The Birth of Bitty Boy Fox

It only took...let's see. 15 months to complete this birth story.  Basically, I should be some sort of efficiency role model.

It's 1:00 AM on the 12th of July. I'm startled awake by...something. It would seem that a steam roller somehow managed to not only get into our apartment but had such amazing precision as to roll over just my abdomen, very generously sparing the rest of me from being brutally crushed.  Wait a minute...this experience is hauntingly familiar. Ah.  A contraction.  Hello, old friend.  I see you're arriving at the exact same time as before.  I suppose that 1:00 in the morning is go time according to the ol' uterus.  The contractions continue to come every 15 minutes or so and only last about 45 seconds.  At around 6 AM, my body decides that it really doesn't feel like being in labor after all and the contractions putter out entirely.

That evening, my body starts thinking that maybe it does want to be in labor after all and the contractions come back.  They start to get pretty intense as the night wears on but remain around 15 minutes apart.  Ryan had the brilliant idea of putting my Hypnobirthing scripts on loop all night long so that instead of waking up every 15 minutes wondering if I might be dying, I'd wake up and instantly hear that familiar smooth, slightly nasally voice telling me that my cervix is a golden ring...soft like melting butter.  Mmmm...butter.  My goodness but I'm parched.  I go into the living room and take a sip from the straw of my giant hospital mug that has been my favorite ever since having Locke.  There is a slight bit of resistance before the water gushes into my mouth.  And suddenly I feel something wiggling on my tongue.  I spit it out quickly and when I'm brave enough to look, I discover I big shiny spider crumpled on the floor.  That hospital mug, incidentally, is no longer my favorite.

As the sun comes up on the 13th, my body decides again to just bag this whole labor thing.  In it's defense, the process is pretty tiring.  No sign of labor until just before 2:00 pm, I get my bloody show.  Wahoo, things may just be heating up after all. By 8:00 pm, the contractions are averaging 5 minutes apart and lasting almost a minute.

I had made the decision early on in the pregnancy to try to deliver my baby using the midwives at Better Birth again.  Even though I wasn't able to have Locke at the birth center last time, (labor stalled out due to his head not engaging because he insisted on staying in a posterior position) I was so enamored with both the facilities and the midwives there that I was determined to make another attempt at having the dream birth I had been going for with Locke.  Here are some pictures of the place.  It's just about enough to make me want to have another baby right now.  Well.  Except for the minor detail that I'm barely able to handle the two little cudgers I've got.

With the contractions coming on regularly now, it seemed like a good time to give the midwives a call, along with my parents so that they can hang out over here with Locke while we head over to the birth center so that I could get checked out.  Unfortunately for the midwives at the birth center, the three people on call that night all lived in Orem (about 45 minutes from the birth center).  They agreed that it seemed like I at least needed to be checked though and we arranged to meet there at around 10:00 pm. By the time 10:00 rolls around, I'm feeling great.  Too great, in fact.  When I arrive, they're all set up and ready to check me immediately.  And...I'm dilated 3 centimeters.  We're given instructions by the student midwife to go home and have some relaxing cuddle time together and maybe a hot shower...you know. The midwife overseeing everything gave her a sharp look and says simply, "go have sex.  The prostaglandins on your cervix should help to get the ball rolling.  call us when your contractions become regular again." Needless to say, she's one of my favorites. Subtlety is often lost on me when I'm at my sharpest.  What with the whole labor thing going on, I'm definitely not in a state to be picking up on euphemisms.

So, we head home and...have some relaxing cuddle time and a hot shower.  You know.  It does, indeed, get the ball rolling and almost immediately I'm having extremely intense, regular contractions and my body is starting to shake uncontrollably.  It's just enough time for all the midwives to get home when I call to tell them the great news.  They're very gracious and never let on that they feel in the least put out and we agree to meet back up at around midnight.  I'm pretty certain that I've made some real progress and am  expecting to be almost fully dilated when they check me...I'm a 4.  I can't explain how disheartening this is.  Most women are at around a 4 when they first start feeling uncomfortable contractions.  My confidence that I could see this labor to fruition (medication-free) is shaken, to say the least. The midwives are really supportive, though, and say that I'm progressing just fine and am doing great.  We're told that we can head to the birthing suite upstairs and they ask what kind of snacks/drinks I'd like them to bring from the kitchen.  Foolishly, I tell them that string cheese sounds good.

In the birthing suite, I begin to settle into a fairly regular routine: squatting on a birth ball, (otherwise known as a yoga or exercise ball) taking sips of water between contractions along with forcing myself to take a bite of cheese every few minutes, standing up and leaning on Ryan during the actual contractions (I would wrap my arms around his neck and pretty much go limp - think of a guy trying to slow dance with a paraplegic and that will give you the basic impression), then after repeating this 20 times or so, the routine gets spiced up a little with the need to puke after every contraction.  ugh.  string cheese.  so gross. At this point, I begin to think that I'd really like to just go to the hospital and get an epidural.  All this natural labor stuff is so...exhausting.  Almost like...oh.  Labor.  Guess the name should have given it away. I keep thinking that any minute I'm going to request to go to the hospital but I can never seem to find the energy to talk.  As 4:00 am rolls around, I'm basically in a trance and the routine of squat, sip, lean on Ryan, puke begins to blur together.  Both Ryan and I are constantly on the verge of passing out in the moments when I'm not having contractions.  Time gets a bit...slippery as there's no longer anything to mark it - no discernible change - only seemingly endless repetition.

