Zayd's Birth Story

I am just emerging from the other side of one of the most emotionally taxing nights of my life. Nothing went right last night - the baby was hungry, not feeding, his belly hurt, his diapers were disasters, and he was simply inconsolable. We (Mom, Dad, and Nani) finally have him clean, content, and sleeping *in* his co-sleeper, so I decided to steal a few minutes to myself and write out my birth story. It is so important to me to mark and remember what was really the most special day of my life. And the sun peaking in the window and this stillness of this house after what was complete chaos for hours makes me just a tad poetic - what a perfect time to write about the night Zayd was born. This will be long, it is really much more for me than for any of you. But if you are interested, its here for the reading.

Where to begin? I think I will start with a tidbit about the week leading up to delivery-day. My Ella came to town and pampered me for seven straight days. We did everything we could to convince little Zayd that he should be born. We walked about 2 miles every day, ate tons of spicy food, and she treated me to nightly massages and reflexology in the hopes that we could coax him out early and she could meet her nephew before her last few weeks of law school took over. The morning we woke to drive her back to the airport, I knew things were different. The babies movements the night before were significantly more calm, my body was starting with the subtlest signs of labor, and as soon as I dropped off Ella I knew what I had to do - nap for the journey ahead. By noon, I was at the Birthing Center to be checked and Jenny confirmed that I was in very early labor and that I would probably have a baby by the end of the week. I went about my day and even went in to work for a short bit. At night, Sam and I did our nightly walk around Central Market - two birds with one stone - enjoyed our last dinner as a twosome at a great sushi place just down the street and settled in to bed eager for what the week would bring. By 11:17 at night, I rolled over in bed to start timing my contractions. Sometime between 10:30 and 11:17 I had gone from no significant contractions to mild ones that were 3-5 minutes apart. 11:17, 11:20, 11:23, 11:27...I was taken by surprise how close together they were but knew I had a very long way to go so I spent the next three hours trying to sleep through them. I took a hot bath, I read, I breathed, and at 2am I made Sam run to Wal-Mart to get me Benadryl. Jenny and I had already established that if my labor started in the middle of the night, I would take a single Bendaryl and try to steal a few hours of sleep before the long haul of labor. I told Sam that we were probably having a baby the next day and we both slept from 2:30 - 7 am.

Sam went into work around 7 and by 9 I had called him to come home. This was the real thing. I was eating consistently but couldn't sleep through the pain and had come to the point where I needed help. I remember at 11 am that we had already made it 12 hours and being pretty proud of us. The contractions were painful, of course. What made them confusing was how frequently they came - once they started the night before they were consistently less than five minutes apart but only lasted 45-55 seconds. It was our intention to head to the birth center at 70-100 second contractions 4 minutes apart but that simply never happened - there were no four minute breaks. I am happy to say that our Birthing Class really helped me relax my mind in those first 16 hours or so. Occasionally, I was able to go from writing in pain to asleep for the 120 second break that came between the end of one and the beginning of the next contraction. Looking back I can't understand how my body did that, other than I knew I had to and my mind did too. It makes me feel powerful to think of how in control I was despite what was a situation I really couldn't stop or speed up.

My mom and daddy arrived in the afternoon and labor was progressing quickly. I remember in the morning just wanting my mother, needing her to show up soon. But, by the time she arrived, Sam and I had been working so wonderfully as a team for so long that he was really what I needed when things were unbearable. I wanted him to rub my back and him to guide my breathing and him to sit next to me when there was just no helping the pain. This fact changes who I am and my relation to everything I had and now know to be true. My mother did help in the most miraculous way, though. By the time she was here, my contractions were a minute long with a minute break in between. That is not much time to recover or even catch your breath and I was getting worked up. My contractions were taking over and I was simply not coping. She said to me, "Go to your happy place." While I had talked about Hypnobirthing techniques, I hadn't actually practiced any. I didn't have a happy place. But it took about one second to train my mind to focus on me lying on a beach with waves crashing all around me. From that moment, my rhythmic breathing met a friend in the chant "I am on a beach" and I repeated that mantra for the next four hours. It was a lifesaver.

