Hi there,
This is our regular monthly meet-up for coffee. This is a mostly reflective practice where I look back on the previous month before moving ahead to the next. I hope this email sparks reflection for you too, and maybe a conversation with a friend. The length of this post will vary depending on the month, but I never want to take up too much of your time. It may be a bit longer today. I hope you’ll hang with me for a minute longer than normal. Now, let’s get to it.
1. What was a blessing in April?
On April first, a month and a half from my due date, I learned I was already two centimeters dilated. My doctor suggested I stope working altogether for two weeks to slow my body’s slow crawl toward labor. I talked her down to working half-days in an effort to save as much paid time off as possible before beginning maternity leave.
I was hesitant to stop working at first, or even to back it down to half days. Honestly, I felt a little guilty leaving work high and dry earlier than expected, but it was necessary. I couldn’t keep going at the same pace as before. I needed to slow things down. What made me nervous—change is hard even when it’s good— turned out to be a true gift.
It was time to nap and rest and read, but it also gave me time to finish preparing our house for our baby to come home here. It was time to allow my brain the time and space to think creatively again (read more about being creative here).
We made the most of those weeks of half-days by letting the kids play on their big wheel bike and scooter. They raced each other down the sidewalk, drew pictures with chalk on the concrete, and played in the cool air until the light grew dim outside. When I’m working full-time our evenings don’t give us nearly as much time to play and enjoy each other’s company. They feel rushed simply to get everyone fed and ready to go to bed. As we waited to meet our newest addition this was sweet time together, and memories I’ll always hold close.
2. How do you feel about what the kids are doing?
My daughter had her first haircut in April. She’s two and a half, has never had a haircut, and was born with a full head of hair. Her hair was half-way down her back and long enough to start being bothersome.
She could not sit still in the chair. Her eyes were drawn to every little thing in the old, brilliantly detailed house turned hair salon. Every side conversation or person walking by her chair turned her head. My friend and hair stylist and I both agreed she had too much energy for someone with the amount of hair on her head. My daughter had the best time, and her hair looked absolutely adorable when it was finished.
My son started t-ball this month. We all learned in a surprising twist that it is much harder being a laidback parent on the sidelines than I originally thought it would be during the soccer season. I struggled at every practice and game not to backseat coach my son on the field. Meanwhile, he struggled to ‘get’ soccer. It seemed to never truly click for him, and because of the lack of click he struggled to stay invested in the sport altogether.
He was excited to begin t-ball, but as with most ventures he quickly grew tired of the required attention span at practices. What we’ve learned through this sport so far is our son is often not the instigator of trouble,— if you don’t count tackling teammates to the ground who’ve caught the ball instead of him— but a follower of whatever trouble is being gotten into by others. We are still holding out hope for a click this time around.
3. Now, on to the birth.
As you read above, I started working half-days at the beginning of April to slow the amount of contractions and dilation I was experiencing. The contractions did slow down, but never stopped completely. Particularly and peculiarly, I had more contractions on Sundays than any other day of the week.
I’d come close to the two hour mark a couple of times before—referencing the rule of contractions 10 minutes apart for two hours as the sign to go to the hospital—but never quite made it to the full two hours. The morning of April 29 I had a few contractions (on my way to work, one nearly made me wet myself, as I already needed a bathroom urgently).
At 9:36 a.m. I started tracking them on my notes app, writing down the time of each one. At this point, they were not intense, but felt more like bad menstrual cramps. As soon as I hit the two hour mark I took off my gloves, got up from my seat, and told one of my managers I needed someone to drive me to the hospital just down the road.
On our way, she graciously stopped to buy me lunch from Chick-fil-a, knowing the hospital does not allow you to eat or drink after being admitted. I ate my chicken sandwich just outside the door of the labor and delivery building. Ryan met us as I was being checked in.
It was an odd experience sitting in the same seat I sat in almost three years earlier. The memory of the intense, close together contractions washed over me, even knowing those memories are botched of that early morning experience.
We walked back to the Labor and Delivery waiting room, where Ryan noted it had been remodeled. “I guess they couldn’t get all the blood stains out of the floor,” he joked, as we settled ourselves in the darkened room. (This is the room where my first daughter was born.) We were soon moved into a room where our bubbly and wonderfully kind nurse got me all set up.
While I was having contractions they gave me a low dose of Pitocin (an inducement drug) to try to get them coming more regularly. Eventually, they bumped up the dosage just a bit. We were fully admitted to the hospital and in our room by 12:30 p.m. I spoke to our amazing nurse about possibly having an unmedicated birth, having been through it before the last time. I admitted this decision might change, but for the time being I wanted to tough it out. She said brightly, “Alright! You’ve got this!”
Well, the contractions continued and picked up in intensity. Once they reached a certain pain level I let out nurse know I definitely wanted that epidural. “Let’s talk about that epidural now,” I joked at the end of another contraction. She started the saline bag I had to get through before they could administer the epidural. She said it took about 30 minutes to finish the saline bag, at which point they’d be happy to hook me up to the drugs.
At this point, the details may merge and twine together to create a hazy picture in my head of what really happened, but it’s close enough. I felt my water break in a loose trickle. When our nurse checked it fully broke, gushing in a disgusting torrent of fluid. With my water broken the contractions instantly increased in their intensity. I could hardly talk through them anymore. They seemed to roll over one another and through me like the wheels of an 18-wheeler hauling cinderblocks.
I asked Ryan for help getting to the bathroom— I was hooked up to an IV stand that plugged into the wall. I couldn’t have managed that contraption if I’d tried— where I felt those tell-tale involuntary pushes. It harkened back forebodingly to Ellie’s birth.
When I was back in the bed, I quickly began feeling the need to push for real. My mom ran to the hallway to let the nurses there know. She said they jumped up from their seats at such an incredible speed, she was amazed.
Once the nurses were alerted, it was like watching a hospital tv show set on fast-forward. Every movement was measured and practiced with precision. Our sweet nurse apologized again and again that there would be no time for an epidural, we’d be pushing soon. She followed each apology with the sweetest encouragement. I felt like I’d been put on a white water rafting vessel and left to float down the rapids without a paddle to steer.
The doctor came into the room, remarked on the head full of hair crowning down below deck, and instructed me to push at the next compulsion. With the words of my firstborn’s nurse ringing in my ears, “You have to breathe. Your breath is the only oxygen your baby is getting right now,” I pushed for all I was worth.
Another push, and I felt completely overwhelmed, overpowered by what I felt happening to me. It was in this moment I thought, I can’t do it. I cannot do this. I’m not strong enough to do this. All the while, our wonderful nurse stood beside me reassuring that I could, in fact, do this. One last push, intense pressure, and then, equally intense relief.
My head fell back on the pillow, my eyes closed tight. Drawing in ragged and shaking breaths, I couldn’t even open my eyes to look at my beautiful newborn daughter as they held her up in front of me.
At 3: 27 p.m., my daughter was born out of pain and fear and hope. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this, it’s to get the epidural the second you step foot in the hospital, and not a moment later.
What a wonderful day! We got to meet our sweet Hazel. I know it was hard on you, but you were a true champion! I'm so proud of you! Love you!