Birth Story #2: A Precipitous Labor
Awaiting the birth of my second baby was nothing like the first. This time around, there were more variables at play. We couldn’t just have an on-call dog sitter lined up; we needed reliable, trustworthy, likely overnight on-call care for our rowdy toddler. Since my first was born at 40 weeks and 3 days, I assumed that this babe would arrive around the same time frame, so my mom booked a flight to stay with us from the day before my due date until 41 weeks.
For this reason, I had zero desire for baby to arrive prior to his due date. Instead I was a bit anxious at the thought of him coming early, and I hoped and prayed he would cooperate with my Type A plan. I’d decided Monday would be the perfect day to have a baby- just enough time for my mom to get my toddler’s routines down and for us to spend some time together, but early enough that she would still be around to help for a few days post-birth. Plus, our first was born on a Monday evening. It just felt like it made sense.
On Thursday, the day before my mom’s arrival and two days before my due date, I had my 40-week appointment at the birth center. Everything checked out just fine and I declined a cervical exam, knowing what the information might do to my nerves. I chatted with the midwife about how I was hoping to go into labor on Monday, so we ended our visit with a casual, “See ya Monday!,” and I went about my day.
Fast forward to Monday morning, after a weekend of relaxing and ZERO signs of labor. In an attempt to pack my days with quality family time and productivity before we added another to the mix, we did some final Thanksgiving prep and took my toddler to the playground for a couple hours. We even decorated Thanksgiving cookies (millions of tiny sprinkles + spazzy toddler = huge regret, by the way) before my husband and I headed out to our weekly chiropractic appointment at 3:30 that afternoon.
At 40 weeks and 2 days pregnant, I was finally ready to meet our new little boy. I asked my Webster-certified chiropractor to “press the magic buttons,” as she calls it, stimulating the pelvic floor muscles and preparing my body to get the labor ball rolling, if and when baby decided he was ready. Well, apparently he was ready and waiting, because as we left the office, I told my husband that I was already feeling “weird” and a little crampy.
Once we got home, life as usual resumed, although I was still just feeling a little bit off. I texted my chiropractor to see if mild cramping was a side effect of the adjustment, similar to the cramping I’d felt after having my membranes swept with my first. Was this just cramping, or was I really going into labor? Before she could even respond, I knew the answer. My mild, lingering cramps quickly turned into sharp, come-and-go pains that stopped me in my tracks. Within just a few minutes, these surges took enough out of me that I tapped out of toddler duty and grabbed my phone to time them. It was now 5:30 pm.
The very first two contractions I timed were over a minute in length and about 8.5 minutes apart. The next one came just 6 minutes later, and the following only 4 minutes after that. By the time I felt my fifth contraction, they had gone from 8.5 to under 3 minutes apart, all in a matter of about 20 minutes. As a doula, I know that the intensity of contractions is just as important as the timing, if not more so, and these felt more intense than anything I remember from my entire first birth. Right from the start, they were impossible to talk through, and coping required all of my attention. Feeling a little bit crazed and completely apprehensive, I asked my husband to call the birth center for some guidance.
At first, the on-call nurse seemed skeptical that I could be in active labor. “You’ve been timing for 20 minutes?,” she asked. In the background, we could hear the on-call midwife (who had attended my previous birth, which was relatively fast for a first-timer) reminding her that this was my second baby, nudging her to have me come in and get checked.
My husband hurriedly tossed my pre-packed bag and a couple last-minute necessities in the car while I paced the entire main floor of the house, alternating between squatting and hunching over the kitchen counter during contractions. I focused my energy on breathing deeply and with control while visualizing the moon slowly rising in the sky- a hypnobirthing strategy (“up breathing”) that I had practiced during pregnancy. At 6:20 pm, I gave my son a kiss goodbye at the dinner table, and we were off.
We arrived at the birth center after a too-long, miserable 15-minute commute, and I made my husband stop the car in the middle of the road to let me out. I just couldn’t bear to sit for one more minute while he parked. I ran into the birth center, anxious to get in the tub as planned and finally feel some relief. My midwife did a cervical check, and I was already 8 cm dilated and 100% effaced. I started sobbing, partially relieved that I wasn’t imagining the intensity I felt, and partially overwhelmed and confused by the speed at which this was all happening.
Once we made our way upstairs to the birthing suite, I was in my own little world. My wonderful birth team got the birth space set up to my liking, turning on my playlist and filling up the tub. Meanwhile, I continued to pace around the room, squatting low while holding onto the four-poster bed for support during contractions. I became more and more vocal, low groans taking the place of my controlled hypno-breath. Again, I cried, telling my husband over and over, “I’m not ready, this is too fast.” I had only started feeling contractions a little over an hour ago, and I was already in transition. Without the gradual buildup of a typical labor, I had had no time to emotionally prepare for the birth of my baby or develop and practice coping strategies that would get me to the finish line. It was all a whirlwind.
At around 6:50 pm, I was beyond relieved to hear that the tub was full enough for me to get in. However, I was disappointed to find that the warm water didn’t provide quite the same pain relief as I’d remembered from my first birth. I was just too far along this time for the water to make much of a difference. At first, I didn’t even sit in the water. I stood with my feet in the tub, leaning on my husband for support, because squatting or bending just intensified the pressure I was feeling in my pelvis.
After 20 minutes of standing and swaying in the tub, the urge to push swept over me and I finally settled into the water, sitting on my knees. With each urge to bear down, I leaned forward into my husband’s arms and groaned. Finally, after 5 minutes of pushing, I felt a pop and my waters released, instantly reducing the amount of pressure I felt. Baby was well on his way out, though, so the relief wouldn’t last long.
I continued to push for 15 minutes, at which point I could sense that my baby’s head was about ready to come out. When people say it feels like there is a bowling ball between your legs, they are right. I could feel where my bones and his were meeting, and it was NOT comfortable. I reached down and felt his hairy little bowling ball of a head. It was go time!
A couple determined pushes later, baby’s head was free, my hands still gently holding him, and after just one more push, he was earth side. All 9 pounds 11 ounces of him. I grasped under his arms and pulled my baby up out of the water and onto my chest, sinking back against the tub to rest and revel in the oxytocin rush. I was immediately overcome with an array of emotions: love, joy, relief, shock, and pride. It had been just under two hours since I’d felt my first contraction, and here I was, snuggling my sweet little boy, whom I’d birthed in the water and caught myself, just as I’d hoped for.