Category Archives: Singleton Pregnancy (child #3)

Birth Story

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As with most birth stories, this one contains extremely graphic details that will make some of you sick to your stomach. Reader discretion is highly advised.

On Monday night, the night before I went into labor, I was feeling really discouraged. I’d had this exchange with Dr. Fabulous at my 40-week appointment. I felt cornered and out of control of my own body and pregnancy. Again.

Being the stubborn, determined, hormonal mess that I am, however, I wasn’t about to go down without a fight. I went so far as speaking with a midwife friend in Miami, who contacted a local midwife, who offered to take me as a patient to birth at her facility. It’s no secret that I am terrified of a C-section, so I definitely considered making the switch. I decided to sleep on it.

Specifically, I decided to put some Evening Primrose Oil gel capsules into my hoo-ha and sleep on it.

Tuesday, Chris and I did . . . ahem, a few things to encourage labor as well. My mom even went to the pharmacy and tempted me with a bottle of Castor oil. (Thankfully, I decided to hold off on that.) Finally, for dinner, Chris and I ordered some crazy-spicy Chow Fun noodles from our new favorite Chinese food restaurant.

Oh yeah, I was pulling out every trick in the book.

While inhaling a giant pile of flaming-hot noodles, I started to feel . . . something. Some kind of pain low in my belly. A little bit of lower back discomfort. Cramping.

We put the girls to bed. They were being astoundingly, perfectly adorable — more so than usual, if that’s possible. As I kissed them good-night and looked into their luminescent, marble-wide eyes, I was overcome by a heartbreaking wave of sadness. It could be the last time I put them to bed as their Ama as they knew me: present, dedicated, unshared. I missed them terribly already. It was a moment I’ll never forget.

Afterwards, I was still feeling the pain so Chris and I took a two-mile walk. The moon was huge and full in the sky. I willed its gravitational pull to do something to help. We halfheartedly started timing the pain — every 10 minutes. Sometimes, I had to stop for a second to squeeze Chris’ hand.

Back at home, I showered and started putting my last-minute necessities into my hospital bag. I was afraid to jinx any progress I was making, though, so I stopped packing and sat down on an exercise ball to watch TV. By this point, I was pretty sure that what I was feeling were contractions. They were coming every six minutes when I was seated on the ball and it wasn’t very long before I couldn’t talk through them.

At about 10:30 or 11 p.m., I retreated to our bedroom to concentrate. Though it was undeniable that I was in labor, I was still having a hard time believing it. But the contractions were getting strong, awful. I started humming and moaning every time I felt one coming on, which helped me focus my attention on something other than the increasingly terrible pain. I bounced on the ball. I hung on Chris’ neck and swayed. I did squats while holding onto the towel bar. I sat on the toilet. We took another short walk around the block.

I was the perfect picture of a woman laboring at home.

What continued to throw me off was that, every time I stood up, the contractions would come fast, frequent and strong but shorter — every 2-3 minutes, lasting about 45 seconds. When I sat on the ball, they would space out but last twice as long — every 5 minutes, lasting about a minute and a half. The irregularity really confused me. I thought that “true” labor contractions would be textbook spaced regularly and last about a minute.

I decided to take a bath. Holy mother of water labor, that was awesome. I even shaved my legs. When a contraction would come, I would rub my upper thighs and say to myself over and over “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.” I tried to watch my body as I would a piece of art. My uterus sang to the full moon, my belly button pointing to the sky as it tightened around my baby.

I was doing this. I was laboring at home.

(HAHA FUCK YOU, DR. FABULOUS!!)

One detail that I have to throw in here, and surely it’s going to sound pretty disturbing, is that Chris and I did the deed at this point. Yes, we had sex. While I was in labor. Through my contractions. My thinking was that I didn’t want to stop any progress and, aside from the contractions, I still wasn’t sure what else to do or think about what was going on.

After sex, my mucous plug came out in giant, gory, bloody chunks.

My heart raced. Shiiiiit. Shit shit shit.

Honey, it’s time. I think I’m really in labor, yo!

At this point, some time after 1 in the morning, things got pretty hairy. I was in the living room, then I wasn’t. I was in the bedroom, then I was back in the living room. I was on the exercise ball, then I was on the couch. The contractions were out of control and my mental state was quickly deteriorating. Chris asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital, and I would later be extremely glad that I finally said yes.

