Dude's Birth Story

One hour old

When a mommy and a daddy loved each other very much...the next egg in line and the sperm sporting the most machismo collided together in an epic firework of colossal life-changing implications, most of which the mommy and the daddy had never considered...but they loved each other very much...and that's how this story begins.

23 chromosomes from Handsome and 23 chromosomes from me zipped together in a genetic explosion and....bang! A zygote was born! Bang! A little trip down the fallopian tube and he became a blastocyst! Bang! The little raspberry burrowed into the uterus and then he was a full blown embryo! But the biological pyrotechnics had only just begun! Bang! He had a brain, a heart, a spinal cord! Bang! He's a boy! Bang! Bang! Little arms, little legs, tiny fingers, and teeny toes popped out all over the place! Baby showers and baby clothes, maternity pants, and ultrasounds! He's the size of a pea pod, a lemon, a rutabaga! Let's buy a crib, some onesies, and diapers! Clean the apartment and start a blog - all to get ready for baby! Now he's the size of a purple eggplant, now he's the size of a pumpkin! He'll love these tiny suede baby shoes, and a singing stuffed sea horse, and a we'll hire out for professional photogr--

Wait a second.

He's the size of a what? A pumpkin? A pumpkin! How big of a pumpkin?! And exactly how does this "pumpkin" who is currently on the inside of me get to be on the outside of me?

Well, my cervix internalized the mechanics of what was about to happen long before I did and, evidently, she wasn't too keen on the whole "getting the baby out" process. I was dilated to only 1-cm two weeks before my due date and I was still at 1-cm the week after my due date. I came home from my 41 week appointment sobbing because nothing had changed. Handsome decided to cheer me up while simultaneously explaining the situation by speaking for my cervix...who is, apparently, a southern black woman with an attitude:

"Excuse me? Ex-CUUUSE me?! You want WHAT to go WHERE? Nu-uh. Nooo Sir! Do you hear me? You best be listenin' to the words that are comin' out of my mouth! I ain't gettin' no bigger 'til that baby get's smaller!"

So an induction date was set for Sunday night. That was fine. I had waited this long, I could wait a few more days.

But I didn't make it to the induction date.

During the nine months preceding labor and delivery I thought very little about labor and delivery. Mostly because it scared the bejeebies out of me. But when I did, this is what I imagined: I would be at work and my water would break. I would change, grab my stuff, and walk down to my car parked half a mile away, pick up Handsome, and pack a few last minute items. I'd take a shower, fix my hair in a super tight, super cute high ponytail (practical, but trendy) and touch up my makeup for pictures! We'd grab a bite to eat, and then drive to the hospital happily discussing our impending parenthood. Somewhere in there I imagined having one or two painful contractions. I didn't really imagine what would happen at the hospital during labor...but you know, I'd have an epidural and in a couple hours the baby would pop out. Then my favorite part: The doctor would place the baby on my chest, and my little one and I would stare lovingly into each others eyes, then we would both turn our heads and smile for the camera...click! Then Handsome and I would have an uninterrupted hour with our little sunshine for kisses and snuggles, an hour to forge the bond. I couldn't wait!

At 3:00 pm the Friday before my Sunday night induction, I was at work and my water didn't break. What did happen was this: I was sitting at my desk organizing a few last things in preparation for maternity leave and I was suddenly overcome with a deep burning sensation in my lower back. "OUUch!" I thought. It lasted for about 30 seconds, and I just sat there unable to do anything. Then it was over. "Wahoo!!!! That must be a contraction." The novelty of it was exciting. "I'm going into labor. Yess!! No more pregnancy! Hello baby! I bet he will be born later tonight. It's almost over!"

Two hours later: I was crying on my couch at home, texting Handsome to get home "right now!" I was not prepared for the intensity of the pain. I knew contractions would hurt, but I didn't understand how they would hurt until I was curled up in a ball on the floor actually experiencing them. I guess you could say I was "floored" by the pain - Haha!...ha...hu...sigh. Not funny. It wasn't funny at all. The contractions were about ten minutes apart. Not all of them were bringing me to tears, but about every third contraction would. Handsome came home and started cleaning and packing and timing contractions. I took a shower, did my hair and make up, and waited. With each contraction, Handsome would massage my back and coach my breathing. After five hours the contractions were timing in at about three minutes apart and they hurt. So we drove to the hospital. I knew in the back of my mind that there was a good chance that they would send us home. My 41-week appointment was the day before and, like I said earlier, I was only measuring at 1-cm.

