Emilia's Birth Story: Part 2

If you missed Part 1, start here

When we last left our heroine, she had just had her water broken...and we now re-join the scene...(I find this works really well if you imagine it in a Spanish accent, but that's just me)

The contractions went from a whisper to a scream much faster than I could process.

I actually think full-on unmedicated hard labor is something every woman should try to experience at least once. Even if you don't stick with it (as I didn't, this time around), the sheer force of what's happening in your body has to be experienced to be believed.

Time stops flowing normally. Minutes last for ages and yet somehow hours go by quickly. You're not moving much, yet you break a sweat and feel unbearably hot in your own skin.. You want to speak, to ask for help, to explain what's happening, but you can't form words. It's incredibly primal and all you want is for the pain to end and yet you want it to continue because each surge is bringing you closer and closer to your child. . You are surrounded by people but somehow the pain is entirely personal and private. It's simultaneously humbling and empowering as you cry and groan and breathe through each pain and work to channel the energy coursing through you. It both breaks you and strengthens you every time you ride the contractions through from crest to peak to ebb. It is a force of nature, immense and difficult to contain. Working through it, for any length of time, is a source of pride and strength for the rest of your life.

I labored for roughly an hour, trying to let my right side catch up to my left, and trying to maintain control of the process. Each time a contraction hit, my mind was saying "no, no, NO, NO!" which is not really the way you want to go into a contraction if you're going to labor naturally. You HAVE to accept the pain and work with it, and it really helps to have a good meditative practice. Needless to say, I didn't practice my hypnobirthing this time around...out of lack of opportunity, not desire...and it really showed. I just didn't have the mental reserves I needed to surrender to the labor.

I asked for an epidural. Tracy said "You're at full dilation and if I just push this little piece of cervix back while you push, we can have a baby" which I immediately vetoed. I was terrified to push, afraid that the baby wouldn't come quickly and I would be suffering for hours. Everyone had assured me that the second vaginal birth is worlds easier than the first, but I was afraid to believe that. As it turned out, since I did end up pushing for a little over two hours, so I'm very thankful I got the epidural. 

Anesthesia was amazing and got in the epidural super fast, along with a spinal which took immediate effect. In a funny turn of events, the anesthesia doc was the husband of a friend, and his resident was our neighbor. Did I recognize either gentleman? No. no I did not. It could have been Barack and Michelle Obama for all I noticed.

As soon as the spinal hit, I looked at Tim and said "Epidural. Number Two." No one knew what I was talking about until I said "Vaccination, Number One, but epidurals are the second best achievement of modern medicine". True to his calling, Tim said "What about joint replacement?" to which I replied "Not even close".

The midwife and nurse left for a bit to allow the spinal to wear off and the epidural to kick in and I recall absolutely nothing about that time except for the blissful absence of pain. When they came back, Tracy said "OK, let's have a baby!" and I started pushing.

And kept pushing. And kept pushing. For hours. The goal was to get in three pushes (or more) to each contraction and to keep moving the baby further with each push. The baby was moving down the canal, but she just was NOT coming out. They brought me a mirror and I kept watching her head advance and retreat and I could see that I was making progress, but not quite enough. I was getting upset because I was totally confused as to why I sucked so much at birthing babies. Shouldn't pushing be easier than this by now?

And then the baby's heart rhythm started to show signs of stress during each contraction and Tracy told me very seriously that I needed to be done, that I needed to deliver the baby now. I was terrified, of course, because this is a road I've been down twice and it's not very pleasant for anyone.

The rest of the labor I only remember in fragments of conversation and flashes of images.

Push. Push. Push. Nothing. "Tara, you have to be done. You have to get the baby out now."

Push. Push. Push. Nothing. Asking: "Is the baby OK?" Hearing: "You need to have the baby. We need the baby here now. Give it everything you've got."

Push. Push. Push. Nothing. Asking through tears: "Is the baby OK?"  Hearing: "Yes, but you need to be done." Saying: "I'm trying. I'm trying so hard, I just can't do it." Hearing: "Yes, you can, you are doing this, I'm going to help you, ok? I'm going to give you an episiotomy so we can get this baby out. Don't look".

I close my eyes, in order to avoid the mirror and the sight of my flesh being cut.  I push with all my might. I see stars flaring on my eyelids, suns wheeling across the darkness, and my whole being is pleading "Please, please..." my whole body feels like a prayer, both lament and praise, and most of all, supplication, and then...

I hear Tim say "Oh my, it's a big one."

I look down and there is my baby's face, gray and chalky and huge cheeked and facing my left thigh. (Children are normally born face down, and not sideways!) Only the baby's head is free, but as I push, I watch, and my child slides into the world, whole and perfect and suddenly free of me and belonging only to itself.






They bring the baby right to my chest, so fast that I can't see if I have a girl or a boy, all I see is cord and baby, and Tim says "It's a little girl" and my heart breaks and my face crumples and I am sobbing as I kiss my daughter's hot, wet head.





She is slimy with blood and vernix and she is howling, but she is just about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I can't stop sobbing and I keep saying to her "Oh, baby, that was so hard. That was so hard. Are you OK? I'm so glad you're here. Mama loves you" over and over again.

At some point, I realize that Tim might want to see his child as well, and I look up at him and say "Can you see her?"I see him wipe his tears away and lean in to examine our newest addition, our precious daughter. It's one of the best moments of my life.

Our first photo with our precious youngest daughter

The rest of the morning is a blur. Emilia is weighed, cleaned, named, and nursed, in some order I can't remember. I'm stitched up from episiotomy #2, and I also manage to lose a lot of blood after the birth, requiring the administration of a  medicine that is given rectally. At this point, I'm just like "Sure, WHY NOT and let's try to find something to stick in my ear as well. Let's leave no orifice out!"" As it turns out, when babies are delivered "Sunny Side Up" as Emi was, mothers have a greater risk of postpartum hemorrhage. I don't know how delivering sideways contributes to all that, but it's probably not good.

Our big girl getting her vital statistics taken!

All things considered, I was physically battered and bruised and bloodied, but I was also over the moon happy about Emilia. I'm also pretty relieved that I am not a physical weakling, just oddly shaped: the midwife and I decided that I must have a weird pelvis because all of our children have presented in a decidedly difficult-to-deliver fashion.

But she is here, she is healthy, she is so worth it.

We have the exact same picture of Addie and Tim. Daddy loves his girls.

This is obviously a very personal experience, and it sometimes does make me nervous to share a moment like this on a public blog.  The reasons to write a birth story are obvious: so you don't forget anything and so you can process the whole crazy glorious mess of birth. The reason to share it is less so, but truthfully, I've learned something from every birth story that I've ever read. So I suppose this is my small contribution to the communal process by which women become mothers. 

And it's also the beginning of our family's journey with Emilia and if that's not worth sharing, nothing is! Welcome to the world, precious and beloved baby girl. Beautiful and terrible things await, but don't be afraid. We are right here with you.