My Birth Story, Unedited

It's been almost 2 weeks since I gave birth to my baby boy. Cameron and I are still finding our groove with sleeping and nursing. It's exhausting and a lot more work than I expected, but every bit as fun as I imagined. After an hour of nursing, an explosive poop diaper, and a copious volume of spitup down my shirt, Cameron has nodded off beside me on the bed long enough for me to whip out my laptop and tell my birth story.

Two Tuesdays ago, after a day of cleaning, drinking raspberry leaf tea, and squatting to encourage labor, I retired to the bathroom for a long, warm soak in the tub. After I finished and dried off, I noticed a trickle of water running down my inner thigh. Great, I thought, I'm so pregnant I'm peeing myself. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and dried off again. The trickle kept coming. That's when I suspected my water had broken.

About 10 minutes later, just after 5pm, I finally convinced myself that this was it. I called my midwife, then called M to come home. My first contraction hit shortly after I hung up. It wasn't bad—just like a mild menstrual cramp. At long last, my moms and I broke out the good bottle of wine reserved for when I went into labor. My midwives say that often the best thing to do when you first start feeling contractions is to have a glass of wine or beer and try to get as much rest as possible. I had been waiting for this moment for 10 long months.

M got home half way through my glass of wine, and I decided to go on a walk with him and the dogs. We walked slowly and paused for a few contractions along the way. I resumed my spot at the table with my wine and Matt headed out for a jog while the moms started timing my contractions.

There didn't seem to be any pattern to the contractions. They ranged from every 4 minutes to 10 minutes and varied in intensity. Then the first wave of nausea hit. I ran upstairs to the bathroom and got on all fours. That's when I realized I was in for a lot of hard work. My mom followed me up the stairs and rubbed my lower back. "You're going to work really hard, Melissa," she said, "but you can do it."

The nausea passed. I moved into the bedroom onto my right side, slung out over my body pillow. My first big contraction hit soon after and I lost my wine, glass of coconut water, and everything I ate that day into a paper bag. The monster contractions, accompanied by vomitting, came every 10 to 15 minutes after that, and I'd get 2 milder contractions between the monsters.

It sounds horrible, but it was actually the most peaceful part of my labor. M came back from his jog and massaged my hands and head through contractions. My mom took care of my lower back and feet, and Ann (my other mom) kept watch on the contraction patterns. We had a Jewel Pandora station playing and incensce burning. Even the dogs were laying on the bed with me. I was in physical discomfort, but between contractions I was able to relax and soak up the love and support.

By 9pm M decided to call the midwife again. I turned out to be quite the vocal laborer, and my guess is that those sounds helped my midwife decide it was time for us to make the treck to the birth center.

Transferring to the car was no easy feat (point for home birth). My moms and M scrambled to get our bags of food and other supplies. I don't even remember who helped me to the car because I was so focused on making it into the passenger seat before I had another contraction. And off we went for the 30 mile drive, me vomitting, contracting, and vocalizing the whole way.

At the birth center, my midwife ushered me to the toilet for a urine sample. The first vaginal exam revealed that I was 4cm dilated and at a -1 station. That's when I threw in the towel.

"I want an epidural," I said to M.

"Honey, we just got here," he replied. "You can do this."

"No," I repeated. "I want an epidural. I can't do this all night. I'm exhausted already, and it's only going to get more intense."

My midwife came back, and I looked her straight in the eyes with my epidural request. She informed me that I was very dehydrated and asked me to try IV fluids and stadol first. I refused. I was beyond discomfort. I was in pain and wanted to skip straight to something I knew would work.

My midwife, M, and my mom pleaded with me to try the IV fluids and Stadol first. The only thing that made me conceed was that transferring to the hospital for an epidural would require another uncomfortable car ride.

With the IV running, I gradually felt the contractions become more manageable. The Stadol was also a godsend. I was afraid that it would make me loopy and not able to ask for the support I needed. Instead, it helped me completely let go between contactions so I was ready to go for the next one.

A couple hours later, my vocalizations changed from a low moan to the first hint of a grunt. It was a matter of seconds before that grunt got my midwife's attention.

"What was different about that last contraction, Melissa?" she asked.

"I feel like I'm going to be ready to push soon, but no quite yet," I said.

That's when she got me up and back onto the toilet to empty my bladder. The change of position pushed me over the edge. I switched to a full-on grunt/scream. The next vaginal exam revealed that I was 8cm dilated. My midwife instructed me to switch to a blow-out-the-candle breath. It wasn't much longer before I felt the overwhelming urge to push.

You'd think that pushing and crowning would be the most painful part of labor and birth, but for me, it was the light at the end of the tunnel. My body knew what to do, and I knew I'd hold my baby soon. But things got a little scary before it was all over.

About halfway through the puhing phase, my midwife started getting concerned about the baby's heart rate. It was dipping as low as 60 beats per minute.

"Push for your baby, Melissa," she instructed. "For whatever reason, he's not tolerating this."

She alternated between telling me to push for my baby and breathe for my baby. The nurse put an oxygen mask on me, and I continued to push with all my might. I reached down and could feel the tip of my baby's head. A couple more pushes and his blue head was out followed by his pink body. The midwife immediately placed him on my chest and gave him a bit of oxygen. He breathed and cried beautifully—my perfect baby boy.

Instead of crying hysterically like I thought I would, I stroked his little head, admired his fingers and toes, and promised, "I don't care how many times he wakes me up at night. He's so beautiful."

The third stage of labor was an afterthought. No, it wasn't pleasant, but compared to giving birth, it's like a pinch on the arm. M cut the umbillical cord. The placenta came out without too much effort. I tore a bit on the side of my vagina, and the midwife stitched me up (with local anesthesia, thank God).

Cameron started nursing right away despite my less-than optimal nipples. You shoud see the boy chow down now that we've had some practice. M, my moms, the birth center staff, and me all ate my mom's famous buckwheat pancakes and eggs for breakfast. We caught a tad bit of sleep waiting for rush hour to pass and my clothes to get washed. In our mad dash to the birth center, we had left Cameron's and my carefully packed bags at home.

We headed home around 9:30am that morning with Cameron and me healthy and fully clothed.