After the weeks of anxious waiting, on Thursday, June 18 (our wedding anniversary!), Owen finally decided to make his appearance. I was 41 weeks + 1 day pregnant, huge, in pain, been having contractions for 5 weeks and had been 5 cm dilated for over 2 weeks. I'd tried a castor oil induction, had my membranes stripped 4 times, and tried every other known natural induction technique. My midwife had been telling me for 3 weeks that the baby was about 9-9.5 pounds and I chose to believe her rather than face the reality of how big he really probably was. I knew that I probably only had a few more days before my homebirth would turn into a hospital birth.
Last photo of the belly:
Here's how it all went down:
10pm - I headed to bed after a lowkey anniversary celebration with the hubby. As I lay reading in bed, I felt a strong contraction. I checked the clock - 10:15. I wasn't ready to get excited given the false labor I'd been experiencing for weeks. But 4 minutes later, another contraction rocked my body and I couldn't stay in bed.
I went downstairs where hubby was watching TV and mumbled about having contractions. I still wasn't ready to brand this "the real thing" yet, so I was intentionally blase in my delivery. But then another contraction came and I found myself panting and draped over the birthing ball. It was at this point that I suggested that maybe he should start to fill up the birthing pool - just in case.
It only took one more contraction for me to get my phone to call our doula. I dialed her number but found myself unable to talk - I shoved the phone in my husband's hand and told him to tell her to come NOW. I managed to call my midwife between the next contractions and she told me she was in the car on the way to another birth - I was going to have to use her backup. The news would have ordinarily totally bummed me out because I loved my midwife and really wanted her at the birth, but there was no time to think or feel anything except the constant wave of contractions racking my body.
As with Spencer, the pain was mostly centered in my back. I laid on the floor with my butt in the air moaning through each contraction. When Ian had a free hand - he was also trying to fill up the birthing pool and make the bed for me - he'd push on my back and give me some relief. Soon, Trish our doula arrived and was able to help out with the counterpressure.
The pool wasn't filling up fast enough for me. When it was only about 1/3 full I asked if I could get in it. I'm not sure who I was asking exactly, but both Ian and Trish told me I could. I gingerly made my way over in the precious minute or two rest I was getting between contractions and sank into the water. It felt like heaven. The contractions were still there, but if the pain was a 10 before, it was now a 7. I could deal with 7. But, things didn't slow down and I was starting to get the urge to push though I was trying not to push yet since the midwife hadn't arrived. Plus, I still didn't quite believe that it was really happening and certainly not this fast.
I had a few more contractions and then the doorbell rang. A midwife. It turned out to be the backup's backup - this was apparently a big night for births. But, I didn't really care who it was at that point. We introduced ourselves to each other and got down to business. She brought her equipment down and got out her doppler to check for the baby's heartbeat. She tried to find the heartbeat in the water, but she couldn't and made me get out the pool. Getting out was the last thing I wanted to do, but the heartbeat seemed a pretty important thing to find. It was 100% for her sake though, not mine. I knew instinctively that everything was fine - that this baby was alive and well and ready to come out. But, I got out and let her find the heartbeat then it was right back in to the water.
I was feeling pressure. LOTS of pressure. I decided to try pushing and the baby's head immediately started coming out. ...God, it was all so fast ... How could the head be coming out already? But I couldn't stop. I pushed again and more head came out. It didn't really hurt. I mean I guess it did, but not like I remember with Spencer. It just felt uncomfortable and I wanted to push more. I was sitting in the pool at this point and the midwife instructed me to flip over to my hands and knees to push the rest of the baby out. I suppose she probably saw how huge he was with half the head out. I knew from my research that hands and knees was the best position for delivering a big baby (or for unsticking a stuck baby) because it makes your pelvis as wide as possible. I flipped myself over and resumed pushing. I think it was just 2 more pushes - couldn't have been much more - and he was out.
11:45 pm - 90 minutes after my first contractions. 10 minutes after the midwife arrived. Here I was holding my baby. We were both being covered in towels by someone. He cried a little and looked very blue, but he was fine and in my arms. How did that just happen?
I was looking at him, but my body and mind both felt mushy. It happened so fast that I couldn't quite process what had just gone down. I realized nobody was taking photos so I asked for photos to be taken. I stayed in the water holding him while I delivered the placenta. The midwife made several comments like "I can't wait to weigh him," but at this point I was still oblivious to just how big a baby I had just delivered.
