Hey Squirrel Design Co.: A Birth Story: Finn

(Our hospital bands as we began the journey)

I thought that giving birth to Jonah was the one definitive moment of my life where I would magically become an adult and everything would fall into place. Like, I would suddenly have a savings account and a 401k and a reliable mid-sized sedan with heated seats. I thought it would be a movie scene where all the secrets of life suddenly revealed themselves in a spectacular display of glory, backlit by golden light that was radiated by unicorns. With every push I would find myself a little closer to the miracle known as being and the answers to the queries of centuries of human inquisition.

Well....

Instead...

I got seven stitches in my vagina and a sleep schedule that would make a coked-out Lindsay Lohan cringe.

However, we have already ventured down the road of Jonah's birth. To read it, click here. I mentioned in his story that I felt empty inside immediately after giving birth to him. It's not that I wasn't bonding with my new bundle of baby joy, I just missed being pregnant. It was a little overwhelming the way I longed for those sweet baby kicks and flutters. Based on those feelings alone, I knew that I would have more children (or attempt to have more children).

Fast forward six years and you have a situation that looks like this: me sitting on the toilet in eager anticipation, holding a pregnancy pee stick with two boxes of backups on the counter just waiting for their own golden showers. I peed, put the stick on the back of the toilet, and bolted from the bathroom. At this point, we had been trying (unsuccessfully) to conceive for 13 months. I have never been so sick of sex in my life. During the course of that time frame, I had given up looking at pregnancy tests based on the sheer number of negative ones that were painfully and permanently burned into my brain. So, after about 6 months, that duty was relegated to my husband.

And that day, unlike the previous 156 days (give or take a few) yielded a new crop of scary: the stick had TWO pink lines. I feel that it's worth mentioning that my husband misread this test and reported it to be negative (I think it was a Pavlovian response). Regardless, that was the beginning of Finn's story. And below is how he actually made his physical entrance into the world:

(Disclaimer: lengthy, detailed story below. You are advised to bail now if you a) have a limited attention span, b)are grossed out by medical details, or c) are expecting your first child and are delusional about birthing him/her naturally. You have been warned.)

It seems to be a common practice of my subconscious to recount only good memories and suppress the bad memories. I'm not sure if that means that I'm normal or that I need copious hours of therapy, but it provides me with the ability to continuously retry things that have either not worked out or that I've failed miserably at several times (or, in this particular case, something that hurt very, very badly).

To say that each of my deliveries was different is a drastic understatement. In fact, because of my incredibly quick labor with Jonah, I spent my entire second pregnancy in a complete panic that I wouldn't make it to the hospital in time and that Finn would be born on the side of the road. It didn't help matters that the hospital we were using was almost two hours away. Admittedly, I spent a large portion of my gestation reading articles on websites like The Bump and Baby Center, which instilled in me a healthy fear of labor only lasting 2 hours or less with Finn (since Jonah's labor was only around 5 hours) because they all SWORE that second labors were, at best, half as long as the first. So, my last trimester was spent on pins and needles at any sign of impending labor. I almost lost my mind when my mucous plug decided to make a surprise visit around 36 weeks.

Regardless of my fears, my OB (who is a majestic ginger unicorn) assured me that I was panicking for no reason. According to her, everything with this pregnancy was perfect; the baby was growing exactly as he should; I had no complications or stressors that would trigger preterm labor with baby Finn. I had to remind myself of this daily (especially after the cervical plug arrival).

The cramps started around 35 weeks. My first pregnancy yielded exactly zero Braxton-Hicks contractions so I had little experience with them. At first, they completely freaked me out and I thought I was in labor, but they lessened as I walked around, so I was able to control the urge to rush to the hospital. However, the cramps started to become particularly bad around 9:00pm on April 28th. My husband, Josh, and I were sitting on the couch watching True Blood (don't judge me) and I was working on a textile weaving when I had a contraction that took my breath away and caused little sweat beads to form across my upper lip. Josh noticed it too and immediately began timing it. I had another in about 7 minutes. Then I had another at 5 minutes. And then 3. And they were building in intensity.

I assured him that nothing was going to happen until my water broke. So, we continued to monitor my contractions and I took a Benadryl in hopes of getting a little sleep before the show started. I had a doctor's appointment the following morning anyway (deja vu, much?) and I thought we could just take it from there unless my water broke before we left. Fortunately, I was able to sleep as the contractions tapered off.

By 6:00 the next morning, I felt ok. The occasional contraction still slowed my step, but they had all but faded away. We were both let down. Still, we made "just in case" arrangements for Jonah and put our bags into the car as we headed to the hospital. The contractions picked up a little on the ride. Once there, we discovered that I'd misread my appointment slip and my appointment wasn't for another two days, but due to my early delivery of Jonah, they sent me to labor and delivery for evaluation of progress.

