Skylar
I had been contracting since my January second, right after my birthday dinner. Twenty days. This whole irritated uterus thing was becoming, well, irritating. My Doula-Brain told me that I could very well do this for another two weeks after my due date, but the thought of it honestly made me want to rip my hair out. My entire pregnancy I had half jokingly said that I was going to make sure I made it to at least 41 weeks with this baby, just as precaution, after my previous premature birth at 34 weeks. Forty weeks was slowly creeping up and I was starting to feel like I would just contract forever, and never actually produce a baby. Josh was on a nervous wreck. He put on a good face but I knew every time I moaned, or shifted, or went to the bathroom, he prepared himself to catch a baby falling out of my body. I called my midwife (Lucinda), three different nights when my contractions lasted 3-5 minutes apart for hours, really whole heartedly believing that this was it; only to be told that there was nothing happening. NOTHING. Not even a tiny bit of effacement. I was never so tempted to drink gallons of castor oil in my life. Thankfully my better judgment kicked in against that. The day of the 22nd came, and I was in a much better mood then I had been. I had a meeting with the rest of the doula's in the Modesto Doula Group. I figured if anything we might be able to do some acupressure to get the contractions to stick and do something intentional, besides intentionally annoying me. I got dressed, got to Jen's house by 11 a.m., waddled my way up the driveway to the lovely ladies I always felt so happy and comforted around.
When I got inside I took my normal seat on the birth ball, and told Teri that I either needed to have this baby today or I needed the contractions to stop. We decided on trying out some acupressure to see if we can get these contractions going and labor to actually start. After a full round of acupressure, my contractions were different. About 10 minutes apart, they needed some of my focus but not all of it by far. I was still able to walk around the space we were looking to rent, breathing away as the contractions came and went. By the end of the tour though, I knew I should probably go home and rest. I got home at around 3 that afternoon, I was tired and starving but was too indecisive to pick something to eat. When I walked into my house I was pleasantly surprised with a hug by my god son as he nuzzled his little blonde head into my bulging belly. I couldn't help get a choked up feeling while I loved on him just a little bit longer than I usually do. His father saw my tears and said quietly to my husband, "I think we might have a baby today, huh?". I shook my head, knowing better than to get my hopes up for this baby ever to do anything more then make me contract with no other sign of progression. The frustration that I felt was tangible. I could feel it surrounding me the nights throughout the month that I would call my midwife (Lucinda) hours after having a "steady contraction pattern", sure that this time would be it, only to be checked and told that literally nothing was happening. But the weepiness was new. I may be indecisive when pregnant, but definitely not weepy or super sensitive. I made some dinner for the kids while the dad's played cards. After I was finally finished eating I sat on the ball through the contractions not really able to ignore them as easily in that position.
It was about 8pm and I had stopped timing them by then because it was pointless. They were so all over the place and easy to ignore, but once I got on the ball I felt a bit of a shift. Not much, but the intensity did get stronger. My breathing was a bit strained, and suddenly I felt like if I didn't go to sleep immediately I would pass out right there on that damned ball. We said goodbye to our guests, and got Aisley into the bath when she too suddenly get very emotional and asked if she could please go to her Papa's house. I was hesitant, the thought of her leaving made me want to cry hysterically, but Josh thought it would probably be a good idea. So we packed her up and her Papa came to pick up his princess, donuts in hand. At about 11 pm, I called Lucinda. I told her that it was probably a false alarm and apologized for making her waste her time, but still asked her to come and check. I'm usually very opposed to cervical checks, but I couldn't not know if anything was happening. She checked, again. Nothing, again. The damn kid hadn't even dropped yet. She told me not to worry, but the thought of an eternal pregnancy with mild contractions plagued me. I fell asleep as soon as she left, listening to Josh click away on his keyboard playing his game. The sound that usually irritated me beyond reason, actually soothed me to a really peaceful sleep. 3:13a.m. hit me like a train. The contraction was long, and intense. It wasn't just in my stomach anymore, it consumed my entire body. Like a huge wave of ice water crashed onto me. I tell mother's in labor often to get in front of the contraction. To ride it out like a wave and take control of it. But my contractions suddenly had no more breaks. There was no getting in front and maintaining control. All there was for me from that first intense contraction was just more and more intensity. Labor rolled through me like a wild fire, igniting every cell it touched.