We walked into the hospital lobby and about three hours later we walked out, still pregnant. My painful contractions had done nothing to progress dilation. The nurse had us walk the hospital corridors for an hour to try and get something to happen. Handsome walked up and down stairs with me cracking jokes when I needed it, or he would just hold me quietly while I gripped his shoulders and neck in pain. After our little stroll the nurse indicated that there had definitely been a change: my contractions were now less regimented and more random. One would time at three minutes, then another one at ten minutes, then seven. "You're not experiencing true labor," my nurse explained, "This is false labor because there is no progression," True labor? I almost fell apart with that comment. How is this labor not true? I had a testimony that it was the truest labor I'd ever experienced. I was in a ton of pain!

"When I was in labor last January, I didn't let my husband take me in until my contractions were exactly three minutes apart and they were all really, REALLY painful," my nurse described. "My husband kept telling me 'Honey, let's go in' but I wouldn't go in until I knew for sure I was in true labor." I'm not sure how she thought this story was going to help me. Mostly it just made me feel embarrassed, like I didn't have enough womanly grit to stay home and wait for true labor. Maybe she was right. She turned to Handsome, "Don't let her come back until the contractions are three minutes apart and each one brings her to tears."

Luckily, the on-call doctor sent me home with a shot of morphine so that I could sleep that night. I could still feel the contractions with the drugs, but I did sleep, until 2:00 am when the morphine wore off and I awoke to yet more contractions. I was bawling uncontrollably by 9:00 am that morning, but the intervals remained stubbornly random.

41 weeks today...and in labor..."false" labor

Most of them were ten minutes apart, some would clock in at three minutes apart, a blessed two or three cycles would be 20 to 30 minutes apart, and one cycle was even 45 minutes apart from the last. This lasted all Saturday. ALL Saturday. Handsome brought me flowers, cooked all the meals, and cleaned the house. My mom came up and gave me massages. The interesting thing about contractions, though, is that once they are over, they're over. I would be leaning against the couch, red-faced, breathing through the intensity, and then I would hop up and start talking and moving around as if nothing happened. Because of this, I was able to help Handsome with a few chores. Throughout the day the tough contractions became more manageable as I sensed the rhythm and timing of my body, but I was exhausted.

By 10:00 pm that night I was again bawling uncontrollably because the contractions were STILL random! I kept hearing the nurse's words in my mind, "don't let her come back until the contractions are three minutes apart, apart, apart..." So there I was, sprawled across my bed with mascara and tears smeared all over the pillows, my trendy hairdo was in a tangled, chaotic mess, and I was monologuing to myself through sobs about how wimpy I was: something about how most women of the world had so much womanly grit that they would squat in the fields, pop out a baby, and then go back to work, blah, blah, blah, and then I would pause for a few seconds before yelling, "I want more morphine!!!"

By the end of the night Handsome kept suggesting we go to the hospital again. It was hard for him to see me in so much anguish and he would hold me close to try and absorb the pain. The contractions were increasing in length and intensity, but the intervals remained random, seven to ten minutes apart. It was so frustrating! However, then the mother of all contractions hit me and I almost fell over because my legs went numb. At that point I screamed, "I don't care what that stupid nurse says! WE'RE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL RIGHT NOW!"

We walked into Labor and Delivery again at 10:45 pm. Maybe it was my mascara streaked face, but the nurses tonight seemed a lot more sympathetic to my plight this time around.

I was admitted and the rest was kind of a blur. But here's the play by play from what I remember -

Sunday 12:00 am:
We texted family to let them know that we were in, but everyone was asleep. I laughed realizing that they would wake up and we would probably already have a baby.

4:00-ish am:
5-cm and time for an epidural, baby! Best invention ever. By that time, I didn't even care that a 10-inch needle was shoved into my back.

Blah

9:00 am:
Family finally woke up and headed to the hospital to await the arrival of our little one. Baby's heart rate dropped because the placenta was closing in around him. They switched my position which brought the heart rate back, but the nurses were on guard and a little worried.

