The weeks leading up to my due date were filled with anxiety. While I wasn't
physically uncomfortable, my mind was overwhelmed. I worried about how my and
Josh’s marriage would change. For those of you familiar with the Five Love
Languages, we both rank high in quality time; we thrive off of being together,
and we enjoy nothing more than the freedom of doing whatever we want whenever
we want. I feared that our son was going to get in the way of our marriage.
The other part of me was anxious about labor and delivery and wondering
how it would all unfold; one minute I felt confident and ready while the next I
found myself doubtful and terrified. Up until the last few weeks of pregnancy,
I never thought to wonder when he'd come. Instead I always just thought about
where I was in relation to the due date. But as May 9 approached, I realized
it was just a fictitious day and that in all reality there was a five-week
window in which he could safely arrive. Being slightly type A, I found it hard
to accept that I had no control over when it would happen.
At 3:30 a.m. on April 29, I kept Josh awake talking about my anticipation. I'd quiz him on my preferences/plans for labor even though I already knew we were on the same page. I rambled on about my fears — fears of losing control, having a panic attack and hyperventilating or giving up on a natural birth entirely. Without a second delay — and with the most reassuring tone in his voice — he grabbed my hand and said, "Taylor, you're going to do so great. I just know it; God laid it on my heart. You're going to know exactly what to do when your body is ready." My eyes welled up with tears and as I thanked him, I was overwhelmed with a sense of peace. Hearing my husband so confidently verbalize his faith in my ability to successfully give birth naturally gave me a feeling I can't quite describe. I prayed that the confidence I had in that moment would not leave me. It didn’t.
At 3:30 a.m. on April 29, I kept Josh awake talking about my anticipation. I'd quiz him on my preferences/plans for labor even though I already knew we were on the same page. I rambled on about my fears — fears of losing control, having a panic attack and hyperventilating or giving up on a natural birth entirely. Without a second delay — and with the most reassuring tone in his voice — he grabbed my hand and said, "Taylor, you're going to do so great. I just know it; God laid it on my heart. You're going to know exactly what to do when your body is ready." My eyes welled up with tears and as I thanked him, I was overwhelmed with a sense of peace. Hearing my husband so confidently verbalize his faith in my ability to successfully give birth naturally gave me a feeling I can't quite describe. I prayed that the confidence I had in that moment would not leave me. It didn’t.
May 5 and 6 brought Braxton Hicks
contractions like clockwork — every five minutes, without fail, for two whole
days. While not painful, they we certainly uncomfortable, but I was glad to
know that it meant my body was progressing and preparing for the big day. Josh’s
dad and grandma were scheduled to arrive at our place that night and stay until
I kicked them out in labor, which I figured was at least a few days away.
They arrived a couple of hours before Josh
got home from work, and I spent those hours bouncing on the exercise ball as the
three of us visited. Braxton Hicks continued. Josh got home and we stayed up
another hour chatting — it was now about 1a.m. and the Braxton Hicks were
accompanied by slight cramping. Nothing more intense than a period and I didn’t
think much of it.
I was tired and decided to take a shower
before heading to bed. By the time I got out, my “cramps” were bothering me enough
that I didn’t really want to leave our bedroom to say goodnight. I just bent
over the bed and tried to relax. Josh came in several minutes later and asked
what was going on. I told him I was uncomfortable and just wanted to try to get
some sleep. My worst fear was going into labor at the end of a long day before
I had the opportunity to sleep (ha).
As soon as we got in bed, it was obvious that
I was having contractions. They had a definite beginning and end, so I timed
them out of curiosity. To my surprise, they were coming every three minutes. I
told Josh that I still wanted to try and sleep, but if they stayed the same for
an hour we should go in so I could get checked. He rubbed some Deep Blue essential
oil on my back and belly in attempt to relax the muscles, then I told him to go
ahead and fall asleep because if it was the real deal, I wanted at least one of
us to have a nap. I spent that hour breathing through contractions every three
minutes and wondering if things were about to go down. The hour quickly passed;
it was now 2 a.m., but I was hesitant to wake Josh to head to the hospital
because I didn’t want to be sent back home. I let 15 more minutes pass. Whenever
a contraction would come I’d tell myself, “Okay, that’s it, we’re going in,”
but then it would stop and I’d question whether or not going in was necessary.
