this, I felt I should take over in my own home and went downstairs to ask everyone to leave. My midwife checked my dilation (yes, I was still nervous this was all a false alarm!) and I was at 4cm…two whole centimeters further than I had been for the past FOUR WEEKS. So yes, I was definitely in active labor. Of course, midwife knew this because of my behavior, but I wanted proof, so, I am thankful for her reassurance. With that, everyone left, and my midwife agreed she would come back whenever I called. And so, with control of my home regained and my confidence boosted, my husband and I set to work to get this labor moving.
Not wanting to fill up the birthing tub until it was time to push, but craving something relaxing, I asked my husband to fill up our bathtub. I spent about 30 minutes in the bath, with candles burning and my husband dutifully timing contractions which ranged from 45 seconds to 3.5 min. Somehow I managed to flip over onto my hands and knees with each contraction. It was literally impossible for me to get through a contraction in any other pose, even though we had practiced SO many in the months leading up to the birth. I was not in “pain” so to speak, but just followed what my body told me to do and felt better. After the bath, I headed back down to the living room, lights dimmed, and leaned against an exercise ball on my knees.
As I buried my head into the ball, my husband would stroke my hair and whisper words of encouragement which were met with varying degrees of abruptness, “Shhh! I love you. I know you’re trying to help, but please, shut up.” And there we sat. I wanted my husband there, directly in front of me, but silent and definitely not touching me. It was completely different than the stroking, encouraging labor we had practiced, but it goes to show, you can’t really know what you’re going to want until you’re in it. Focused on my breathing and muttering “open…open…open…” to my cervix, I drifted in and out of sleep between contractions without any concept of time for three hours. It seemed like moments.
Then, around midnight, I held my head up and nudged my husband who had been diligently timing each and every contraction, keeping a log per my crazy woman request, and said, “I think we should fill up the birthing pool now. I think I’m going to have to push soon.” He followed me as I climbed up the stairs, stopping once midway for a contraction on my hands and knees. I finished crawling up the stairs and, once I got to the top, I couldn’t help it, I bared down with all my might. Talk about womanly intuition! I told him it was time to call our midwife. I was pushing.
I hung out at the top of the stair case while my husband filled the tub, and then climbed in as it finished filling. I was still on my hands and knees for every contraction, and went through labor facing outwards, leaning on the sides of the tub with my husband crouched down at eye-level right in front of me. I remember thinking, “I can’t be that far along. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt THAT bad. I haven’t even gone through transition yet. This is going to take a while.” My husband noted that my contractions were any where from 30 seconds to 5 minutes apart, which made me believe I couldn’t even be in active labor (really, I thought this even though I was pushing) because I remembered reading that real labor contractions would be consistent. Further testament that every labor is different!
By the time my midwife arrived after about 40 minutes of pushing, I was feeling like I was going to poop. Naked in the tub, I was embarrassed about the prospect of a public bowel movement, so several times I ushered everyone out so I could move to the toilet and avoid an unsightly pool companion. Needless to say, I needed to have a baby, not poop. Shocking, right?
I climbed back in the pool and continued laboring with my midwife sitting right outside the bathroom door in the hallway and my husband in front of me, still sure I hadn’t gone through transition. I began to fear that with all this pushing I might not be fully dilated and requested that my midwife check my cervix. She said she would after the next contraction. Through each contraction I closed my eyes, sometimes moaning, sometimes chanting mantras like, “Open, open, open…” and “You can do this…” I was surprisingly quiet, talking under my breath for the most part. Every thing was so relaxed, so focused, and so intimate.
And then, with the next push came this loud POP as my bag of waters finally burst and a baby head came rushing out! I shouted, “There’s a baby! There’s a baby! Come here! Come here! The head!” and my midwife came into the bathroom. It felt so strange with this head between my legs and this little life literally straddling between our shared being and its own, separate life. She told me to just wait for the next urge and to push. And so I did and our baby slid out into the water. I was afraid to move and to turn around for fear of crushing the baby, so I waited for the midwife to come around and lift our child into my arms. The way the baby was positioned in my hands my thumb was over genitals, so I was in suspense of knowing the gender and just kept yelling to my husband, “It’s a baby, Shaun! It’s a baby! Oh my gosh we made a baby!” with the occasional, “I can’t tell what it is!! What is it!?! We have a baby!”
Eventually I figured out we had a baby girl and I couldn’t have been more in love. I loved loved loved every aspect of our homebirth and the private, intimate way we became not just husband and wife, but a family. Our daughter, McKinley June was born at 1:49am on Thursday, January 6, 2011 at 41 weeks. She was 8 lbs, 9oz of perfect encompassed in a 21.5 inch body and we couldn’t have been more blessed.
I woke up at 5:30am on Wednesday, January 5, 2011 with more of the Braxton Hicks, but just-in-case, I crept out of bed without waking my husband to time them. Until 8:30am I watched my contractions get closer and then further apart, ranging from between 9 and 11 minutes apart. At 8:30, with contractions 11 minutes apart, I decided it was another cruel tease and that I should get a quick hour of sleep before heading to work.
At 10am I headed to work at the child care center. I worked in the office for most of the day, talking with my boss, peeing A LOT, and holding my side when I had a particularly tough one. Still, I wasn’t sure this was “it.” I played with the kids in after care and chased them around the playground, occasionally stopping during crafts to explain that “my body is getting ready for the baby, so some times it tightens up.” I drove home at my usual time at 5:30 in rush hour traffic and half way in to my 45 minute commute, I was timing contractions at 3 minutes apart. I thought about pulling over, but what good would that do? So I drove myself home during labor and called the midwife.
