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.

Emilia's Birth Story: Part 1

"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.” 

---Frederick Buechner

Emilia Mae Ewald was born at 10:54 AM on Thursday, April 10th 2014. She weighed in at 9 lbs 1 oz and was 20.75 inches long. Like her siblings, she came out sporting a head full of black hair. Unlike her siblings, she has a tiny little head and absolutely enormous cheeks that were made to be kissed.

Five, almost six, weeks later, and I still can't believe I finally have this little love in my arms and off my bladder. She is healthy, she is strong, she is beautiful, and we adore her. Here's how she came into our lives.

Sweet Emi entered the world via a very odd labor and delivery, and it was both lovely and awful and I was so so happy when it was over and also incredibly sad, lest I never do this again. I think birth is inherently crazy and terrifying and exalting and life changing and it can be really hard to tell the story of it afterwards because nothing happens for long stretches and then all of a sudden everything happens so quickly that you can't really recall it properly.

Emilia's labor really started about three weeks before it actually started. Confusing, but I"ll explain.

I know, I can't ever really do a short post. Words. I like them.

Three weeks earlier...no, just kidding,, this is the birthing tub in the labor suite.  It only felt like three weeks.

At 37 weeks, I went into my regularly scheduled appointment hoping that I might be in early labor. I was spotting, sick to my stomach, and contracting every six or seven minutes. That was not the case, but I was "3 to 4" cm dilated and about 80% effaced at that point. This same pattern of labor-like symptoms continued every two to three days for the next three weeks and I was, of course, the picture of grace and serenity as I waited for my baby to choose its own time to be born.

Or not.

People, I was done. Just...done. I'm a fan of letting the baby gestate for as long as he/she needs, in theory, but in practice,  I was ready to evict this child. At 39 weeks they stripped my membranes. Consequently, I was up until 2 AM with painful contractions about 6 to 8 minutes apart, lots of spotting, chills alternating with hot flashes, and puking/upset stomach. But no baby resulted from all that discomfort. Just a very long day today and a touch of irritability on my part. A mere soupcon.

I was trying to explain my state of depression to my husband and I made the admittedly foolish mistake of saying "I don't know, my nerves are shredded right now, I feel like a shell of myself" and he made the admittedly much more foolish mistake of saying "Well, I wouldn't say THAT" as he laughed fondly.

Note to everyone not uber pregnant: things like "logic" and "humor" have no place in conversations with those great with child.

By 40 weeks, I was a wreck, frankly. Late pregnancy is truly awful in a way you can only appreciate if you've been there. You're tired of not being able to sleep for more than two hours straight, tired of peeing approximately 114 times a day, tired of lumbering around with all the speed and grace of a Panzer division, tired of your aching pelvis, your aching back., your aching feet. tired of the heartburn, tired of the nausea when your child shifts its weight to your stomach, tired of the various substances welling out of  your body, and you sort of know in theory that you're going to produce a child at some point, but it feels like that is a big fat cosmic joke and that you may be the first person in history to never ever EVER stop being pregnant. 

And that's why God is smart, because the last few weeks of pregnancy are so miserable that you actually look forward to labor. Now, that's ingenuity.

I know this is the end. I know it might possibly be THE END of my childbearing days for the rest of time, and given that, I wish I was appreciative of the good, the bad, and the ugly. I was not.  I did jumping jacks. I ran (lumbered) up and down our stairs. I ate spicy food. I tried to bribe the baby into appearing by promising it milk and cuddles and cute outfits. I prayed. I cursed. I tried to cry. I tried to meditate.

Which brings me to April 9th and my state of mind was admittedly poor. My state of body was large. The same ole pattern of symptoms started up and I thought "oh yes, good, let's do THIS again" but this time the symptoms persisted from roughly 4 PM until about 11 PM and things seemed to be getting more intense and more rhythmic as time went on. I dithered a bit about what to do, and then decided I was going to lie down. Tim immediately vetoed this idea and said we were walking around the block for as long as it took. This tiny factoid should tell you that I was totally awesome to live with during this time period, because Tim is not normally one to veto a nap in favor of a walk, particularly at 11 PM. One lap around our block later and I was ready to head in to the hospital.