I finally woke him up and we decided to head to the hospital. I called my mom
so she could start the 11-hour drive, then we grabbed our bags and as we loaded
them in the car I looked at Josh and said, “We’re having a baby.” In that
moment I was sure that this was it and I couldn’t help but think that next time
we were back home it wasn’t going to be just the two of us. Josh said the
sweetest prayer for me then we were off.
We walked into labor and delivery and they
got us in a room and checked me. I was three centimeters dilated and 75 percent
effaced. This was the real deal and
the midwife was on her way; I was so excited and relieved — the anticipation
was finally over. They had to monitor the baby for 20 minutes, so Josh got our
stuff settled in and turned the Jack Johnson Pandora station on the hospital
room’s surround sound. After the 20 minutes were up, we spent the next hour
walking the hallway, stopping every three minutes so I could lean against the
wall and conquer a contraction. My midwife, Nicole, checked me again when she
got there, and in that hour I had gone from a three to four centimeters dilated.
She told me that progressing from a three to a four often takes a really long
time, and she was confident that I was going to have this baby quickly. I asked
what “quickly” meant, and she said that he should be here by the afternoon but
that she was heading out of town at 8 a.m. and Julie would be on to catch him. (Spoiler
alert: she was spot on in predicting his arrival.)
For the next few hours, Nicole encouraged me
to constantly change positions, so every four or five contractions I’d move
from the labor ball to lying on my side to hands and knees to bent over the bed.
Between contractions her, Josh and I would visit — the midwives are seriously
so cool. I secretly wish I could be friends with them. Her and Josh helped me
through each contraction by taking turns rubbing my lower back, putting
counter-pressure on my hips and giving me the encouragement that I needed. By
about 5 a.m. active labor was in full force. I could no longer talk between
contractions. I was in a completely different state of mind — one that only can
be experienced during a natural birth. I started to vomit every few
contractions, which continued through delivery. I spent this phase of labor in bed on my side with my eyes
closed. I did my best to relax and rest and let my body do what it needed to.
Through each contraction, Nicole would put her hand on my back and coach me by
reminding me to me to focus on my breath, exaggerate my exhale, keep the sounds
I made low-pitched, and not let my energy go toward anything other than letting
my cervix dilate. As challenging as it was, I remember feeling so connected to
my body and my son because I knew that we were working together to finally meet
each other face to face. That alone was motivation to carry on.
Once 8 a.m. rolled around, Nicole left and
Julie came on at 9 a.m. Patty, the third midwife, filled in a little bit in
between. It had been several hours since I was checked, so Julie decided to see
how I was progressing. I cried when she told me I was only at a five. Six hours
of hard work and I only had one centimeter of progression to show for it. She
suggested breaking my water and told me that it should speed things up but that
it would for sure ramp up the intensity of my contractions. She said if I went
that route I should plan on laboring in the Jacuzzi tub from then on, as it
would help ease the discomfort. I cried harder because when you’re already
being pushed to your limit, it’s not easy to voluntarily choose to make it harder,
but knowing that it should get things moving quicker made it an enticing route
to take. She asked Josh and I if we wanted some privacy to discuss it so we had
her step out of the room. I cried and Josh prayed and we ended up deciding to
have her break my water. As she did that, she noticed that there was meconium
(the baby’s poop) in the amniotic fluid, which didn’t call for any urgent
treatment but it did mean that if he didn’t take his first breath right away,
they’d have to cut the cord immediately and clear out his lungs as opposed to delaying
the cord clamping and having him placed on my chest right away.