I came home and decided that giving the dog a bath was my biggest priority while waiting for my midwife. By 6pm my house was bustling with the noise of my midwife, her daughter and a midwife in training she had brought with her. For two hours, the five of us (husband, midwife, her daughter, midwife in training, and me) hung out in the living room, chatting and laughing. Each time I had a contraction I fell to my hands and knees, got silent, focused, and then sat back up, happy to engage in conversation (but feeling a bit like a socially awkward hostess). I was still kind of nervous that this might be another false alarm because my contractions didn’t feel much more difficult than the “tough” Braxton Hicks I’d been experiencing for months. By 8pm I noticed my panties were a little wet and it turns out my water had a slow leak! Yay!!
I was feeling like maybe all the people were being a distraction and thought about some stories I had read in Ina May Gaskin’s book where women surrounded by strangers did not progress, so my husband and I retreated to the bedroom with everyone else downstairs. After 20 minutes or so of this, I felt I should take over in my own home and went downstairs to ask everyone to leave. My midwife checked my dilation (yes, I was still nervous this was all a false alarm!) and I was at 4cm…two whole centimeters further than I had been for the past FOUR WEEKS. So yes, I was definitely in active labor. Of course, midwife knew this because of my behavior, but I wanted proof, so, I am thankful for her reassurance. With that, everyone left, and my midwife agreed she would come back whenever I called. And so, with control of my home regained and my confidence boosted, my husband and I set to work to get this labor moving.
Not wanting to fill up the birthing tub until it was time to push, but craving something relaxing, I asked my husband to fill up our bathtub. I spent about 30 minutes in the bath, with candles burning and my husband dutifully timing contractions which ranged from 45 seconds to 3.5 min. Somehow I managed to flip over onto my hands and knees with each contraction. It was literally impossible for me to get through a contraction in any other pose, even though we had practiced SO many in the months leading up to the birth. I was not in “pain” so to speak, but just followed what my body told me to do and felt better. After the bath, I headed back down to the living room, lights dimmed, and leaned against an exercise ball on my knees.
As I buried my head into the ball, my husband would stroke my hair and whisper words of encouragement which were met with varying degrees of abruptness, “Shhh! I love you. I know you’re trying to help, but please, shut up.” And there we sat. I wanted my husband there, directly in front of me, but silent and definitely not touching me. It was completely different than the stroking, encouraging labor we had practiced, but it goes to show, you can’t really know what you’re going to want until you’re in it. Focused on my breathing and muttering “open…open…open…” to my cervix, I drifted in and out of sleep between contractions without any concept of time for three hours. It seemed like moments.
Then, around midnight, I held my head up and nudged my husband who had been diligently timing each and every contraction, keeping a log per my crazy woman request, and said, “I think we should fill up the birthing pool now. I think I’m going to have to push soon.” He followed me as I climbed up the stairs, stopping once midway for a contraction on my hands and knees. I finished crawling up the stairs and, once I got to the top, I couldn’t help it, I bared down with all my might. Talk about womanly intuition! I told him it was time to call our midwife. I was pushing.
I hung out at the top of the stair case while my husband filled the tub, and then climbed in as it finished filling. I was still on my hands and knees for every contraction, and went through labor facing outwards, leaning on the sides of the tub with my husband crouched down at eye-level right in front of me. I remember thinking, “I can’t be that far along. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt THAT bad. I haven’t even gone through transition yet. This is going to take a while.” My husband noted that my contractions were any where from 30 seconds to 5 minutes apart, which made me believe I couldn’t even be in active labor (really, I thought this even though I was pushing) because I remembered reading that real labor contractions would be consistent. Further testament that every labor is different!
By the time my midwife arrived after about 40 minutes of pushing, I was feeling like I was going to poop. Naked in the tub, I was embarrassed about the prospect of a public bowel movement, so several times I ushered everyone out so I could move to the toilet and avoid an unsightly pool companion. Needless to say, I needed to have a baby, not poop. Shocking, right?
I climbed back in the pool and continued laboring with my midwife sitting right outside the bathroom door in the hallway and my husband in front of me, still sure I hadn’t gone through transition. I began to fear that with all this pushing I might not be fully dilated and requested that my midwife check my cervix. She said she would after the next contraction. Through each contraction I closed my eyes, sometimes moaning, sometimes chanting mantras like, “Open, open, open…” and “You can do this…” I was surprisingly quiet, talking under my breath for the most part. Every thing was so relaxed, so focused, and so intimate.
And then, with the next push came this loud POP as my bag of waters finally burst and a baby head came rushing out! I shouted, “There’s a baby! There’s a baby! Come here! Come here! The head!” and my midwife came into the bathroom. It felt so strange with this head between my legs and this little life literally straddling between our shared being and its own, separate life. She told me to just wait for the next urge and to push. And so I did and our baby slid out into the water. I was afraid to move and to turn around for fear of crushing the baby, so I waited for the midwife to come around and lift our child into my arms. The way the baby was positioned in my hands my thumb was over genitals, so I was in suspense of knowing the gender and just kept yelling to my husband, “It’s a baby, Shaun! It’s a baby! Oh my gosh we made a baby!” with the occasional, “I can’t tell what it is!! What is it!?! We have a baby!”
Eventually I figured out we had a baby girl and I couldn’t have been more in love. I loved loved loved every aspect of our homebirth and the private, intimate way we became not just husband and wife, but a family. Our daughter, McKinley June was born at 1:49am on Thursday, January 6, 2011 at 41 weeks. She was 8 lbs, 9oz of perfect encompassed in a 21.5 inch body and we couldn’t have been more blessed.