11:00 am: 6-cm, woo!

12:00 pm: Still 6 cm...contractions were slowing down, the baby's heart rate had dropped a few more times.

1:00 pm: Still at a 6

2:00 pm: 6

At this point the OB approached Handsome and I. "You've been at a 6 for several hours, you're contractions are random and not progressing. Now, you're going to have this baby one way or another. But  the baby's heart rate has been dropping and I need to know how you feel about the possibility of a C-section."

"Please, please get this baby out of me!" I thought. Walking into the hospital I had been resolutely against a C-section unless absolutely necessary due to my sister's C-section experience, but at this point, I just wanted the baby out.

"What's going to be the safest thing for the baby?" It's weird how my maternal instinct took over. If there was no baby involved I would have had a C-section right then and there, but my body wasn't just my body. It was a vessel for precious cargo that I wanted safely delivered.

Turns out, the C-section would ultimately be safer for the baby, but the OB explained that a vaginal delivery would be safer for me. So he struck this deal: He would give me an increased dose of pitosin and if nothing happened in 30 minutes, he would perform a C-section. "But you can end this at any time. We don't have to wait for 30 minutes. If you decide that you don't want to do this anymore, just let us know, and we'll take him."

Ugh! I wanted a C-section! But I didn't want a C-section. I wanted him to tell me that this was an emergency, and I had to have a C-section. I didn't want to make the decision, I just wanted the intensity to stop. Yes, I didn't have any more pain because of the epidural, but my body would routinely begin shaking uncontrollably, I had a horrendous headache, I was sweating like a 17-year-old boy in gym class, I had stopped forming complete sentences hours ago, every muscle of my body ached, including the half of my body that was partially numb. I was at hour 47 of labor and I was done. Granted, only 16 of the hours were considered true labor...actually only 10 hours since my contractions had recently returned to randomness.

There were two reasons why I didn't have a C-section: Kirsten and Tracey. My sister, Kirsten, pushed for three hours before it was determined that her baby's head was too big for her tiny pelvis and she had to have a C-section. I felt like I needed to push for at least 3 hours, too.

And Tracey. Tracey is probably the main reason I didn't have a C-section. Tracey was my fourth and last nurse. After the OB placed the C-section decision in my hands, Tracey came up to me like my middle school cross country coach, "You can do this. You've been going at this too long to give up now. You're going to be able to deliver this baby vaginally, okay?" I was super motivated by her. Yeah! I can do this, I thought. I can do this!

After 30 minutes, the OB returned and I had suddenly progressed to a 7! We were back in business! Sort of...At 3:00 the OB was staring at the monitors again. I'm not sure what he was looking at, but I heard Tracey say, "She's been going at this a long time. It would be a shame to do a C-section after all she's been through." The OB nodded his head and walked out of the room.

3:30 pm:
I was dilated to a 10!!!!! But it wasn't over. Why? Because this is the post that never ends! Labor went on and on, my friends!

Oxygen mask to help baby's heart rate

"Most new mom's push for 3 or 4 hours," Tracey explained.

After the first push I was like, "Heck no. I am not doing this for 3 hours. I'm not doing this for 3 minutes!" My energy was gone. Absolutely gone. I had no more left. "Do you hear me labor gods! I'm done!" But here's the funny thing about labor, it doesn't end until you have a baby (or until you die but let's try and stay optimistic here, people.) I was going to have to push until that baby came out.

"Okay! Push!" Tracey commanded "Harder. Harder! HARDER!"

Tracey was a great coach until pushing time rolled around. Harder? That's how she was going to motivate me? I couldn't feel my legs!

In stepped Handsome.

All throughout the night and day Handsome had prodded me to eat ice chips and popsicles even though I didn't want to. He had moved pillows and straightened bedsheets, checked the baby's heart rate for me even though they'd turned down the beeping noise so I'd stop worrying about it. He'd hooked up "Mulan" and "Hercules" on our Mac to take my mind off things, and was never discouraged after I repeatedly denied his helpful offers, "Do you need water?"
"No."
"Jell-O?'
"No."
"Do you want a leg massage?"
"No."
"Foot massage?"
"No, please stop talking."