I got in the tub, and it helped ease the
pressure for a while, but as Julie told me it would, the intensity eventually
ramped up to a whole new level — it was crippling. I hit transition and spent
the next three hours hunched over the side of the tub, paralyzed by each
contraction. Josh and Julie supported me from outside the tub by putting cold
washcloths on the back of my neck and just by being there. It was so comforting
knowing I wasn’t alone. Instead of thinking about pain, I forced myself to
pinpoint exactly what I felt — extreme tightening in my back muscles, pressure
deep in my hips and an intense pulling in my uterus. I remember Julie bringing
in the Doppler several times to monitor Dawson’s heart rate; In order to do
this, I had to adjust positions, which felt utterly impossible. It had been 28
hours since I last slept and that — combined with not having anything in my
stomach — left me depleted of energy, so I decided to have them give me two
bags of IV fluids. It wasn’t miraculous, but I’m sure it
helped some.
Around noon, I looked up at Julie and told
her I didn’t think I could do this much longer. She reassured me that reaching
the point of wanting to give up only meant I was almost done and that I was
about to meet my son. Within minutes of that conversation I had the urge to
push, and although the midwives aren’t certified to deliver via water birth,
she let me push through several contractions in the tub. Once the pushing got
more serious, I had to muster up the energy to get out. I really don’t recall
how I made it across the room, but eventually I was on the bed with my knees to
my chest pushing with every ounce of energy I had left. I had no intentions of
birthing in this position since it works against gravity, but I didn’t have the
energy to hold myself any other way. I pushed for 30 minutes and seemed to be
making no progress. Julie could tell that my pelvic muscles were extremely
strong and asked if I was a rock climber. Apparently climbing a few times a
year means you’re a rock climber because I told her I was. Either way, my tight
pelvic muscles were working against me because I couldn’t get them to relax to
allow him to come out. She told me I was going to have to work harder. They put an oxygen mask on me to help me out and from
that moment on, I was in primal mode. I instinctually made sounds I couldn’t
control and probably couldn’t repeat them if I tried. I pushed through several
more contractions, then a team of several NICU nurses came in and Julie put on her
gown. Those sights were a huge motivation because I knew it meant he was really
close. Josh was in tears but continued to lean in to me with words of
encouragement. A few more pushes and she told me she could see lots of dark
hair. I demanded that she “get this kid out of me,” and before I knew it he was
crowning. In that moment I suddenly realized that I had reached my goal. I had
labored for 12 hours naturally and was seconds away from having him all the way
out. I looked up at Josh, started crying myself, and said, “I can’t believe I
did it.”
He was out but did not cry, so Julie quickly
cut the cord and took him across the room to be taken care of. It didn’t take
long before we heard that first cry and through my tears, I immediately started
yelling his name. The pain was gone and with that, were all of my fears about
parenthood and our marriage. Dawson immediately filled a void in my life that I
didn’t even know was there. My love for Josh was not divided because of our
son; it multiplied. I saw God’s heart and the beauty and delight He has for us.
Never in my life have I felt anything even close to the deep love I’m
attempting to describe. It was more than just love for Dawson; it was an
instant connection that Josh and I had — it was profound and nothing other than
the birth of our son could have produced it.
As the sweet nurses tended to Dawson, they
keep us in the loop, telling us exactly what they were doing and how he was
doing. They didn’t waste time weighing or measuring him, which I really
appreciated — as soon as he was thriving they had him naked on my chest. I will
never forget the moment that his eyes met mine. He was so alert and unbelievably
peaceful. We both knew we belonged together. I whispered the words, “Dawson,
it’s your mom — I love you,” just as I had a thousand times over during my
pregnancy. The tears just kept falling, from my and Josh’s eyes, that is. The
two of us spent the next hour just staring at him, picking apart his features,
in awe that he was ours.
I’ve heard parents describe their child’s
birthday as the best day of their life, but I always thought that the day I married
his father couldn’t be topped. I was wrong. May 7, 2015 was the best day of my
life because it was an expansion of the covenant his father and I made together. We are so in love.
This is so Cool!
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