I can't remember much of laboring at home between my mom arriving and us leaving for the birth center. I remember that everytime I ate, I threw up. But Jenny (who Sam kept in contact with) said to keep eating and we did. I remember swaying with Sam or my mom in the bathroom, alternating between lying down for my one minute breaks and kneeling for my one minute contractions in our bedroom, and that it hurt very much. At one point, on my way to the restroom, I through myself on the floor because I couldn't stand through the contraction and Sam made the call, "We're going to the Birth Center." "Yes." I didn't have many words, but he was exactly right. It was time. It was the perfect time, in fact.

The drive there was the worst of my life and the only problem I see with spending most of your labor in the comfort of your home and birthing your baby at the Birth Center. But it is the point where I realized that there truly nothing and no other person who could finish this for me and I just had to give in, relax the muscles I still controlled, and breath till the end.

Upon arrival, I was eight centimeters. That makes me extremely proud of myself but also my mom and Sam. It was a long hard road we hauled together but it meant that baby was just around the corner. This was probably one of the worst parts of labor. Being at the Birth Center and having to wait to get back into my rythym and back to the business of labor. It was probably only ten minutes but it felt like eternity and I was angry about it. I remember that clearly, as well.

Payal and my dad spent the next few hours in the waiting room while my mom, Sam and I headed to the birthing room with our team of midwives - Jen, Jenny, and Jennifer. I kid you not. I got in the tub and Jenny told me and Sam that I was dehydrated and lacking the sufficient nutrition to birth this baby. (Vomitting was the culprit there.) She could start an IV or I could eat while in labor. I chose eating. Go big or go home. That being said, I also spit a tiny bite of my peanut butter and jelly at my poor sweet husband and remarked that I hated the jelly. The jelly I had purchased and clearly instructed him to use on my birthing sandwiches. Ha ha ha. My mom and Sam and I will probably always remember this moment. We switched to hummus after my Dad ran to HEB and returned with three tubs - Roasted Red Pepper, Olive, and Traditional. I love him. We did a contraction, a bit of food, a sip or propel or Odwalla smoothies for the next two hours. From eight centimeters to ten. The worst of it. I kept my eyes on Sam and he breathed every breath with me. I don't know why that helped but it did. I've only done this once, but I can't stress how important it is to have your partner there going through the motions with you. The world should have just spun on its head. Yes, I am the same girl that since my early twenties has been clearing stating that "Men have no place in the delivery room." Now I will say, "If you can make a place for them, and they have the courage to to fill it, there is nothing that can help you more."

So, we'd made it through transition, and I knew it. I told Jenny it was time to push. She, being a good caregiver, told me to wait and she would check. This was also annoying. I knew what I knew and it was time. She confirmed, suggested I stay in the tub, and away we went. The home stretch. The contractions were easier here and I welcomed the break. I also finally got more than a minute between the pains to catch my breath and focus my intentions. The first fifteen minutes of pushing were a little awkward but I can vividly remembering going from *wanting* to push to thinking it was the best pain coping mechanism yet! I remember two contractions where after pushing through them I yelled that I felt good. "I feel so good." And I did. I was doing it and I was so damn proud of myself. I have never felt stronger or more in control of anything in my life. I remember that during this phase, I kept my head down, my thoughts inward, and my mind was at peace. I didn't need the team anymore. At least, it didn't feel that way. (Their coaching was fantastic and this was probably only half true that I didn't need them but what I want to remember is how I felt.) I remember being able to push and exhale for what seemed like continuous minutes off of a single breath. I am not sure how accurate that is, but it felt like the air just kept coming and the ability to bear down was coupled with it.

Jenny kept showing me how far I had to go. An inch, a half inch, quarter inch. A quarter inch -- that's a quarter inch between being a mom and not. How could it not feel amazing to be responsible for that quarter inch?

With the push of all pushes, I birthed his head and while I remember the "ring of fire" it wasn't what I remember most. Mostly I remember knowing he was here. Jenny said I had to wait for the contractions to finish and push out his body and this made me frustrated beyond words. BEYOND. But she was right. I'm glad I listened - I had been working *with* my body the whole time and there was no reason to rush it along now. One last relatively easy push and I caught my baby on his way out. I am the one who pulled him out of the water and straight onto my chest. And he was perfect.

Now I am a big weepy mess. I am so glad I took the time to write this down.

It wasn't easy but it was the most miraculous, inspiring, grueling, cataclysmic day of my life and I WANT to remember it forever. I hope that if and when you each have a birth, it's one that you are eager to remember every detail of. And most importantly, that you believe it is possible to have a birth that you cherish.