He's here in through the looking glass.

Our son arrived early Friday morning. They warned us he might not cry at first, but he came out wailing. I have never felt so relieved.

I left work a couple of hours early on Wednesday afternoon. David was already home; he’s currently furloughed as part of the government shutdown. We decided to go on a long walk along the river before the sun set, over to and across the 11th St Bridge, and then back over and across the South Capitol St Bridge. I started having regular contractions on our walk, every five minutes or so, strong enough to need to stop and pause.

We ate vegetarian chili for dinner. The contractions kept coming, but somewhat more irregularly - five minutes between, then three, then two, then nine. I got frustrated. I wanted so badly for it to be “real” labor, but things didn’t seem to be progressing much. We stayed up most of the night, finding different ways to work through the pain. We went on another walk, up in the direction of the Capitol, around 5:00am, but turned around early. Things seemed to be slowing down. I was so frustrated. It felt like this baby would never come.

We managed to get a little bit of much needed sleep and then walked to a bakery on Barrack’s Row Thursday morning. I drank a London fog and ate a pistachio kouign amann. We called the doctor’s office to check if I should still come in for a regularly scheduled appointment that afternoon - yes. I kept laboring at home. At some point, David noticed I was leaking fluid in the toilet, but it quickly stopped. We went to the appointment. I was 3 cm dilated, 70% effaced. And the doctor felt … hair. It seems somehow my water had broken without me realizing.

They sent us to the hospital. We made a quick detour for tacos. They started pitocin to help move things along, but I was still able to move around the room. The contractions got more frequent and intense, every two to three minutes apart. After four hours or so they checked me again. I was 3.5 cm dilated, 70% effaced, and so, so frustrated. I had already been in labor for over 24 hours at that point. It was so little progress. It felt like it would never end. I felt like I couldn’t do it. But I was terrified of how an epidural would affect my ability to feel in control, to push, to recover. I am so sensitive to anesthesia. But I couldn’t see another way.

So I got the epidural. But it didn’t immediately kick in. I was so miserable, struggling through still-painful contractions on my back, afraid I had made a choice that wasn’t actually going to help the pain but also made it so I couldn’t move. At some point during this they checked me again. I was 5 cm dilated, 90% effaced. The epidural finally kicked in. I laid on my side with a peanut ball between my legs, my mind drifting to strange, semiconscious thoughts. My body felt shaky. I joked with David that I was hooked up to so many more wires than I had planned - the fetal monitors, the pitocin drip, the epidural drip, a blood pressure cuff, a catheter. But I was at peace with it.

After another two hours they checked me again. I was 8 cm dilated, 100% effaced. A short while later I felt something between my legs. The forebag, covered in meconium. The only positive mental image I had of giving birth, the one I had only been brave enough to allow myself to envision in the previous week or so, was of my baby being placed on my chest immediately after birth. It wasn’t to be; they would need to first check that he hadn’t aspirated any of the meconium. Nothing else had gone to plan, but that was the hardest thing to take.

I was 10 cm dilated, but only at 0 station. The nurses decided to wait to let the doctor know so that I could first labor down, alternating between laying on my side and sitting up with my legs in a butterfly. The baby’s heartbeat would occasionally slow, but would pick back up quickly when they moved me into different positions. At one point it didn’t, and suddenly there were two nurses, clearly fretting, quickly unhooking the pitocin drip, trying to move me again. It was then that I was the most afraid. They gave me oxygen and finally managed to stabilize his heart rate.

It was time to push. The doctor came back in and checked. The baby had moved into +3 station and was positioned perfectly. I remember the nurse saying, “most first time moms push for three hours, but you won’t.” I told David to tell the baby to tuck his chin. I practiced deep breathing, the breathing I learned to help manage my anxiety, between contractions. I thought about pilates techniques as I pushed. I remember the nurse saying “you’re all baby” as she struggled to feel the contractions starting in my abdomen. I remember the doctor saying it was a “great epidural.” I felt calm, peaceful, in control. I pushed for less than 45 minutes. He came out crying. I sobbed with relief. My son had made it in to the world safely.

He was big, almost 9 lbs. The doctor and nurse were surprised. They said I pushed him out like a 7 lb baby. David brought him over to me, swaddled. He looked just like him. Our son.

Last updated January 01, 2019