I was trying to finish packing my bag, but because I was standing and walking, the contractions were one on top of the other. I would desperately scramble for the exercise ball as I felt one coming on. I begged my body to give me a break so that I could finish getting ready. This seemed to be happening much faster than I’d anticipated. Chris woke my mom to tell her we were leaving, and somewhere amid all the pain I found myself in the car, humming and moaning and shifting gingerly through every contraction that wracked my body.

The car ride seemed fast and we pulled up to the main entrance of the hospital before I realized where we were. Chris unpacked everything and went in search of someone to help, but much to my panic, it was a total ghost town. He packed everything back up and drove frantically to the emergency entrance. Someone put me in a wheelchair. Someone else pushed us up to Labor and Delivery. I continued to moan and sing through every contraction.

When we got to L&D some time after 2 in the morning, I kind of started to hate people. I was in the process of dying, and they wanted my insurance card and driver’s license. I was taken to a room and handed a gown to change and use the restroom. These mother fuckers wanted me to walk, when walking made the contractions come relentlessly.

Then, the nurse started with the questions.

“Are you in an abusive relationship? How much did you weigh at you last doctor’s visit? When did you start prenatal care? What is your social security number?”

Are you fucking kidding me?

Between questions and contractions, I couldn’t even open my eyes. I would retreat to some far corner of rest and peace. I had no idea what the nurse looked like, but I did know her name was Sheera.

This, as it turned out, would be a telling portent.

Another nurse asked if I wanted an epidural and I’m pretty sure my reaction included a fireworks show and doggy parade. I blindly started signing consent forms, but the process was taking forever. First, they had to start an IV line. The first attempt blew a vein. Then, they wanted to draw blood AND send it for testing before I could get the anesthesia.

Surely this was a cruel, sick joke. Surely someone would have mercy on me and bring me a shot of whiskey, a hammer, something to stop the pain.

Sheera finally finished her data entry and decided to check my progress.

“Oh my,” she gasped as she inserted the better part of her fist into me. “Ummmm. My best guess is an 8-and-a-half and your bag of waters is bulging. I can’t feel both sides of your cervix.”

FUCKING SHIT 8.5 CENTIMETERS? Fucking shit fucking shit. I hadn’t planned to wait that long. I was thinking more like 5 centimeters, show up and get the epidural, watch some TV, get my last nap in before giving birth.

“Where is the anesthesiologist?” I moaned. “Please someone get me something to take away this pain!”

“It’s too late for any narcotics,” Sheera said. My heart sank. “Look, you’ve made it this far. You have so much control of your body. Do you want to try for a natural birth?”

A what?!? This, my friends, was something I had not planned on.

I didn’t know what to do or say. Birthing without drugs was something I’d wanted with my first pregnancy with the girls before we found out that I was having twins. I believe in natural birth and the power of a woman’s body to birth without unnecessary medical intervention. But for me? Sorry, but I felt real contractions during my labor with the twins and I wanted nothing to do with that nonsense ever again. No thanks.

And yet, there I was, showing up at the hospital practically pushing. If I was going to try it, this was the perfect chance.

Sheera continued. “You can wait for the epidural, which will take 15-20 minutes after going in to take effect. Or in that same time, you can be breastfeeding your new baby. It’s completely up to you.”

Oh fer Jesus Christ’s son of a bitching fucking shit whore bitch goddamn it shit.

Well if you put it that way, Sheera, let’s do this shit.

I was now at 9 centimeters. Dr. Fabulous’ partner, Dr. Pretty Awesome, was on call that night. He came in and broke my water and left the room. Within two minutes, I was at 10 centimeters and I had absolutely no control over myself anymore. I HAD to push and I HAD to do it RIGHT NOW and JESUS CHRIST I NEED TO PUSH OR I NEED TO POOP AND I CAN’T STOP IT I CAN’T STOP IT I’M PUSHING!!!

Sheera ran to the phone. “Get the doctor, she’s pushing!”

The doctor came in as my uterus and body pushed involuntarily. The pain was so violent, so all-encompassing, I was afraid of it. My legs resisted as Sheera helped me to pull my knees back and bear down.

Suddenly, I changed my mind about the whole natural childbirth thing. This was ridiculous. How could anyone survive what I was feeling?

“I CAN’T! I CAN’T DO THIS! I change my mind, I can’t do this!”

Dr. Pretty Awesome stated the obvious: “It’s too late!”

