her birthday

There are a few things in life that almost every woman has an opinion about and more than enough advice to share... weddings, child-birth, breast-feeding and parenting are a few that come to mind. In the rare event that you don't have any women in your life sharing their thoughts on these topics, you can head over to the nearest library and find thousands of books on each topic. Titles may include: a million and one ways to use mason jars at a wedding, how to be the perfect wife, 100 reasons to get an epidural, 100 reasons not to get an epidural, breast-feed your kid or you are an awful mom, how to make your kid love kale and turnips by age two, etcetera. And if this still isn't ringing any bells for you, just wait until you have a sparkly diamond ring on your left hand or gain 25 lbs. in your belly.

With so many ways to throw a wedding, make a baby, have a baby and raise a baby, I decided to simplify my life and heed my mother's advice, listen to my body and read just one book about child-birth when I got pregnant. The book I read is Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. Ina May Gaskin is a famous midwife so her book certainly promotes childbirth without intervention but the first half of the book consists of birth stories written by new moms. I found their stories refreshingly realistic and empowering so I thought I would share our story here to maybe do the same. Here goes...

Right as I crawled into bed Monday night I started having consistent, dull contractions. I knew that I needed to stock up on sleep before the rushes became too intense but I was too excited for much shut-eye. You know- the way you can't sleep the night Santa Claus is coming down your chimney. The excitement of meeting my baby face-to-face was coupled with sadness that my pregnancy was surely in its last hours. I spent the next 24 hours journaling, praying, dozing and savoring each little kick and jab from within while I became familiar with my achy belly every ten minutes or so.

By Tuesday night my rushes were ramping up so Chris and I stayed up late, enjoying our last night alone, alternating between episodes of Lost and House. Eventually Chris nodded off and I labored in bed as long as I could, determined to steal a few minutes of sleep in between contractions. When sleep proved impossible I began rotating between bubble baths and laps around our bedroom. (Ever taken a bath at 2am or 4am? It's a strange feeling.) Finally at six o'clock I needed to call in the troops; I woke up Chris and called my doula, Kristy, to come join the party.

My labor troops- Chris and doula Kristy

We greeted the morning with a brisk speed-walk in our neighborhood. I was looking good in sweat pants that I bought from the men's section of H&M with my 41+ week belly filling out Chris' Cub's t-shirt. Although my contractions were quite strong at this point Kristy encouraged me to continue walking quickly, swaying my hips as much as possible to keep things moving. Labor was here- might as well work towards the pain than shy away from it, right? 

By the end of the walk I was feeling it and spent the next couple hours leaned over a birthing ball while Kristy massaged my back, squeezed my hips and slathered my back with lotion. Back labor sucks; doulas are awesome. I've gotta say, though, I was pretty proud of myself at this point. My contractions were more or less coming one right after one another and I wasn't moaning, yelling, vomiting, cussing, wailing or dying.  

After I had six or seven contractions without a breath in between, I called my awesome midwife, Ursula, who agreed that it was time to load up and head to the hospital. Leaving my home was more emotional than I expected. I still remember exactly how it felt waddling down the two flights of stairs to our car- morning sun streaming into my teary eyes, cool spring air, the beginnings of tulips poking out of the dirt. I left my place of comfort, knowingly headed towards excruciating pain but also anticipating the greatest joy of my life.

We made it up to the the sixth floor of University Medical Center of Princeton in Plainsboro to the labor and delivery section of the hospital without making a scene. My room was so nice with huge windows looking out to the trees and pond outside-- a strange reminder that April nineth was just an ordinary day for so many people. Some people were pumping gas, some were taking their kids for a walk and I was about to push a human being out of my own body!?!?!?! 

I was thrilled when Ursula walked into my room (especially since the labor & delivery nurse and I had already butted heads on some of the hospital protocol in the five minutes we were alone... sorry, I won't wear a hospital gown; I'm not sick. And no, I don't want an IV. I'll just sip on my ginger ale, thank you.). Ursula's presence reassured me that as painful as active labor is, it is still a "healthy state of life" as we had chatted about throughout my pregnancy. In fact, my midwife and doula's presence put me more at ease than the sound of the heart rate monitor strapped to my round belly.

After I hooted and hollered and kicked through my first cervical exam (sorry Ursula), I was dilated to 6 centimeters and was ready to get some pain relief in the jacuzzi tub. I scooted across the hall where the gigantic whirlpool was waiting hoping to find one of those old people bath tubs advertised on TV that have a door so you can easily get in and out. I guess the hospital hadn't thought of that. I'm still not sure how I climbed into that huge tub (and especially how I climbed out of it fully dilated). For the next two hours I floated in the jacuzzi in a bizarre dream-like state holding onto Chris and Kristy's hands, moaning, shaking and crying through each rush of pain. Kristy moaned with me and Chris cried with me.

Unfortunately the hospital's policy does not allow water-births so when I started uncontrollably pushing in the water, I was quickly yanked out and back to my room. Then began the marathon task of pushing my baby out. Somehow pop culture's portrayal of births had led me to believe that labor was the hard part and that it only took a push or two and the baby came barreling out, pink and screaming, so I was quite surprised to find myself seriously pushing an hour and a half later. I remember looking out those huge windows and was relieved to see that it was still daytime.

So with one last excruciating push, Mary Allison made her entrance into this world, gray, still and quiet. Ursula quickly cut the cord tightly wound around May's neck and put her tiny gray body on my chest for less than a second before the neonatal nurse aggressively toweled her down and suctioned her throat. Thankfully Mary Allison began to scream life into her lungs within seconds of being born.

Once the nurse handed her back to me, I remember thinking, "Who the heck are you?" I thought surely I would recognize the tiny sea creature who shared my body for almost a year. Surely I should recognize my own daughter! Wouldn't I see my husband's eyes, my own nose or my mom's bright personality shiny through? We were counting on some sort of hint to nudge us towards one of our two favorite names but our first moments with this stranger were not conclusive. Eventually we named her after both of her grandmothers- Mary Allison. 

Now as I stare into my daughter's face, no longer a stranger to me, I see my husband's chin, my own eyes and, I think, my mom's bright personality.

Mary Allison, I longingly cherish the private moments that we shared together while we were still one body and I am grateful for your safe, 40-hour journey into our world. I would do it all over and over again for you.