We got the kiddos out of bed and loaded them into our (extremely sexy) minivan for their last ride as the the only two Ewald kids. I was mentally willing my contractions to continue the entire time. We'd called my in-laws down from the Cities, we dropped the kids off at Kristen Yuan's at midnight (now THERE is a friend) and I was really upset that it was all going to be for naught, as we could very easily be sent home yet again. Tim offered to drop me off at the hospital but I insisted on parking the car with him and walking from the employee lot to the hospital to magically open up my cervix in the last 500 yards.

I got checked in and the midwife examined me and said "OK, you're 7 cm dilated, we'll get a suite set up for you".

I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. Seven centimeters? I wasn't even in pain. I could have eaten a BLT and watched the Real Housewives, which does not square with my previous experience of "seven centimeters" at all.  I was not about to complain about this, mind you.

We got checked in and I got super excited and nervous because we were finally going to meet our little one. I confidently predicted a baby by 4:30 AM.

Waiting for Baby E3

At about 6:30 AM I woke up from my nap in a labor that had basically halted. They checked me out and I was 9 cm dilated on one side and 7 on the other, which was more than a little bit odd. No big deal though, they would break my water and deliver this kiddo before the shift change at 7. Except that I balked at that, because I did not want to get caught in the shift change in the midst of pushing out an Ewald baby (read: huge).



So Tim and I wandered around for a while, then met the new nurses and the midwife, Tracy (who was amazing!) and we talked about our options. We could either 1) continue to wait 2) start some Pitocin or 3) break my water. Tracy explained that I was going to get uncomfortable at some point to have this baby and while it was fine to wait, it was basically delaying the inevitable. I had mixed feelings about intervening in the process, but finally agreed to let them break my water since I was already 9 cm dilated anyway and just wanted to meet my little person.

So they broke my water. 

And now I have to break my birth story into two pieces because Emilia is up and typing whilst breastfeeding is quite difficult...believe me, I've tried....but I'll give you a hint about Part 2. We had the baby!

Me and E3

*This is a post that I wrote somewhere in my fourth or fifth month of pregnancy. I didn't publish it at the time, but it's a good reminder to me NOW, as I officially enter my last few days (?) weeks (?) of pregnancy that the timing of almost everything is out of my control. And that's actually just fine. 

As soon as Sue, my midwife, placed the transducer on my belly,  we heard an immediate THUNK. "That's a kick" she said with a smile. The various muffled thumps continued while she searched for the heartbeat and then, there it was...the steady beat that promises a new person in waiting, a new little bundle of possibilities to nurture, a new life journey to cherish.

It's still surreal to me that this is actually happening.

We've never been able to add a child to our family without first experiencing a loss. This is my fifth pregnancy, but I have two children. They're amazing and totally worth everything we went through to hold them, but at some point, you learn to guard yourself. You expect disappointment in the vain hope of avoiding grief if the worst happens again.

The main problem with this strategy is that you can't really shut out pain. It's there every time you experience a loss. It is, however, very easy to shut out joy. Fear is the ultimate joy killer and I was living in fear.

Like anyone else,  I just wanted to be overjoyed to be a mother to a new life again. And I'd say I succeeded in that for about four days, until I started bleeding. And then I immediately shut down and thought "Well, OK, another miscarriage, at least it's early" and prepared myself for more loss. I stayed in that bunker mentality for the next few months, through another incidence of spotting and the various genetic tests and ultrasounds. But inside I was convinced that all the illness and suffering were ultimately going to be nothing, that I would have to lose before I could gain.

When everything came back negative (meaning no syndromes, no major issues thus far), I was shocked. And Tim was too. We both agreed that we totally expected something terrible to happen and that if the baby survived the first trimester we thought there would be some sort of health issue to deal with or some sort of deformity. It wasn't something that we ever talked about, but we both had the same fears.

A few weeks ago we were watching the Vikings game, and I told Tim, abruptly and apropos of absolutely nothing, that I wanted to find out the sex of this baby. As most of you know, Ads and G Man were "surprises", in that we had no idea what gender we were having. So this was a bit of a departure for me. He questioned me about it, and I realized that I felt like I needed to know what we were having so that I could be happy. I guess I felt like if I picked out a name and knew the gender, that I would fall in love with THIS baby on its merits and that I wouldn't be so locked up in this totally self created prison of fear anymore. I wanted to be happy.