This photo says it all:
I moved to the bed to get warm and breastfeed the baby while the midwife examined my nether regions. She announced that no stitches were needed to my surprise. I'd just assumed that big baby + crazy fast labor would automatically equal bad things. But apparently not.
I sat on the bed, trying to breastfeed, but struggling. Breastfeeding was never a natural strength for me - combine that with my mushy body and a heavy baby and...well.. it was a struggle. After we got some feeding done, it was time to weigh the baby - the midwife asked for guesses - I think I said 9 1/2 pounds - I was clearly still oblivious to hugeness of my baby. 11 pounds 2 ounces. Really? The great uncomfortableness of my pregnancy suddenly made a lot more sense. But, hearing the weight just kind of added to the surreal nature of the super fast labor.
Soon we were ready to settle in for the night and sleep together at home as a family. The midwife and doula were just going to help me to the bathroom to get me cleaned up and ready for bed. But, it wasnt' going to be quite that easy.
When I made a move to stand up, I felt a lot of blood come out. Like more than you should ever feel. I couldn't see exactly what was happening from my position but I calmly said "I think I'm bleeding". The midwife took a look and went into high gear. In the next few minutes, she started work to stop the hemorraging. I know that a lot of people have this perception of midwives coming with a few herbs in their tie dye, but in reality they are trained medical professionals who come equipped for emergencies. Thank god.
I got a shot of pitocin first, but that didn't stop things. Next up was some cytotec delivered in an unpleasant manner. Add a dash of manual uterine contractions (ie hand inside my body squeezing uterus) and a catheter insertion and there you have it - a recipe for stopping uterine hemorraging.
I had confidence in the midwife's abilities, but during this episode her bedside manner did little to calm me. She wasn't explaining to me what she was doing. I'd educated myself enough about the birthing process that knowing exactly what was going on would have calmed me. But instead I kept in the dark about what my body was doing and what she was doing to counter it. My mind started to drift away - I had a few thoughts along the lines of "what if I die tonight?", but mostly I was in practical mode - wondering how we should handle things if I needed to be transported to the hospital. Should Ian stay home with the kids? Should the paramedics come through the basement or the front door - the basement entrance has fewer steps, but they are steeper... But luckily the cytotec did the trick and the bleeding stopped and my brain could relax.
Instead of everyone heading home to bed, the midwife and doula had to stay and watch me for a few hours. I felt very weak from the blood loss and couldn't sit up. I was fed a steady diet of food and juice to help with the recovery. Owen needed to keep nursing to keep his blood sugar up (especially because of his size) so they propped him up next to me so he could feed while I lie there mostly helpless. By this time, my midwife had finished with her other birth and headed over to relieve her backup and check on me.
Eventually I was feeling a bit better and with help was able to get up and get ready for bed. It was weird to say good-bye and be left alone in our home with this little baby. Weird, but wonderful. No nurses coming to check on us every hour. Spencer was just upstairs sleeping and would get to meet his little brother as soon as he woke up.
Looking back, I'm so happy I got to do the homebirth. It was really wonderful being able to recover in my home. And I'm positive that had I gone to the hospital, I would have either had an assisted delivery with forceps or a c-section. There's no way a hospital would have let me attempt to vaginally deliver an 11 pound baby and if for some reason I was able to try, I couldn't have delivered a baby that big lying on my back in bed.
I've also developed a philosophy about why Owen decided to wait so long to come out. I think he was probably ready to be born (size wise) when I started having contractions at 36 weeks. But knowing now what I do about his kidneys - the connection between his bladder and kidneys isn't fully formed - I really think he was giving that as much time as possible to grow. He was very sick at 10 days old, but I think it might have been much worse if he'd been born earlier with perhaps even less developed kidneys. I think my body knew what was best and even though I didn't understand it at the time, I just needed to trust that my body would go into labor when it was ready. I think he stayed in as long as he possibly could without getting too big for me to deliver.
Which brings me to his size. I admit to getting a kick out of telling people how big he was. I love the look of shock and horror that women have when they hear me say 11 pounds. But, as you just read, it wasn't an especially painful or traumatic delivery. I think it goes back to trusting our bodies - they are made to give birth and know what to do if you let them. I had a lot of confidence in my ability to birth him naturally and without intervention. I approached the birth without fear and I think it was this mental state, as opposed to some kind of superhuman vagina, that contributed to the easy delivery.
One month later:
