The Birth Story, Part Two
Published February 23, 2009 | 
So I can push. Finally. I’ve never been so happy to know that I was about to put myself through something so unfamiliar. I’d spent the last 45 minutes trying desperately not to push, although anytime that I fucked up and did, it was an awesome feeling, like this is what I am supposed to be doing. It lessened the pain.
As I felt the next contraction coming, I grabbed for Chris’ hand and Sarah started coaching me: “Push with your butt, like you’re trying to take a giant poo.” I leaned my head far back — I was so afraid I’d stop breathing if I put my head down — and screamed as I pushed. You know all those early concerns I had about the amount of noise I’d be making in labour, and whether it would inconvenience or annoy the people in my building? They were irrelevant. And apparently I didn’t make enough noise to disturb anyone, as we never heard anything about it all (in fact the landlady, who lives next door, said “wow, the hospital got Tatiana out fast, huh?” when Chris saw her Friday afternoon). Pushing felt … good. I mean, it was intense, and I felt like I was really working, but it was nice to know I was making progress.
At some point earlier in the night, Chris crushed up some ice into chips for me. As he and Sarah rushed around the apartment setting things up for the birth — and called a second midwife to come help as well — I sucked down those ice chips. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to try and force myself to drink. Chris kept asking if I wanted a popsicle but really, I didn’t want to hold anything either.
I lost track of time as the contractions continued. I’d swear they were one on top of the other, but I really don’t remember them being excessively painful — just exhausting, and uncomfortable. The second midwife, Susie, showed up. I remember her and Chris and Sarah all talking, but I was either pushing or had my eyes closed and was focusing my strength and energy inwardly. Then I remember someone asking if I minded if Susie called her student to come join us — as if I gave a damn at that point! All I wanted was to have a baby.
My timeline is a bit confused as I try to look back on it all, over a week later. I remember labouring in the living room and screaming at Chris, “WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR MOTHER?!” since it was after midnight, and we’d called her right after the midwife, a few minutes after 11. I think both of the midwives and the student were there, telling me what a phenomenal job I was doing, when one of them said, “I can see hair!” My response: “She has hair?!” I expected a bald, Polish-looking baby. “Lots of it!” was the answer.
At some point after my mother-in-law MJ arrived (and she arrived about 30 minutes before the baby), Sarah said I should go labour on the toilet because the gravity would help the baby to come faster. I did NOT want to move, but I knew we’d make good progress with my body in that position and so, after the next contraction, she helped me into the washroom.
I sat down on the toilet. She told me to tuck my head down into my chest — I was “pushing with my face” too much — and focus all my pushing into my rump. One contraction like this and I could already feel a difference; there was something more happening here than when I was sitting up. It must have shown on my face when I looked up at her after the contraction, because she smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t let you have a waterbaby on the toilet.” I was so hot, rubbing ice chips over my face and chest; Sarah grabbed some wash cloths, wet them, and laid one on my back and one on my chest to try and help me cool down. We laboured there for awhile, with me closing my eyes and rocking back and forth between contractions. There was a long period between one set of contractions where I was able, blessedly, to relax a bit more and keep myself calm. Sarah says that happens sometimes during labour and it’s basically like the mother’s body is helping the mother’s mind. I was wearing a nursing bra when we went into the washroom, but by the time we left I had torn it off and thrown it into the bath tub, leaving me completely naked.
When we walked out into the living room, I could feel the baby’s head down low. I hobbled along bow-legged, with MJ and Chris sitting on one couch, the other midwife & her student on the dog’s loveseat, with all sorts of little stations set up around the apartment (weighing the baby, oxygen if she needed, an injection of some sort for me to help deliver the placenta, etc). I remember asking Chris to straighten up my pillows behind my back after every contraction, because I wanted to be sitting up more than lying back. I wish I could remember looking at him, but I honestly don’t; maybe we didn’t make eye contact. Maybe I was too distracted and he was too scared. Someone asked if I wanted a mirror so I could watch the baby being born, but I definitely didn’t want to see it at that time (now, I kind of wish I had, but I think it’s more because I love her so damned much that I regret missing out on those few extra seconds that I could have been looking at her).
I remember women’s voices: she’s down so low, she’s ready to come out, you’re doing so amazing, we can see her hair, every time you push she comes a little closer, push long and hard this time, just one more time… I remember Chris: you’re doing amazing baby, you’re amazing…
And then this strange stretching feeling, this burning sort of achiness. It was so incredibly fucking uncomfortable, but it was NOWHERE NEAR the pain that I thought I would be experiencing. “Stop pushing,” Sarah said. “Just relax. We need you to relax and let your body stretch for her, and then you’re going to push her out when I tell you to.”
Again, my body gave me a break between the contractions, but this time I couldn’t enjoy it: “GET HER OUT GET HER OUT GET HER OUT!” I screamed. All I could imagine was a squirmy little baby face sticking out. I felt a weight down there. I wanted my baby to be out already, because I was tired of being in labour, I was tired of pushing, I was tired of not holding her. But I didn’t push, because my midwife wasn’t telling me to.
I felt a contraction coming. “Incoming,” I whispered, then started to push. I made up my mind that I was NOT going to stop until the baby came out, and I don’t even remember hearing anyone talking to me; I just remember pushing, putting every ounce of my energy and heart into bringing my baby into this world. Then this rushing sensation down low, the weight in my pelvis disappearing, and a chorus of cheering as a hot, slimy little body was laid on my chest.
The first time I saw my daughter’s face, I was in shock. I expected that I’d have an ‘ugly’ little baby, and I had steeled myself for the possibility that she would be slimy and bloody and gross, but I hadn’t prepared myself for looking at someone so damned beautiful. I wasn’t ready to be instantly enamoured of her. And apparently I immediately said, “Oh. My. God.” but I don’t remember it, I remember looking at her for what felt like forever, not knowing what to say, feeling like I should say something amazing and important, and then settling on a rather unsatisfying “Oh. My. God.” Chris was talking too, and I can’t remember what he said, but I remember him and his mom both laughing when I spoke. Maia wasn’t screaming at me. She seemed so calm, so accepting of the fact that here she was, here I was, and here we were as a family together now.
Who put the hat and the blanket on her, and when? I don’t remember. I know Chris moved off the couch and came to kneel at our side with the camera. I know he touched her hand and she gripped her fingers around him. And I know that I was — and am — so damned proud of us and our baby.
The Birth Story, Part One
Published February 20, 2009 | Sometime after my last update on the Early Labour? post, I remembered that my mother had asked me to take a belly picture when we talked on Thursday morning. So, between contractions, I had Chris take this picture:
Shortly after this, I returned to the couch to continue labouring on my side. However, it’s possible the movement stirred something up; I puked after my next two contractions. Chris asked me to move off my side, at which point I think I lost my shit and told him there was no way I was moving because it was too comfortable here, but then I realized I really didn’t want to throw up again and so moved to sit on the floor with my back to the couch.
Hours went by. The contractions grew a bit stronger, but they were still short, and we watched television together while continuing to track things. Chris brought out the air mattress, put our clean shower curtain down on it, our least favourite bedsheet over that, and I returned to sitting on the couch.
Around 10:45pm, I hit a point where I had to start really focusing on my breathing during the contractions, and had started some vocalization (and had debated with Chris whether “mmm” “ohhh” “ommmm” or “shhhhhhhhiiiiiiiittttttt” would be the best sound to make, a debate that lacks resolution); at 11pm, as the DVR switched to Comedy Central to record The Daily Show, I finally accepted this was real labour and said, “I think you should call your mother.”
“Nah,” he answered, “let’s let her sleep a little bit more.” My contractions were 4-5 minutes apart, but still only 30-45 seconds long, and it’d been an hour like this, but we were waiting for the contractions to hit 1 minute long before we called the midwife.
11:02, it feels like a bubble pops inside of me, and a GUSH of water (I’m talking like Niagara Falls) comes surging out. Onto the couch. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange, and I screamed: “MY WATER JUST BROKE!”
He stared at me. “What?”
“CALL THE MIDWIFE, MY FUCKING WATER JUST BROKE!”
“You can feel your water break?” (Clearly, at this point we were both in shock)
“Like a fucking waterfall, call the midwife.”
“Okay, was it clear? Get up, go take care of it.”
So I stand up, amniotic fluid dribbling down my leg, my shorts totally soaked, knowing MAIA IS COMING OUT TONIGHT. I look at the couch and don’t see anything dark or bloody looking. “Take care of it? I think it’s clear. What am I supposed to do?” And off I go to the washroom, tottering back and forth, to sit on the toilet. I hear him on the phone and yell, “It’s clear!”
I get back to the living room and lay down on the air mattress just in time for a contraction to seize me. Now, maybe this is my memory moreso than reality, but while it hurt and was uncomfortable, it was NOT agonizing. It was intense though, and I had an overwhelming desire to push. Chris grabbed my hot, sweaty hand and talked me through it.