"3 centimeters," Tammy (the midwife) reported as she peeked over the paper sheet. "But I'm going to strip your membranes and see if we can get you started."

Now, that may sound like no big deal to you, but when a baby professional tells you that they are going to strip your membranes, this is the devil vagina magic they are referring to: manually separating your placenta from the uterine wall to help stimulate contractions.

It feels as glorious as you are imagining right now.

So, yeah, that happened and then they sent us to get lunch and walk around for awhile in hopes that my uterus would pick it up a notch or two. Out we went for pizza and a stroll around downtown. We even went window shopping and traipsed through a park. That was my favorite part of labor with Finn. Not surprisingly, it worked to kickstart the harder labor process. My contractions were becoming more regular and were steadily growing in intensity. By the time we got back to the hospital, I was dilated to a 4 and they admitted us.

Now, mind you, the last time I was in this position, I was in hard labor. And it was still scary. However, being in prelabor with relatively little pain to distract me from the other goings on was petrifying! First, it took four tries (and two burst veins) to get my IV started. Saying that I have an irrational fear of needles may possibly be the understatement of the century, so you can imagine that the IV fiasco went swimmingly. Basically I just laid there and cried while my husband yelled at me to calm down (awesome coaching, by the way). Yelling always calms me down when I'm scared and trying my best not to hyperventilate. I may still be a tad bitter about this.

(This was the selfie I took right before they attacked my veins)

Labor failed to progress in the 4 hours that followed. I bounced around on the yoga ball, surfed Pinterest, watched Josh nap, and chatted it up with my bestie (who arrived after the IV fiasco). Now, I'm no baby expert, but even I knew that labor was supposed to hurt more than that. About 6:00, a new midwife came in to check my progression. We had failed to dilate. At all. Almost immediately, they started a pitocin drip in my IV.

Now, I've always heard that contractions are much worse when they are facilitated by pitocin. Understatement of the century. Contractions on pitocin feel something like sticking a Kitchen Aid hand mixer in your vagina and turning it on high speed. Also, unlike pitocin-free labor contractions, induced contractions have no actual break. Mind you, it didn't start out hurting like crazy. They started me on 1mL/hr at 6:00 and, over the course of three hours, increased me to 12mL/hr. Though the pitocin increased my pain, it did nothing for dilation until my midwife manually broke my water. She broke my water at about 9:30. That's when shit got real.

If you're concerned about having your water manually broken, don't be. Mine broke all on it's own the first time around and I was really afraid to have it happen any other way. However, labor gets REAL the minute your water breaks. Or, it does for me anyway.

I started to dilate immediately and my contractions increased with such fervor that I could barely change positions. I labored laid across the bed, then on all fours, and finally on my side when I could no longer hold myself up. I remember being so quiet in labor with Jonah, but not with Finn. Each contraction brought it's own set of moans. They grew steadily louder. It was like the pain was radiating out through my lips. The only thing that made me feel any better was burying my face in my best friend's stomach through the crux of the contractions. After about an hour and a half, I caved and asked for some IV pain relief.

It did nothing except make me sleepy. I remember thinking that I couldn't take it much longer. I was also petrified that I was hurting without dilating. I knew that if that were happening, my chances for having to have an emergency cesarean grew exponentially (which may be my worst human fear). I vaguely recall tempering my breathing so that I could say something and I turned to Kim and said "I just need 5 minutes; I don't think I can do this."

She put her hand on my thigh and looked me in the eye and said, "He's almost here; he's starting to crown. You're doing great and it's almost over."

"I... have... to push," I managed between broken breaths.

My midwife emerged as the pushing took over my body. This was how it was supposed to feel. My body was telling me to push my baby out, that he was ready. Nothing has ever felt more primal and natural and right in my life. It wasn't even me pushing, it was my body working on it's own without my brain telling it what to do. I felt pressure and he was crowning. I heard the snap as she gave me an episiotomy (&^%$#@!) and felt the pressure lessen as his head, then shoulders, then the rest of his body slipped from mine.

The time in between your baby coming into the world and the time it takes him to cry seems like ten thousand years. But that first cry is so sweet, it makes every pain, every fear, completely worth it. I remember asking if he was still a boy (the pain meds must have worked a little). I remember holding him to my chest and crying. I remember his dark, curly hair being the most beautiful hair I'd ever seen. I remember feeling complete.

And so, at 11:46pm on April 29th, I became a mother for the second time. It felt no less spectacular than the first. It has only been five weeks since Finn's arrival, but I can't remember how life was without him. It seems like he has always been a part of me; like I was looking for him my whole life.

Again, I was fortunate to have my best friend in the delivery room with me. My husband was there, too. I wish that we would have gotten more pictures, but here is what I managed to capture. Also, I apologize for the graininess, but this was what I could get on an iPhone with hospital lighting.

(This was the first selfie. I took it about 3a.m. after he was born.)