I could still hear Josh playing his game but I couldn't speak out to tell him what was happening. The next thing I really remember after contracting like that for about 20 minutes on my bed/bean bag chair, I knew I needed to get upstairs and into the shower. Anything to slow the train down. "You marched up the stairs" is how Josh describes how I left the bed. Determined and to the point. The truth is, I was petrified of being stuck on the stairs through the contraction that I knew was coming for me. Into the bathroom, stripped down with the water running, I managed to climb in before a contraction started. I had the hot water on -I knew it was on because there was steam fogging up the mirrors quickly in my tiny bathroom- but the water felt tepid. Luke warm. Disgusting. I cranked up the heat more and got onto my knees, my head pressed into the corner of the bathtub, the only thing that helped me stay anchored while my contractions ripped through me over and over. The only thing I could do that helped even slightly, was curse. And I don't just mean quietly cursing under my breath. I was stringing together curse words that I didn't even know could go together. I cussed in English, I cussed in Korean, I cussed in both at the same time. I cussed at the top of my lungs because when I didn't I felt like I was going to be ripped apart from the inside out. Tears streamed down my face while I did it but I didn't care. It’s the only thing that made it somewhat bearable. (And calling it bearable is stretching it) My husband came to check on me frequently and called Lucinda at 4:30am. When she asked if he was sure, his response was that there was no question about it. Thankfully she only lives down the street and was able to get to my townhouse quickly, she arrived at 4:45a.m. I remember her grabbing my hands firmly in hers and telling me that I would be ok, that I needed to let my baby do some of the work now. Around 5am I couldn't handle being in the tub any longer. Lucinda was helping me out, when another contraction hit me right before we were out of the bathroom, so I sat on the toilet. I didn't know it was possible for my contractions to get closer then they already were but the position on the toilet kicked everything into high gear.
Transition hit me and made everything feel too sensitive. I was nauseous. I was terrified. I kept my eyes glued to Lucinda, knowing good and well that if I shift my focus even slightly a contraction would send me away to another world of intensity and pressure that I, in no way, wanted to endure. The bathroom was hot. I used up all the hot water in my water tank and the bathroom was basically a sauna. When asked if I wanted to go to my bedroom, all I could say was I couldn't. I was so grounded in my tiny, hot, broom closet of a bathroom, the thought of going down the hallway seemed too adventurous for what I was experiencing in labor. I was also terrified that I would want to get checked and be disappointed at my lack of progress, again. So in the bathroom we stayed, me on the toilet, my midwife in front of me, and my husband (After he had to take the door off its hinges to also fit in the bathroom with us), and my midwife's assistant (Brooke) watching the entire event in my hallway, sitting cross-legged, charting. I remember distinctly seeing her like that when I stood up a bit to adjust to the pressure right before my bag of waters burst into my toilet. The feeling of a baby dropping into your pelvis isn't something you really forget. At least for me. It was an incredible sensation. It didn't feel pleasant, but it felt extremely intentional and intense in pressure and weight. It felt like a heaviness that was missing was dropped onto me. I grabbed my husband's shoulder with my right hand and my midwives shoulder with my left to stabilize my squat and pushed three times before my tiny little surprise baby came out, a bit tangled in the cord, January twenty-second at 5:22 am.
After unwrapping her, and giving her a bit of oxygen and much needed love after such a fast trip we finally looked to see that our little surprise baby had proved everyone wrong, and decided to be a girl. 6 pounds and 10 oz of feistiness, our little Skylar Anne. The home birth experience that we had was a huge part of healing after our first birth experience with Aisley. Being able to sit and have lunch, showered dressed and comfortable with a new baby sleeping on my lap is by far my fondest memory I have. And I can't wait to do it all over again.