We had stacked up something like six pillows behind me, to keep me propped up. I knew I didn’t want to lie down, and in all actuality I had every intention of labouring in any position OTHER than one that put my weight on my pelvis like sitting, but once I got settled there I Was. Not. Moving.
And then began the most terrifying part of the labour. He and I, alone, the baby coming, the contractions growing more intense, me wanting to push so badly, his mother on the way, the midwife on the way, my mother not on her way. It felt like this part lasted forever; we were both so scared. With the start of every contraction I would grab his hand — I didn’t actually want to, because someone touching my skin felt horrible, but I knew he was terrified and just trying to comfort me.
Stephen Colbert was on the television, so it had been over half an hour since we called the midwife and my water broke, when I told Chris to turn off the fucking TV (I’m so nice) and he said, “Well, I’ll change the channel.” NO YOU WILL NOT, TURN IT OFF. “But I want the TV on.” AND I FUCKING DON’T! “What about turning on some music?” NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Poor dude.
We were sitting there in silence. Between every contraction I would close my eyes and slip into some zen semi-meditative state, then during them we’d scream at each other: “DON’TPUSH DON’TPUSH DON’TPUSH! *pantpantpant* DON’TPUSH!” Finally, at one point he said, “Oh my God, I need to breathe, I’m going to faint.”
Finally, at 11:40 or so, we paged the midwife again. Except — get this — the paging service put us on hold. I honestly thought Chris was going to lose his shit as he waited and I sat there screaming “DON’TPUSH!” through another contraction. When we were finally answered and put through our page, Sarah called back within two minutes; she was right outside of the building. Chris decided he was going to help her carry her things up, although I was just about in tears at the thought of being left alone, but he didn’t want me waiting any longer than necessary for her to get up here.
So I went through two contractions on my own.
The door flew open and in rushed Chris and Sarah. She said something — some sort of joke about how fast this had gone so far — then threw on a pair of gloves. I have to tell you that nothing in my entire life had ever sounded as unappealing as having someone check my cervix at this point in time, but then she said the magic words:
“You’re fully dilated. Push when you feel like pushing!”
Early Labour?
Published February 12, 2009 | Edit: Will be updating this post as long as I can, but with the pain I’m experiencing now I can’t see there being a whole lot more updates if/when the contractions get closer together. Scroll down for the latest recorded contraction times and thoughts.
Contractions at:
3:40
3:50
4:07
4:13 ?
4:31
4:41
4:51
4:57 ?
5:05
5:13
5:18 ?
5:24
5:38
5:54
6:02
6:13 ?
6:21
6:28 ?
6:38
6:46
6:55
7:02
7:10
7:15*
7:21*
7:28*
7:36
7:42*
Question marks next to the ones that did NOT make me want to puke. Stars next to ones that were very short but very intense, maybe 5-10 seconds of stabbing pain with a very short lead-up that faded immediately when the stabbing did.
The worst is when they catch me when I’m standing up… holy fuck… standing up already puts so much weight down in my pelvis that it’s an intense ache, but a contraction while standing? Ughhh.
Poor Chris.
Update 6:24pm – We called our midwife, talked with her a bit about the duration/intensity, she of course can’t say whether we’re looking at a full night of labour or whether this is a ‘false session’ that’s going on 3 hours. Chris is going to the grocery store to pick up some popsicles & Gravol for me. Grandmas have been called and my mom will be heading out tomorrow morning — the thought of her driving in snow through Buffalo in the middle of the night just doesn’t leave anyone feeling comfortable and safe. Standing up if I’ve been sitting down for a few minutes is almost guaranteed to bring on a contraction (uh oh, not looking forward to getting off this computer). I tried to relax in the tub but our tub is too fucking small for even me to get comfortable in, so now I’m labouring on the couch. It feels most comfortable when I’m stretched out and I might try lying on my side with a pillow between my knees for awhile.
