The Birth of Bradford

I woke up Saturday morning at 4am, and contractions started soon after about ten minutes apart. After breakfast and a long walk, they fizzled out. I was heartbroken and crying that I was failing to go into labor. My husband and I decided to distract ourselves by driving out to Cabela's with our two-year-old. For lunch, I wanted to try getting labor going with the spiciest food my heartburn could handle-Chipotle mild salsa (I'm such a spice wimp). I had a bunch of bloody show, the contractions were back, and we needed to leave NOW. Adrenaline pumping, we called everyone-our doula Dianne, Diane the on-call midwife, and my sister to be ready to come watch our son. It took us an hour to get back with awful traffic while I was having contractions every seven minutes. This was it! The moment we got home, the pattern started falling apart. I was so disappointed that I went through all that for nothing. 

Dianne suggested trying the Miles circuit which did something but not much. Then I lay on my side with one leg up switching every fifteen minutes. After several rounds, the intensity overwhelmed me. I had three long contractions in five minutes that barely let me breathe, and I started crying this must be transition. Then, yet again, they abruptly spaced out to more than ten minutes. I was so done and defeated. Twelve hours of this had worn me down. My phone disappeared because my husband could see that obsessing about timing things was not helping. I tried to nap, but I was so angry. Angry at my body, at labor, at everything. Didn't sleep much, but I finally started to accept this would not be a fast straight-forward labor like I had with my first. 

Around 6pm, contractions started yet again, this time stronger and six minutes apart. But I was in denial. I wasn't really going into labor, and this time wouldn't stick either. We went out for dinner, but I wasn't handling contractions very well.  I didn't want anyone to see me trying to cope, and they were getting so intense I couldn't keep eating so we left. Honestly I can't believe how much time I spent laboring in the car. The birth center is walking distance from where we live. When we were planning this birth, I was thrilled that I would only have a contraction or two in the car. Well, plan didn't work out. 

We got home and put the toddler to bed. I cried my eyes out singing him to sleep for the last time as my only child. My husband was texting Dianne keeping her updated on my progress. By 8pm, we made the decision that it was time to go in. 

We got to the birth center at 9pm. The assistant Lindsay introduced herself, but I didn't feel like pretending to be social. I just wanted to curl up in bed. Finally deciding to go flipped a switch in me. This was real this time, and I wasn't going to escape it. I was going to have a baby that night before we left. Was I ready to do this-the unmedicated birth I started planning four years ago, the vbac I had been hoping for for two years? 

At my one and only check, I was 6 cm. This was real, but I still had a while to go. Sometime around then, Dianne arrived at the birth center. My husband put on the music I had prepared, and I heard the words

"I will not fear when darkness falls

His strength will help me scale these walls

I’ll see the dawn of the rising sun

The Lord is my salvation"

That gave me so much hope that the sun was going to come up, and I would be holding my baby. 

Tried laboring on the bed, in the shower, on the toilet, and on the ball, but nothing seemed to help with the pain. My legs were so tired, I couldn't be upright for more than three contractions at a time. They had me use the peanut ball, and while my husband was applying counter pressure, it felt like he was trying to shatter my pelvis. I smacked him and demanded he stop touching me. Only a little while before I was was insisting on holding his hand every contraction. After some more scary ones, I just wanted to run away from labor. 

The women were all cheering me on that I could do this, and mid-contraction, I started arguing with everyone that no, I couldn't. They told me it was time to get in the tub. Someone asked me what I wanted to wear which seemed completely unimportant in the moment. Spent what felt like an eternity freaking out every contraction and then apologizing in between. I got to a breaking point where there was no way out only through. I didn't have flashbacks of my first birth, but I did hit all those same fears of not being able to escape. That was terrifying. 

My husband was sitting behind me, and I clung to his arms like my life depended on it. I needed him so much to get through this. The women kept telling me I was the only one who could do this for my baby and that he really was going to come out. I wanted to believe them, but I didn't have any hope left. Then I yelled that I needed to push. With what felt like a bang, my water exploded. They asked if I could feel his head. And I could! He really was head down. But what if he couldn't come out? I heard so many stories of babies getting stuck. I pushed and pushed and felt him moving down. I kept saying "Come on, Baby!" So amazing to feel his head come into my hands. Then pain, burning, and pop! His head was out. I felt a shoulder off to one side, and I panicked. Uuum, now what? Was he stuck? How do I get that out? Not sure how, but I did. My baby was on my chest with the cord still attached just like I had always dreamed. Tears. Joy. Relief that we were ok. I had pushed for only 25 minutes! After the placenta was detached, Diane asked me to push. With what? But there it was. I never got to see my first one, and I was so proud of what my body had done growing and birthing this baby. 