I continued to cry out, panicking and panting, insisting I couldn’t continue. “Open your eyes. You need to focus! Open your eyes and look at me!” Sheera urged. “You can do this. Push where you feel the pressure.”

And I did.

I pushed. And I felt the baby’s head emerging. I felt my entire body stretching, accommodating her size. They told me to stop pushing so I wouldn’t tear. I panted my way through as many involuntary urges to push as I could before I just couldn’t hold back anymore.

They told me to push again. And I did. I felt her whole body pull from me at the same time that I felt nothing. I was completely in the moment at the same time that I was completely somewhere else. All I knew was that if I accepted the pain now, I would be done forever and ever, amen.

The cessation of fear and agony was sudden and immediate. One moment, I was pregnant and the next moment, I wasn’t. One moment, I was completely overcome by pain and the next moment, I wasn’t.

She was born. She was born and she was out here, and she wasn’t in there, and I was in pain and then I wasn’t and everything was suddenly and swiftly complete and only just beginning.

“She’s absolutely beautiful! What’s her name?” sang the nurses.

“Amaia!” I proudly pronounced. “Her name is Amaia.”

40 Weeks

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Dr. Fabulous is officially on my shit list and I am officially in a bad mood.

I had my 40-week appointment today. I went in feeling GREAT. 40 weeks! We made it! Full-term pregnancy. Healthy mom, healthy baby. My body’s doing its thing. We’re all in this together. Looking forward to seeing how and when my body will begin labor.

First,  he did the exam. There’s been no change in my cervix. Zero. Fine. He said let’s schedule an induction for next Tuesday. I reminded him I don’t want to be induced, but I’d be okay with scheduling for next Thursday, his last on-call day next week. It would put me at almost 42 weeks, giving me as much time as possible to let things happen naturally.

He said why do you want to be stuck in the hospital on Christmas? You’ve made it this far, you’d think you don’t want this baby to come out now. I told him I was okay with things, I wasn’t uncomfortable, I wanted to go into labor naturally. He said no problem, we’ll do whatever you want to do.

The plan was that I’ll do my scheduled non-stress test tomorrow at the hospital along with an AFI to make sure the amniotic fluid looks good. Then the hospital would schedule another round of testing at 41 weeks and we’d go from there.

Then when I went out to schedule next week’s appointment with the doctor, the nurse came and told me that I would not be going past 41 weeks. At next Tuesday’s NST at the hospital, I will be induced if I haven’t had the baby yet.

I’m pissed. I feel betrayed by Dr. Fabulous. I feel cornered and forced into something I don’t want. I feel desperate for something to happen on its own. I feel timed, on the clock, nervous.

I keep trying to talk myself down. Have faith that something will happen. Don’t stress until it’s time to. Go have a drink, have some sex. Relax.

Whatever. I’m going to hold onto the tiny thread that says I won’t have to worry about it at all because tonight’s full moon lunar eclipse is going to have some kind of gravitational pull on my uterus and the baby will come out on her own.

In my sleep. With no pain.

40 week photos (okay, technically taken last night) with the Christmas tree for scale. Is it just me, or does it look like someone stuck a giant ball to my abdomen while I wasn’t looking?

Uncorked

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If you aren’t interested in the intimate details of my cervix, don’t read this quick post.

I lost my mucous plug yesterday, which could mean something — or could mean nothing. I lost it weeks before delivering the girls, so it didn’t mean anything in that case.

The contractions have picked up a little bit and I had some painful ones last night that actually woke me up.

Still pregnant for now. Baby needs to stay in till Monday at this point because Dr. Fabulous isn’t on call this weekend. Legs crossed!

39 Weeks

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….and one day.

This is it. The (supposed) final week of my pregnancy. I have to admit, it’s pretty exciting. The Braxton-Hicks contractions have taken a back seat to real, uncomfortable contractions. Unfortunately, nothing regular yet. But that pain of a real contraction is a feeling I’ll never forget and, for now, I welcome each one as a step toward finally meeting my little girl.

It hit me today just how incredible pregnancy and childbirth is. All of this — the conception, the growth, the nourishing, the contractions, the natural onset of labor — is something my body knows how to do all on its own. When you think about just how and why a woman’s body begins the process of evicting a baby from its uterus, it’s such a beautiful mystery. I hope that doctors never truly discover why labor begins because we women and babies should get to keep that secret all to ourselves.