Update 7:50pm – I keep burping. It tastes like pot pie and it’s fucking disgusting. Lying on my side is by far the most ‘comfortable’ position so far to experience these contractions in. I’ve also taken 1000mg of acetominophen so that’s probably helping. I’m getting a lot of very short contractions although they’re quite intense. The feeling as they fade away is so fucking good… like a unicorn smiling at me while a bunny rabbit blows me kisses and Jesus washes my feet. The popsicles Chris bought are really good but I know I’m not drinking enough — going to have to focus on doing that. Going on four hours now of these contractions. I wish I had gotten more sleep last night. Haha…
39 Weeks, Days 3 & 4
Published February 12, 2009 | After yesterday’s midwife appointment, I spent the entire evening cramping up. Like menstrual cramps, combined with OMFG THERE IS A HEAD IN MY COOCHIE, combined with feeling like I weighed a trillion pounds and my poor hips simply could not deal with it. And I had some serious spotting going on as well — not enough to call the midwife and ask what’s up (if it doesn’t soak a pantyliner over the course of three hours, it’s clearly worse in my head than in reality), but enough to annoy me. Since Maia was/is moving regularly, that also took some of the stress off me.
I was trying to force myself to keep drinking water because I need to stay hydrated, but the fact is, everytime I went to the washroom and had to put any pressure on myself to pee, my whole lower abdomen would clench up and tighten. So I didn’t WANT to drink, because I didn’t want to go pee. But I managed to down a full glass of water an hour anyhow.
I honestly can’t describe how uncomfortable I was last night. Maybe it was no more uncomfortable than a normal period without taking any pain meds, but I don’t remember that. In any case, I expect what I felt is a mild version of what I’ll be feeling. I was ravenously hungry and polished off my dinner no problem (quarter chicken, roll, big baked potato) … then spent all night wishing I’d puke it back up because I felt nauseous.
Well, as it turns out, this morning was worse. After spending 11:30-5:30am in bed, tossing and turning and waking up every hour with cramps/contractions, I finally got up and came to post here about how I was feeling. 15 minutes later, MJ woke up, so we sat down and watched TV together.
Between 5:30 and 8:30, I was getting about 4 contractions an hour. It was horrible. At one point I went into the bedroom, woke Chris up, and made him give me a hug. I didn’t want to breathe or groan my way through the pain because I didn’t want MJ to stick around thinking I was in labour — maybe that’s a stupid thing to say, since she’ll be here for the latter part of the labour & the birth anyhow, but I really want time with just Chris and I. I want to cope with the pain as it grows with just my husband and not think about anyone else. Does that sound stupid? To want my husband to be freaking out about the pain I’m in, not his mom talking me through it? I think it does, but oh well, I don’t have to be rational.
Finally at 8:30 I crashed on the couch. Chris came out and woke me up at 9. I went to bed and napped for two hours, and only woke up twice during it. I’m assuming this means I’m not having those contractions anymore since I’m pretty sure they would have woken me up, but I’ve still got some spotting going on and I still feel like there is so much pressure in my lower abdomen.
I’m not the only one
Published February 6, 2009 | All week long family has been telling me “not yet! don’t have the baby yet! wait til (this day, that day)!”
Well, Chris’ mom is arriving tonight. My mom is arriving whenever the heck we need her too, weather willing (and there shouldn’t be any snowstorms showing up in the next week). The bassinet arrives tomorrow, the glider arrives… sometime (Sears won’t call us and tell us when it’s here, we have to call them and ask, which is stupid as shit).
This morning, my sister wrote on my Facebook wall telling me to get up and start running up and down the stairs or something. Chris called me and said “I was thinking… can you clean the house? Let’s just have a baby already.”
OH WHAT, EVERYONE WANTED TO WAIT TIL THE WEEKEND?
Anyhow, I’m going to clean. But I’m probably NOT going to run the stairs!
blah
Published February 6, 2009 | Chris and I woke up at the same time, in different rooms, this morning.
Him because his alarm went off, me because I feel like shit. My head aches, my eyes hurt, and I’m having those vaguely sickening menstrual-esque cramps — you know, the unrelenting soreness that lets you know your period’s about to start (and in my case, makes me gassy too)? Similar to the ones I had wayyy back at the beginning of my pregnancy where I thought for sure my period was going to set in… and then hoped desperately that it didn’t.
No more pink-tinged goo, although last night I attended a La Leche League meeting and for the last half hour or so of that, then the drive home and for two hours after, I was experiencing those “cervical cramps” I’ve had since Monday. I wish I had a better way to describe them — they’re uncomfortable, sharp twinges that are over way too quickly to be “painful”, but sometimes startle me nonetheless.
I wish we had more than one heating pad, so I could put one on my back and one on my lower abdomen. I’m antsy wondering if this achiness is going to get worse and develop into you-know-what. I took an ibuprofen, although I didn’t really want to lessen the feelings in my abdomen, but my head just hurts so badly. I only laid down at 1am, so I’ve gotten 3 hours of sleep. Hoping I can squeeze in some more relatively soon…
He might win a dollar
Published February 4, 2009 | Chris made a bet with a lady at work that I would not go into labour tonight (as in, he will be at work tomorrow morning at 5am). Whoever loses, loses a dollar. I told him he should have made it at least two dollars, so he could buy me a hot chocolate.