We didn't really resolve the "find out or not" issue that night...I think we got distracted by an intense battle over some blocks (between Addie and Graydon, NOT Tim and I, just to be clear) ...and that night as I went to bed, I decided to turn it over to God. Shocking plan, right? But honestly, I hadn't been praying much in recent weeks. It's really hard to talk to God, or listen to God, without feeling something, and my whole goal was to feel nothing. Nothing good, and certainly nothing bad, because if you let your armor show some chinks, it all comes rushing in.

I didn't pray about whether or not to find out the sex of the baby. Frankly, I doubt God really has a strong opinion on couples knowing beforehand. I just asked God to tear down my walls because I had done such a good job building them that I wasn't sure I could do it myself. I asked God to let me be happy about this sweet child and to let me love him or her even before I truly knew them.

That night, I had the sweetest dream that I truly believe was an answer to my prayer. I dreamed I held a new daughter in my arms. I remember every detail of her face, and that she had no hair, unlike my other two that were born with tons of black hair. I remember her sweet newborn smell and the surprising heft of her in my arms and the gentle pursing of her lips and the movement of her eyes under her delicate eyelids as she slept.

I'm not claiming this was a prophecy of some sort, mind you. I will be totally unsurprised if I have a little boy with a full head of black hair. But I don't need to know what I'm having anymore. God reminded me, through my dream, of the impending joy that will be ours so soon. I'm more than happy about this precious person now, I'm joyful.

It isn't that I feel like I'm guaranteed to experience no pain with this baby, no heartache, or that I'm assured everything will go according to my plan, it's just that I've surrendered the anxiety about it. Attempting to shut out pain isn't worth the loss of joy. The only way to truly love your children is to dive in, to accept that they're human, with all the bodily frailties and failings that brings, and to cherish each day of health and togetherness as a gift.  I could lose this baby at any time, through some accident or misfortune, but for now, this little one is kicking the heck out of a heart monitor. And for now, every ultrasound reveals that precious heartbeat...a twinkling star, a flashing coin, a blinking light...that promises one more day. This is good. And I'm happy about it.

And So It Continued (Christmas Season Retroblog Part 2)

I left off my last blog with the cliffhanger of two birthday parties looming approaching and that was a small lie fib stretching of the truth, for reasons I will get into momentarily.

But first, I actually forgot that before we had the birthday parties, we had our last Ortho Holiday Party, which is always a great time. Even though I have been pregnant for three of them. I think that speaks to the "fun" aspect of it, because I cheerfully endure the indignity of maternity pantyhose and swollen feet/face/well-everything-really and waddle out to celebrate the holidays with our family-away-from-family.

Me, Tim, and E3 at the pre-party

The 5th Year Women, missing only Ashley and Laura.

The whole year, minus the Swanns and Walkers. In our year we are responsible for 26 children...and counting...so it's always an event when we can all meet up. 

Now back to the birthday "parties" and my confession about the small truth-stretching. For those who don't know, Addie's birthday is December 16th and Graydon's is December 30th. I actually gave Addie and Gray a combination birthday party. I figured I have maybe one more year where I can get away with this, so I made the most of it.

Incidentally, when separate parties are demanded, I foresee years of Addie having decent-ish parties and Graydon having pizza and leftover cupcakes because Christmas is over and New Year's Eve is tomorrow, and listen kid, we're glad you were born but WE ARE ONLY HUMAN and anyway it's your fault, you shouldn't have been SO LATE and impossible to birth, and yes, poor, poor G Man. It's not his fault. Except that it is, Mr. I-Decided-To-Be-Born-The-Night-Before-My-Induction. We wanted a better birthday for him, but I think that horse has already left the barn. In a very leisurely "in my own good time" fashion, which is very Graydon.

Carrying on.

Once I decided to combine the celebrations, the issue then became choosing common ground between my two children. Addie likes princesses, art, and dolls. Graydon likes fighting, wrestling, and rough-housing, in no particular order of preference. After contemplating such possibilities as "Kung Fu Princess" and "Hulk Monet", I finally decided that they both liked balloons, so voila, "Addie and Graydon are Growing UP!" and balloons galore. Sixty, to be exact. You have no idea how many balloons are in a 60 balloon bundle until you're putting them in your minivan.

