Edith

The problem with being almost 42 weeks pregnant is being almost 42 weeks pregnant makes you fucking crazy. 

Mentally, all you can do is think about labor and babies and your body. 

Physically, every little twinge—or hours-long, middle-of-the-night prodromal labor session—reminds you that you’re about to do something Very Very Painful and oh God why did we want another baby, this first baby was perfectly fine and she sleeps great and only talks back occasionally. 

It also makes other people fucking crazy. People suddenly want to know how dilated you are (no idea), and why you haven’t found success with their pet old wives’ tale about naturally inducing labor. They make a very specific, dramatic “WHAT??” face every time you see them—still pregnant, yes!—and scramble to find new, exciting questions to ask you. (At the end, everyone suddenly becomes fascinated in what hospital you’re going to deliver at. Why? Who cares?)

After blowing past my estimated due date (“estimated” is the key word here, folks) and then past when Cecilia was born (41+1, also no particular picnic to reach!), every single day after was… sucky. 

I tried every. Thing. And nothing worked to send my otherwise perfectly normal body into spontaneous labor. 

I’d planned a homebirth with experienced, qualified midwives. I knew the evidence around going past due, and I also knew that if I were going to be medically induced I’d have to check into a strange hospital, and work with strange providers, and maybe have a great experience—but maybe not! Pitocin isn’t always fun for everyone, and I resented the fact that I hadn’t needed it the first time. Why wasn’t my body doing what it was supposed to do this time? 

I decided I wanted my membranes ruptured so we could get the show on the road. And if it didn’t, then fuck it, off to the hospital we’d go. I had a biophysical and NST the morning of the Great Scheduled Water Breaking to make sure everything was okay. And my gut was right—time for baby to come out. There wasn’t any fluid left in there, and finally I had an end in sight. My midwife came over to my apartment around 4PM with her birth assistant, and she took a gander at my cervix. I remember she looked right at me, laying back in my own bed, and said, “stupid baby.” Because this dumb baby was SO low and SO ready to come out, and there was NO reason why they hadn’t come yet. 

She broke the bag of waters and nothing happened, because there was nothing left in there. And then we waited. I hung out on the birth ball and my husband and I chatted with the birth assistant and watched cooking videos on YouTube while my midwife did a virtual checkup in Cece’s room. 

After an hour, contractions had started. REAL CONTRACTIONS. The midwife and birth assistant consulted with us, and decided they would run home to eat dinner and then see how I was doing. So off they went. 

Within an hour, I knew things were happening, so we had the doula come over. She is also a homebirth assistant when she’s not doing doula stuff. That meant, worst case, she could easily help catch the baby and keep everyone safe until the midwife could come back. I did my usual in-labor stuff: sitting on the ball and laying on my bed with someone massaging my lower back. Taking showers. Questioning my existence and swearing I was done done DONE after this one. 

Contractions started getting really hurty, really fast. My first labor was textbook: 15 hours start to finish. Painful but regular, manageable contractions I could breathe through. Pretty clear transition. Painless pushing (except for the ring of fire and tearing bit, but the actual contractions disappeared when I started to push). Well, this one was kinda fucky. 

Contractions were pretty close together, sometimes pretty long. I couldn’t visualize my way through them—instead, I just focused on keeping my vocalizing low. I felt very lucid during labor, whereas last time I was on another planet. The midwife and birth assistant made it back, and the party started. 

People filled up the birth pool in my dining room. Other people checked on the baby and made sure all the homebirth supplies were in the right places. Once the pool was ready, I got right in. I’d heard that you shouldn’t do the pool too early, since it’s where you want to end up if you’re planning to deliver there. But I knew things were ramping up quickly. And the pool was the best place in the world. I could get through each contraction leaning over the side of the pool, usually squeezing someone’s hand. Then I’d relax onto my back or side for a minute and float. I think I got into the pool after about 4 hours of labor, and pretty quickly after that I started feeling pressure. I didn’t have an urge to push yet, so I kept doing what I was doing. 

Contractions were getting nearly unbearable, and I hated it. I HATED it. I was telling myself I couldn’t do it, fantasizing about epidurals. Cursing every single stupid moment of hubris that led me to think giving birth in my fucking apartment was a good idea. But another big part of me knew that was transition talking. Last time, transition was probably only a few minutes. But this time, it felt like forever. 

Finally, finally I noticed real pressure, so I felt around with a finger and touched baby’s head. It felt HARD and close—only a fingertip away. I still wasn’t ready to push, but everyone started moving around with some urgency and purpose, and I knew we were close. I let baby come down until I felt more sure, and then let my body do its thing. Last time, I instantly knew I was ready to push, but I couldn’t do it. I ended up on my back, legs in the air, bright light in my business. And I hated it, and I tore sideways through the muscle. This time I wanted it to be different. 

So with each (very painful still, fuck) contraction, I let my body move around and bear down, pulling on my husband’s hands. After a few really good pushes, I felt the ring of fire. (I said “OW!” like I’d gotten a papercut or something.) 

My midwife was doing some counter pressure, but otherwise it was quiet and I was in charge. And I was done. So, so, so fucking done. So after about 15 minutes of pushing, I started a little pep talk to myself. And with one more contraction, I said “I can do it.” And I pushed her head allll the way out, and I reached down and helped guide her body out too. Then I pulled her up onto my chest and laid back and I was done. 

I remember I knew she was fine, because she was so present, and the cord wasn’t anywhere scary, and everyone was calm. But it took her a second to cry. When she did, everyone rejoiced. We said “hello!” and “welcome!” and “that was weird, right?” I checked and she was a girl. Of course she was! I’d known it all along. 

Usually birth stories fade to black once baby is born, but with a homebirth the postpartum time is sacred. I had four people help me hold Edith to my chest and then I climbed out of the tub. The placenta wasn’t out yet, so the five (six? five and a half?) of us shuffled down the hallway to my bedroom, and I climbed into bed and laid back. Then all of the afterbirth things happened right there, in my own bed. Everyone rotated around my baby and me.

Edith rooted around and instantly latched like she’d been doing it all her life. I asked for and received a shot of pitocin in my leg to avoid hemorrhage. The placenta came out and was plopped into a bowl that sat right next to me. I was checked over and stitched—just two little ones, mostly painless and easy. My husband cut the cord and then I dealt with the exceptionally unfun contractions as my uterus started shrinking back. 

The plan next was for me to get up and pee while the midwife did the newborn exam. But when I sat up, I fainted. Oops. They gave me a bag of IV fluids, hung from first my bedroom door and then the ceiling fan. I spent a very unsuccessful time trying to pee in bed, then after I got some energy back I made it to the bathroom and did it there. I was plied with food and drinks. The birth assistant and doula got the BLOOD TUB emptied and deflated and put my apartment back together. Edith was weighed and footprinted and then at 3am, after staying with me for hours to make sure I got my color back and my personality back and everyone was fine, the birth team headed out and Crowl, Edith and I went to sleep. And that was that.