Earlier this afternoon, I made up a grocery list on one of those online grocery ordering services, since Chris anticipates us using that for at least the first month after Maia’s arrival. I printed out the list and brought it to the Wal-mart that just opened up around the corner, to compare prices. (Also, wtf, is Wal-Mart a secret in Canada? I’ve never seen one so empty unless it was like 3am. I even found a parking spot close to the front door, without trying.) Since pretty much everything was vastly cheaper, I ended up walking around buying groceries. This is the longest I have stood and walked around in a month…
… and now I’m cramping regularly. Not contraction pain — and honestly, I haven’t had a recognizable ‘contraction’ in about 24 hours now — but little twinges down low in my uterus, near my cervix, like I’ve been experiencing when Maia moves anytime since Monday, except now they’re happening whenever they want to regardless of what she’s up to. When I walk (and I’m in and out of the washroom constantly), every once in awhile I’ll get this shooting numbness in my hip, like I’m pinching a nerve and temporarily losing feeling. With wide, anxious eyes, Chris is telling me “she’s dropped, your belly is definitely lower”. My lower back is achy, although I’m assuming that’s just from walking around so much, and I’ve got a heating pad on it.
But strangest of all? I smell different. I’ve never really been aware of how my body smells, but I am right now, and it’s different from normal.
I don’t think anything is going to happen tonight, but I do wonder how close to game time we are…
Score For Me!
Published February 3, 2009 | Chris has called three times from work today to check on how I’m doing. And I’ve only been out of bed for two hours. We were chatting and he mentioned that maybe I could get some more cleaning done (dishes are still a bit out of hand and there’s laundry to take care of). Five minutes later he calls back: “Uhhh… have you started cleaning yet?”
Me: Uh, no. *Thinking: As if I’ve gotten up in the last five minutes to do something dumb like that!*
Him: Okay, good. Don’t clean. I don’t think you should clean today.
Me: *wondering if this is reverse psychology* Okay, I don’t have a problem with that.
Him: Two of the ladies upstairs went into labour with their first kid after cleaning the house. So I don’t think you should clean. I think you should lie down all day.
Dear ladies that work with Chris:
Thank you.
(I’m still going to fold some laundry though)
Post-Week 38 Midwife Appt
Published February 3, 2009 | After yesterday’s midwife appointment, as we were driving home, Chris finally admitted to some sort of uncertainty: “I can’t believe you’re going to be early. I’m not ready to be a daddy yet.”
My heart melted for him. Throughout this whole process he has been so ‘tough’ and almost obnoxiously blasé about the fact that he’s going to be a father.
Example: we were lying in bed at a few minutes after midnight on Sunday and I whispered, “Holy fuck honey, it’s February.” He was silent. “I’m having a minor freak-out,” I continued, prodding him, “seriously dude, we’re having a baby soon.” He shrugged. I said again, “We’re having a baby,” and he finally replied: “Yep.” I could have punched him, but instead I grumbled, “FINE, JUST GO TO SLEEP THEN,” and, with all the dignity and grace of a beached whale, rolled over to turn my back to him.
So when he finally said that in the car, I kind of fell in love with him a little more.
—
Arriving home, we got ahold of The Grandmas. I talk to my mom on MSN almost daily, so I updated her on what Georgia had told me, and she tells me not to go into labour tomorrow (today now!) since there’s supposed to be a snowstorm. Chris called his mom and left one of his typical messages: “It’s me, call when you’re home.” At this point, I’m still cramping and there’s some light spotting going on, and it feels like as soon as I drink water I have to pee all over again. My abdomen is tightening off and on.
He goes into madman cleaning mode. The living room is now arranged for us to pull the air mattress out into, and the mattress itself is inflated in the nursery. He scrubbed the floor all around where we’ll be setting it down, even to the point of lifting our rugs and cleaning beneath them, then vacuuming the rugs. He told me to go pack a hospital bag “just in case” (you know, one of those things I should have done weeks ago and hadn’t). We hung up the pictures in the nursery finally, since it was high time for them to stop colonizing the top of the dresser. Sometime during all this, his mom calls back and apparently freaks out over the thought of me being early to deliver, then hangs up to reschedule her flight again (first she was scheduled for February 1st, then February 12th).