Sadly, I never got a picture of all the balloons together for two reasons.

1) Because my children kept seizing handfuls of ribbons and dragging them off into their rooms while screaming gleefully.

2) Because my ceiling is an old fashioned "popcorn" ceiling which does not play nicely with balloons. All the aforementioned screaming and dragging pretty quickly decimated the numbers.

We lost about half the balloons that night, but the survivors were surprisingly tough. I recently committed a lot of heli-cide with a pair of scissors on the remaining stubborn stragglers because I was so tired of seeing balloons, but this was about a month after the initial purchase.

It was a good and normal party, and I think the kids were happy, which is all that mattered to me. We had wild rice soup, challah rolls, chips and a delicious variation on seven layer dip, a fruit plate, a cheese plate, and a veggie plate, with cupcakes for dessert. My only disappointment is that I didn't take many pictures because I was too busy running around, but I did get a few with the singing and cake.

Just slightly thrilled with the attention!

Should I succumb to madness/poor memory and do a party again, I am determined to take more pictures. Even if the guests are standing around starving and parched with thirst, roaring for drinks and food. I will just take pictures of that too and it will really give us a feel for the event.

Clapping for himself and/or the amazing singing

The joint party was on the 15th and Tim and Addie's actual birthday is the 16th. We saw Randy and Terri the day before their birthdays, because they were kind enough to keep the kiddos for the entire weekend to give us time to get ready for our various festivities that weekend.

Trains and cars! Jackpot!

It's too bad this is so out of focus, but the expression on his face makes me laugh so hard. "It's like, so totally, ermahgawd, this is to.die.for!' 

The Brogans met us for breakfast. Addie kind of likes Calum, if you can't tell.

On the morning of Addie's birthday, we went out to breakfast at Daube's, our favorite local bakery. Their doughnuts are amazing. Let the record reflect that I will absolutely miss Daube's when we leave. As will my children. All three of them, because E3 insists that we eat there at least once a week. Little tyrant.

Graydon kinda likes doughnuts.

We went out to dinner that night with Mary and Steve and the kiddos at Chester's, a local favorite. I didn't get any pictures because Chester's is always super dark and moody and "We might be in Rochester but we will make it loud and dark and trendy so you can pretend you're elsewhere", which I appreciate, along with the excellent food.

And that was basically it for the birthday celebrations...except for one last thing I want to remember. If you are related to me or Tim, or in any way offended by frank sexual speak, stop reading here.

All the twisted folks are still reading. Don't worry, I totally would too.

Tim and I put the kiddos in bed that night and collapsed beside each other in small heaps, pretty much exhausted after three straight days of celebration and two children cracked out on sugar and lack of sleep. I said "Do you remember when birthdays used to guarantee a new piece of lingerie and really creative and athletic sex?" And I am sure I was not mistaking the look of alarm on his face when he warily said "Yes". I'm not sure if it was the thought of "athletic" with a woman the size of a small whale or just the thought of any effort at all, but he was clearly frightened. I started laughing and said "Yeah, me too. Right now, sleep sounds better than sex. Sleep is my new sex, in fact. My favorite sexual position is officially 'comatose'". And then I knew I was right about the fear on his face, because for the first time, I heard my agnostic husband say "Amen". And that's really the best way to sum up three birthdays and the holidays with three children, all of whom are four and under: "Sleep is the best gift one can give or receive."  

With Great Joy...

...we hope to grow again, as a family, as people, as an ever-expanding universe of love and life, sometime in early April.

World, meet E3, 12 weeks and thriving

I could say so many things...and I'm sure I WILL say so many things in the weeks to come....but for now, I will just share what I wrote down for this little person roughly eight weeks ago.



Dear Baby of Mine,

Today I learned that you're here, and I cried a few tears of joy and smiled so hard my face hurt and thanked God with every bit of my heart and soul for letting me be your mother.

I don't know anything about you yet. I haven't seen your little bean shape yet or heard the whoosh-whoosh of your heart. I don't know if you'll make me feel exhausted or sick or give me awful heartburn like your siblings did. I don't know if you will make me crave chocolate (Addie) or roast beef sandwiches (Graydon).

But I do know that I love you already, and I hope we will get the chance to tell you so somewhere around April 11, 2014.

Love,

Mom