He was the perfect partner who knew when to run to my rescue, "Can I coach her pushing?"
"Sure," Tracey shrugged.
Thank heavens for his days as a personal trainer and PT assistant:
"PUSH! One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six!..."
"GRAhh!"
What a team! The baby started making his way down the birth canal. I still have no idea where my body found the energy to push; however, considering all the biological feats displayed over the past nine months, I wouldn't have been surprised if my body started photosynthesizing with the fluorescent lights above.

"Is that the head?!" Handsome suddenly exclaimed. "I can see the head. George! I can see his head! You can do this! You're doing great!"

The two most exhilarating phrases I've ever heard in my life were both spoken by Handsome. One was, "George, will you marry me?" and the other was, "George! I can see his head!"

Suddenly I remembered that there was a purpose behind all this pain and suffering - A baby was waiting to be born! A human being was about to enter the world. He was going to have his own unique set of toe prints, and he would develop a distinct set of preferences and ambitions! Was he going to like tomatoes? Would he choose a political platform or a yurt? Would he please his mother by pursuing a career in computer science and finance or would he choose to tour the world as a rebellious musician with bleached dreadlocks and a nipple ring? Who knew? But this little baby couldn't start shaping his own destiny until he came out. And Handsome and I couldn't start nurturing, challenging, guiding, and supporting this little person until he came out. So I pushed with everything I had left.

And then it happened. He came.

"Oh my gosh...Oh my gosh..."

Tears welled up as I gasped to catch my breath. "Oh my gosh!" I laughed a little and then wept. There he was! The most handsome little creation I'd ever seen, wide-eyed, covered in goop, and beautiful.

They rushed him over to the warming table to clear out his nose, mouth and throat due to swallowed meconium. Handsome held my hand and described the baby to me. "Oh yes! George, he has your eyes! I wanted him to have your eyes." Then we heard a little, teeny voice whine.

Finally, after an eternal five minutes, Handsome brought my baby to me and laid him on my chest. I had imagined this moment for months. I nuzzled my cheek against his soft skin and looked down into his wide open eyes. They were big, dark...and panicked. The baby looked at me for a split second and then looked away, shooting glances in every direction as if he were searching for help. He was wheezing and coughing weakly, little bubbles escaped his mouth. He let out tiny whimpers between each gasp of air and then looked up at me again. He looked afraid, and I didn't know what to do.

"Shhh...shh..." I rocked my little baby and turned to Handsome. "He's so cute," I smiled weakly. Handsome took a few photos, but our baby looked sad in each one.

I heard Tracey grab the phone behind me, "Can you send the NICU up here? The baby is making some weird noises and I want to get him checked out."

Seconds later, the NICU staff entered in and swooped up my baby. "Do you want me to stay here with you, or go with the baby?" Handsome asked.

"Go with the baby, make sure he's okay."

So Handsome followed the NICU staff out the door, the OB finished sewing me up, the anesthesiologist pulled out the catheter and wheeled his equipment out the door, Tracey adjusted some readings and updated her charts and then handed me a box of crackers. "Eat these and I'll be back in an hour to move you upstairs." She walked out the room and closed the door behind her. Click.

Alone.

I was alone for the first time in nine months...Because, before, when I was alone, I wasn't really alone. The baby had always been with me.

I sat there with my cup of crackers looking around the empty room, still shaking from the trauma. Then I looked down at my deflated belly and mourned.

That's where this story ends.

Why? Because this story is about my baby's birth and the birth is over now. It didn't go exactly as I expected, but that's how life is sometimes...most times. There are more stories to tell: one about the miracle of modern medicine, another about the escapades of newborn parenthood. But today I want to celebrate the phenomenon of pregnancy and birth. My experience was a relatively pampered occasion compared to most, but it helped me realize this phenomenal truth: Every person born into this world came through the suffering and sacrifice of another.

Pregnancy was hard! Labor, delivery - both hard! I didn't want to be pregnant anymore, I wanted that baby out of me! I wanted the new chapter of motherhood to begin.

But I mourned when it was over.

I mourned because, as difficult as it was to be pregnant, to labor, and then deliver, the experience was truly an honor.