As he’s scrubbing the floors, she calls back and I answer. She’ll be here on Friday the 6th. “You need to put your feet up, cross your ankles, not exert yourself, and keep that baby put until I get there!” she informs me. Laughing makes my crampy self even achier, but I’m happy. I love how happy everyone else is. Even the chihuahuas seem bouncier than usual.
All night, I catch Chris watching me . One sharp contraction makes me exhale; another startles me with how intensely it comes on. I’ve hardly reacted and he’s already leaning over to rub my back and ask if I’m alright. The whole situation makes me laugh, as if I’m in danger of suddenly going straight into active labour and we’ll end up with a baby in a few hours. Labour will come when it comes!
But now it feels like that time is so… damned… close.
Home Birth Night
Published January 6, 2009 | Last night, after quickly eating a slice of cake apiece, we headed out to the midwives office to learn more about home birth. Now, I’ve been dreading this. Seriously. I couldn’t think of many more unpleasant, non-life-threatening ways to spend the evening of my birthday than going to this.
We were the first couple to show up, which is surprising in and of itself since Chris is one of those people who is eternally “fashionably” late. My secondary midwife, Sarah the English chick, was one of the teachers tonight, so I was really happy to see a familiar face. We settled down next to the water cooler, since I’m thirsty like all the time these days, and waited on everyone else.
The next three women to enter the room were all wearing purple shirts — SO WAS I! Seriously, did someone send out a memo to all the pregnant chicks to show up in that colour? It made me laugh, and then I had to explain to Chris why I was laughing, and then I felt like a total moron. But I mean really, that’s pretty funny, that we all show up in purple shirts.
When everyone (four couples, two midwives, a student midwife, and a guest speaker with her four week old) arrived, we all introduced ourselves — giving our names, due dates, and reasons for being here tonight — standard stuff. Then the meeting took off.
I was surprised — and happy — at how laid-back everything was. The midwives really engaged all of the couples in the very open-ended discussion, letting us lead with our questions and filling in any awkward silences with anecdotes about home births they had attended. They quoted studies done within the last two years in Ontario that determined that for a mother, a homebirth runs less risk of infection and intervention, as well as a faster recovery rate than a hospital birth, although for a baby there is no difference whatsoever between the two. They showed us the equipment that we will be provided upon saying we want a homebirth, and also the equipment that they will bring to our household — this really amazed me. Mini oxygen machines, materials for suturing and IV, a package of sterilized clamps and scissors for handling the umbilical cord, injections of Vitamin K, eyedrops, etc, everything that you would expect to find in a normal, low-risk hospital birthing room, the midwives bring along in a portable format. And they offer options for pain relief, like sterile water injections, that a hospital might just forego in favour of an epidural.
We discussed everything: the “mess” of giving birth and how to handle the placenta (they suggested freezing it and then planting it in your backyard in the spring, wtf?); the size of a 10cm dilated cervix (and let me point out that 10cm diameter is frighteningly huge); how your pets may react to you giving birth at home (curious and very aware, inordinately interested in the fluids etc, often agressive towards the midwife); giving birth in an apartment building (you may want to tell your neighbours, but really, you’re probably not going to make so much noise that they’ll be banging on the door or calling the police); what qualifies you for a homebirth (good health, normal pregnancy, single head-down baby); when a midwife will transfer your primary care to a hospital (any emergency situation, which they can normally tell is coming by the monitoring they do); the length of active labour and how your midwife determines that you’ve entered that stage (generally 6-12 hours, and when your contractions are 4 minutes apart from the beginning of one to the beginning of the next, at least 1 minute long, for at least 1 hour — “the 411″ as one of them called it); and so, so much more. By the end of it, I didn’t have a single question left.
But I had made a decision. And so had Chris.
We are absolutely fine with a homebirth. In fact, we’d prefer it at this point. The way I envision my labour and delivery going, I can’t imagine that the confines and controlling atmosphere of a hospital will be any good for me. I would rather be at home, in my environment, with my support team around me. I don’t want to pick and choose who gets to come into the delivery room with me at the hospital; I want my husband, my mother, and my mother-in-law all to be able to be with me, not to have to relegate one of them to another room. I don’t feel like a hospital offers any significant advantage to me at this point, and when I enter the active stage of labour, it seems to me that having my midwife come to my home rather than having to leave here and meet up with her at the hospital will be much more convenient. I’m really happy that we went to the homebirth night.
So, barring the unforseen, Maia will be born here…. probably in this very room. I can’t wait!