At around 4:30, I suddenly realize that it's excruciatingly hot in the room and I take off my sweater.  No.  Scratch that, it's freezing.  So freezing that my body goes straight past shivering and I start shaking to the point of convulsions.  Okay...maybe it's time to hang out in that fancy jetted tub.  The midwives think it's a great idea but they'd like to check me first to make sure I'm actually making progress.  I'm dilated to a 7.  Huzzah!  Something is happening. Time for the tub.  Ahhh...it's just the ticket.  After a few minutes of hanging out in the warm water, I feel great.  For the next hour or so, I alternate between the tub (when I'm freezing) and the toilet (when the wonderful warmth of the water suddenly turns into a sweltering swamp).  Can I just say, the toilet is not to be underestimated as a great place to be in labor.  I can see why no small amount of babies are accidentally born there.  My body was basically like, "Oh...same business as usual, except on a...er...slightly larger scale.  Got it!" And it finally got it's act together - I could practically hear my cervix dilating.

At some point when I was in the water, I started wondering out loud whether I would really know when it was time to push or whether I should just get checked again to see.  Just as my midwife began explaining my options, I realized that it kinda felt as if there were a bowling ball inside me just getting ready to plop out on it's own.  I experimented with a little push and it was like the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.  My body basically took over from there.  I couldn't resist pushing even if I'd wanted to.  I was kneeling inside the tub with my arms resting over the side; Ryan was kneeling on the outside of the tub and during every contraction, the need to clutch his hand and press my forehead against his was every bit as strong as the need to push.  It felt like I was clinging to my only lifeline as a surging tide threatened to suck me under and into an abyss.  It was...intense.  And wonderful.  Ryan was my rock.  The only thing that detracted from the incredible intimacy of the moment was the fact that I couldn't seem to control the sounds coming out of my mouth as I pushed.  It was surprisingly high pitched and went something like, "HuhGiGiGiGiGiGiGiGiGiGiGiGiiiGuhhh."

After about 4 contractions worth of pushing, I began to doubt not only that the pushing was actually working but whether I was even all the way dilated so I thought I'd check to see if I could feel the baby's head at all.  Annd he was crowning.  I had just enough time to process that the pushing was, indeed, working when the next contraction hit.  Just a few seconds into it, I could feel his head drop, an incredibly powerful STRRRETCH, then a POP! And, holy crap, his head was out.  I managed to say something to that affect and I distantly heard one of the midwives hurriedly tell another to check his neck to make sure the cord wasn't wrapped around but I didn't have the willpower to hold off pushing and within 2 seconds, his entire body tumbled out of me and into my arms.  I pulled him up to my chest and just cradled him, totally in awe of both him and the experience.  Sawyer Fox was born at 5:50 am 7/14/2012. Here's a video that Ryan took right after Fox was born.  If anyone who is sensitive to such things is watching, don't be frightened - it's a close call but my baby/towel wardrobe does not malfunction.



As I held him, they got his first APGAR scores and then after a few minutes, they managed to get me over to the bed and began the tasks of helping me to deliver my placenta along with poking and weighing bitty Fox. I remember when I delivered at the hospital, the doctor just sort of tugged on the cord until the whole thing came out but the midwives were really adamant that I try to push it out myself so as to mitigate the risk of leaving a chunk of placenta behind and, you know, bleeding to death. I supposed I could see the sense in their logic. After that came the part that I was most worried about: the obligatory abdominal mashing to get my uterus to begin shrinking back down. I know it sounds silly to be nervous at this point but I'd heard that it's incredibly painful.  Luckily I barely felt it.  Maybe my nerves were just too trashed to communicate distress.  Whatever the reason, I was extremely relieved.  Then I noticed that every time I said something, it was like I was listening to someone else say it.  Every word I spoke started feeling further and further detached from me.  I mentioned it to the head midwife, or rather, I heard it mentioned...presumably by me.  She noted that I was bleeding a bit more than they would like and gave me a shot of pitocin. After a few minutes I started to feel a lot better and decided it was about time to see if the little guy wanted to nurse. He knew exactly what to do and needed absolutely no help.  This was another thing I'd been worried about as poor Locke took weeks to really figure it out and it was a big hullabaloo of daily weight checks at the doctor.  I was glad to be able to circumvent all that. Just look at this cuddly bundle of squish:

After the midwives left our room, Ryan immediately passed out on the bed beside me.  It was a little after 7 am at this point and he'd stayed up the entire night with me, rushing over with a bowl every time I needed to puke, then rubbing my back and saying reassuring things while said puking was going on, supporting all of my weight as I hung on him through every contraction for hours and then offering his hand up to be squeezed to a pulp at the last.  All that without a single complaint - every time I needed him, he was simply there for me.  He was amazing. I looked down at the tiny bundle resting on my chest (I'd been able to keep him with me the entire time except for the couple of minutes it took for the midwives to weigh/poke him) and I knew there was no chance that I'd be able to sleep any time soon.  I could not have asked for a better birth experience.  The midwives were all great - they were there with advice when I needed them and otherwise just stood on the sidelines, allowing me to take the reigns.  The whole experience was incredibly empowering.  I remember after having Locke, I felt as if I'd been hit by a freight train but this time, I felt fantastic.  For me, the last three hours at the birthing center were spent cuddling, nursing, and just staring at this tiny, precious boy.  By 10:00 am, I was feeling ready to head out so we packed our latest arrival in the car and headed home.