He was born at 2:01am 7lbs 6oz, 20 inches long. I did have a small 1st degree tear that wasn't even worth sewing up. My recovery has been night and day different from my first birth. I actually wept during my shower at the birth center because I felt so normal and was up walking without any pain. It was amazing to be holding my baby watching the morning peek around the curtains. Five hours after he was born, we were home. So relieved and thankful everything went so beautifully.  

I thought I knew what I was getting myself into, and I really didn't. I had labored before. I had made it past 8cm so I thought I should've been able to handle it. No, this took me to the edge of where I thought I could go. And then I went past it. When things were getting really bad, I kept thinking "whatever you do, don't say you want a csection. You know that's not true." As I watched those words leave my mouth, I wanted to slap myself upside the head. But I have learned that a mother is not called to be perfect, to know everything, or to have it all together but to keep giving love. 

The entire vbac process has been very healing. These months since have brought the release of so many hurts-both big scary ones that loomed over me and little ones that were a choke hold around my heart. God has been so gracious and abundantly provided and given hope. 

My birth verse was 1 Peter 5:10.  "And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you." I love those four verbs-God is the one who has restored what has been broken, confirmed who I am as His beloved daughter, given strength for the challenge, and established me on the path He has for me.

You can check out Bradfords beautiful birth video here if you would like to see more photos.  

The Birth of Alexandra

Alexandra was born on the very first day of September. Had I remained a patient with my then regular doctor, she would have come August 21st, via cesarean. Had the second doctor had his way, she would have come sometime between August 21st and August 29th, probably after a long and unsuccessful induction, via cesarean. But instead, she was caught by a patient midwife and she came via vagina.

The parts about Alexandra's birth story that I want to stick with me and that I want to share with the world are simple: trust your gut, believe in yourself, rely on your partner and your tribe, and always, always, always know your options as well as or better than anyone giving them to you.

When you wake up 30-something weeks pregnant and every cell in your body is screaming at you to hire a doula: you find Jetta on doula match and decide to hire her the moment you hear her voice.

When your parents offer to come *before* your due date: you say "thank you."

When your husband takes advantage of his flexible schedule and offers to accompany you to the OB appointment on your due date: through ALL THE TEARS, you say "yes, please."

Leaving the first OB, at seven weeks, was easy. I was barely pregnant and based on my own extensive VBAC research, I knew she was either blatantly lying to me because her practice parameters made a VBAC patient inconvenient or she was so out of touch that I didn't want her to be my doctor anyway. Leaving the second OB, at 40 weeks, was tougher. But when the conversation about induction turned from my concerns to his mentioning xbox as a suitable form of childcare for his own kids during my delivery: we said, "no, thank you." Then we called our doula and made plan B.

Someone told me once they didn't understand why I was so obsessed with a VBAC for Alex. At the time I explained it as an intense desire to avoid the pain (physical and emotional) of the recovery from another cesarean birth and a chance to heal emotionally from that experience. And while those things were true, upon reflection it was so much more than that. First, I wasn't technically obsessed with having a successful VBAC; I was obsessed with giving myself the greatest chance possible at a VBAC. And second, I knew in my heart that my body could do it. I believed that my body deserved a second chance and that I wasn't broken. And when you believe something with your whole heart, it gives you the courage to make otherwise seemingly "odd" decisions.

That belief and courage inspired me to find Jetta and to convince my husband to invite a relative stranger to our daughter's birth. It enabled me to share some of my heaviest sorrows and fears with Jetta, who in turn helped unburden my brain and encouraged me to let Alexandra have her very own birth story independent of anything that happened with her brother. It enabled me to commit to an unmedicated delivery in a culture that rains nothing but fear. It enabled me to believe that my baby wasn't too big; she was a masterpiece that was perfectly built by my body. And finally, in the final moments before we met Alexandra, that same belief and courage enabled me to trust my team when they told me I could push my baby out without an epidural, just as I had planned. It was sketchy there for a while and I tried to quit but that's the thing about a tribe: they have your back (or in this case both of your legs) until the end.

A year later, I am so full of joy. I am a proud parent but also a proud person and a proud woman. I am so in awe of her journey but also of my own. There were so many emotional and logistical and medical battles to be fought and I fought every last one til the very end. And I have no regrets and I have no unanswered questions this time. And I am grateful: for the journey, for the outcome, and for the million things that went my way.