Okay, enough with the crunchy, feel-good bullshit. Pregnancy stream of consciousness:

I’ve gotta tell you, a yeast infection in the final days of pregnancy is a real bitch.

I’m really tired of spontaneously peeing in my pants. I’ll just be sitting there, minding my own business, when suddenly, there it is — “Oh fer cryin’ out loud! Why? Why does this happen?!?” – the unstoppable tinkle of a few drops of wizz. Kind of wondering if peeing in my pants didn’t cause me to franchise the Panera between my legs.

How did I manage to get a clogged milk duct already? I haven’t even given birth yet.

Somehow, I’ve escaped fat pregnant lady cankles this time. My knuckles, however, are swollen all to hell. Total man hands.

Speaking of which, I found my wedding ring that has been missing for about a year. Yet, I can’t wear it. See above-referenced man hands.

Why do I suddenly feel like eating my own arm all the time? I don’t feel especially hungry, but my body is begging me to stuff my face. This makes no sense to me. Especially frustrating because 1) I don’t have the energy/desire to cook decent meals, and 2) I can’t figure out what it is my body is craving.

Saw Dr. Fabulous this morning for my 39-week appointment. No change in my cervix — still at 1cm, no effacement, baby at -2 station. I set up my 40-week appointment for Monday and have a non-stress test at the hospital on Tuesday. He said my cervix is very soft and in a favorable position for induction this Thursday, if I should change my mind. I’m going to stick it out and wait for natural onset of labor.

On a related note, though: Seriously, my uterus must be AWESOME because no one who gets in there ever wants to come out.

Numerology

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My dream of having a 12/11/10 baby at 9:08 weighing 7lb 6oz is quickly slipping away. She’s got less than 12 hours to do anything about this.

(Hey, it has to happen to someone in the world, right?)

I suppose the next best thing would be a 12/12 baby. Born at 12:12, of course. Though I’d gladly accept 1:11, 2:22, 3:33, etc.

Next in line for my numerologically interesting baby would be 12/21. My horoscope this month actually specifically mentions I will give birth on the 21st if I’m pregnant.

Which I am.

The 21st is apparently an astrologically significant day: full moon, full moon lunar eclipse, cusp of Capricorn . . . Not to mention it’s a palindrome. So that’s awesome.

NOT THAT I’M OBSESSING OVER GIVING BIRTH OR ANYTHING.

38 Weeks

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…and 2 days. I mean really, at this point, what does it matter when I update? I’m still pregnant and that’s all there is to it.

(At least, I think I’m still pregnant. I think I’m actually smaller than I was last week. WTH?)

I saw Dr. Fabulous this morning and I’ve finally made some progress. I’m 1-2cm dilated! No effacement and the baby is still high, though. Hell, he probably lied about the dilation just to make me feel better, now that I think about it. He prescribed lots of sex to get things moving along.

“You’re going to be out of commission for six weeks,” he reminded me. “Have all the sex you can, while you can.”

Yeah, because pregnant sex when you’re spontaneously urinating yourself and have a waist circumference of 43.5 inches is totally enjoyable.

In any case, I’m feeling super excited for this baby’s impending arrival. Really, really excited. I can’t wait to see what she looks like, what her cry sounds like, how she grows and develops. I’m looking forward to nursing again.

And honestly, I’m looking forward to The Singleton Experience. I can’t imagine the kind of bonding that can take place with a singleton. Plus, just one crying baby! Just one diaper! Just one child to breastfeed! Baby slings and single strollers and regular shopping carts! My god, the freedom!!

So now I’m just sitting around, waiting for something to happen. This might sound nuts, but I’m curious/looking forward to feeling spontaneous labor.

In my head, it’s going to play out like a scene in a movie: I’ll be up restless in the middle of the night, having contractions. While Chris sleeps soundly, I’ll gather my suitcase and get dressed, then wake him up and say, “Honey, it’s time.” He’ll flail out of bed, put his pants on backwards, and rush me to the hospital. (The children will magically take care of themselves? Not sure how to write that into the script.) However, my contractions will be too intense and, before he can get me up to Labor & Delivery, I’ll start pushing in the car and give birth in the hospital driveway.

(In the movies, they never consider the delivery of the placenta. I figure I’ll drop that sucker in the lobby. Merry Effing Christmas, bitches!)

It will be awesome.

High and Dry

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I saw Dr. Fabulous for my 37-week appointment this afternoon. I was 98% expecting to hear that I hadn’t progressed at all, with a 2% withholding of hope that maybe he’d tell me I was in labor and I just didn’t know it.

I scooted my butt down on the exam table and held my breath.

“Wooo-wheee that bebeh likes it in there!” he exclaimed as he dug around for my cervix.

I chuckled. “Anything, Dr. C?”

Dig, dig, dig. “I don’t know, am I touching your tonsils yet?”

“My what???”

“Nothing, Ms. G. Nothing going on down there. That can change at any time. If you start cramping, look for a pattern. If your water breaks, come in even if you’re not having contractions. I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

Fucking. Shit.

So. Nothing. I got a tonsil massage from my doctor and have nothing exciting to show for it.

Oddly, I’m okay with it. Disappointed, but okay. I have 18 days left till my due date, which means a mere 47 days until I give birth.

37 Weeks

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…and 2 days.

I didn’t do my semi-usual Monday weekly update this week because if I had, I would have spewed some pretty awful shit.

This pregnancy is just about over and it’s not ending soon enough. Did you know it’s actually possible to become LESS pregnant as time goes on? At my OB appointment last Wednesday, the doctor (not my usual Dr. Fabulous, but his almost-as-cool partner) informed me that I’m 0 centimeters dilated and 25% effaced. This, after being 1 centimeter dilated and 50% effaced at my visit to L&D a couple of weeks ago. Chris joked that I’ll be getting my period any day now.

So yeah. I’m actually going backwards. Totally hilarious.

Look, I’m not all thorns and venom. I do realize I won’t be pregnant forever. I do realize that I’m very fortunate to have had a healthy and uneventful pregnancy. I know that dilation and effacement can mean next to nothing.

But I’m fucking OVER being pregnant. Until this baby is physically emerging from my vagina, it’s just taking too long.

I vacillate between feeling angry, irritated and tired; to feeling numb and defeated; to feeling perfectly patient with staying pregnant a few more weeks.

Yesterday, for instance, I hated EVERYBODY.

That guy over there? Hate him. That guy? Hate him too. The bitch in the next aisle over? She sucks.

Oh, and that dude. I totally hate that dude.

Today, I’m a different person. This morning, Elise, Althea and I played “hide in the couch cushions.” They were angels when we went to run an errand. Then we spent an hour at the park and they were awesome, even following me back to the car without a fight when it was time to go home. Me and my gals. It was the kind of morning that made me feel okay about it being just us three ladies for a couple more weeks.

Huge sigh.

Tomorrow is my next visit with my regular Dr. Fabulous. If he doesn’t tell me to start pushing on the spot, he’s officially on my shit list and I’m going to give my cervix a stern talking-to.

36 Weeks

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I had a few restless nights this week where I realized that the end of the pregnancy is, like, HERE. I still have four weeks, which might as well be four years at this point because I’m still fairly certain that I will be pregnant forever and I’ve just come to accept this as fact. But at least four weeks feels somewhat doable, especially considering we have Thanksgiving this week, weekly OB appointments starting on Wednesday (and no sitters! EEK!), some final Christmas shopping to finish and tons of freelance work to tie up in the next couple of weeks.

Last night, I hauled out all of the baby clothes and did a big load of (adorable! tiny! pink!) baby laundry. My hospital bag is mostly set. I bought a few boxes of diapers. I think we’re pretty much set for baby girl to arrive.

I think she has dropped a bit, but it’s different this time than it was with the twins. With them, the drop felt like a bowling ball descended into my pelvis. I could actually tell there was a human skull wedged between my legs. This time, I just feel like she’s a little bit lower — not quite riding so high on my ribs but not engaged into my pelvis like Elise was.

This week, the contractions have definitely picked up. They’re more frequent, intense and noticeable than they have been throughout the pregnancy. I’m curious to see if there’s been any progress since my trip to L&D.

I think I’ve also grown since last week’s belly pic. Everyone has commented that my stomach is sticking further out lately. I don’t know if it’s due to a change in the baby’s position, or if I’ve just managed to sprout another full-sized human fetus in my womb during the last seven days. At this point, it’s all the same to me.

Aside from aching hips at night, pain at the pelvic symphysis, and intermittent but excruciating pain in my pelvis and tailbone depending on where the baby’s head is hitting, I’m feeling mostly okay.

Sorry to disappoint if you’re looking for tales of self-pity this week. Just give me a couple of days. I’ll be bitching again before you know it.