Dylan’s Birth Story- June 1st, 2011
Today my baby turns 1. One. A whole year I have been a mother. This may not seem like much to some of you, those who have been mothers for decades, or raised 3 or 4 or 8 children even. But becoming a mother is definitely the most life changing experience, rather, right of passage I have ever been through. There were some days that my patience and belief in myself was so strained and I thought surely this was some test I would have to explain the results of later in life. The sleep deprivation, oh how I missed my sleep some days!, coupled with handling new tasks every moment, of being responsible for a small human carrying my genes, my smile and quite possibly- my stubbornness- was often too much to handle.
And then there were days of waking up to snuggle in bed with a smiling little body crawling over me, and watching this little person experience new tastes and sights and sounds, while at the same time – needing me. Needing ME to comfort and reassure and encourage, there is no other feeling like it.
Seeing a pair of beautiful blue eyes that look just like his fathers, looking up with so much unconditional love is what makes this ride so, so SO worthwhile.
Here is Dylan’s Birth Day Story.
Everyone is told as a first time mother, “Don’t tell anyone your due date! Lie and say it’s a week later, that way people won’t be calling you, harassing you about the baby.” You are expected to be late, your doctor or midwife will probably even tell you, as mine did, that they don’t expect first time mothers to be in labour until around 41 weeks. And they will be probably be right, while you’ll expect to give birth 3 weeks earlier…
I was huffing and puffing my way around Montreal in the middle of a seriously hot month of May and boy, was I ready to give birth. My official due date was Sunday, May 23rd but I knew to expect a late baby and based on MY dates I figured at least 5 days later was my actual due date. So, the 23rd came and went as we all expected it would and I continued walking around in my long blue flowery dress, the only piece of clothing I had that still fit. Sort of. The room was ready, clothes folded, cloth diapers placed in piles waiting to be peed and pooped in. I was raring to go.
I had a midwife appointment scheduled for Friday the 28th and when I went in my midwife confirmed that I was 3 cm dilated and my cervix was fully ripe. If baby wasn’t born before Monday I was to go to the hospital for an ultrasound and non-stress test to check up on the baby, which is standard practice for all past dates babies, she said. But, because of how things were looking she told me she expected to hear from me that weekend. We had big smiles as I left and I practically skipped home. The baby was coming! My husband had a few work commitments that weekend, but I told him to go ahead as he wouldn’t be too far from home and if needed he could be back within 15 minutes. Of course, wouldn’t you know- I was still pregnant come Monday morning. Womp womp. I sulkily got myself dressed and my husband and I headed over to the hospital for the NST. Things looked great when we got there, I pushed the button when baby kicked and the nurse, a lovely older lady, said our baby seemed great in there. I wasn’t having any contractions; he really did not want to go anywhere.
Great news! Healthy baby, I was doing well- everything you would wish for. But with an induction looming over my head for Friday though, this was not exactly the news I wanted to hear.
We headed over for an ultrasound and after the technician checked her measurements she got up and advised us that she had to go get a doctor to double check her work because the baby seemed to be measuring 10 lbs 4 oz. (Quick background- my sister has delivered 2 babies- first one was 10 lbs 5 oz and the second at 9 lbs 12oz. My mother’s 3 babies were all over 8 lbs. So this didn’t come as a shock, or worry me much. We tend to have larger than average babies in our family.) The doctor double-checked and yep- there was a 10 lb baby in my belly. I was then advised of all the dangers of trying for a vaginal birth, as I was with midwives this was my plan-obviously, the doctor also tried to scare me with “your baby’s shoulder could get stuck and you could cause your baby to have permanent damage.” Hmmm, wonderful- thanks Doc!
Because I was so dead-set on having the birth that I wanted I really did not want to hear the fear tactics the doctor was trying to sell. This may have persuaded another woman to check herself in for the c-section that THEY ADVISED I SCHEDULE! But, not me. No way. Obviously, it is recommended to at least consider your doctor’s recommendations, but I wanted to hear what my midwife thought. So- off to the midwife we went. She then confirmed some of these facts and said, that yes- I would be scheduled for an induction on Friday because if I went longer I could no longer be followed by the midwives. It would be at the hospital or at home unassisted at that point . She suggested a few homeopathic remedies, a good walk, some sex, and to relax a bit.
Well, this seemed to be the end of my thoroughly planned out, envisioned so many times I could almost see it in front of me birth- but now it was slipping away. I know now that holding on to such expectations is dangerous.
To fixate on a certain image of how birth will go, each movement, the steps it will take to unfold, can create disappointment if it doesn’t follow the “plan”. To this day, I thank my lucky stars things went they way they did, mostly because I still don’t know how I would have gotten over it.
That evening I followed each step the midwife advised. We stomped around Westmount Park, we made love, I took the homeopathic pills, moaned on the phone to my mother and sister and then finally, settled onto the couch and accepted my fate. Induction on Friday. Fine. So be it. I guess. *&%^%$$@^!!!!!
Around 2 am (we were night owls at the time because of ours jobs and of course, NOT HAVING ANY KIDS YET!) I turned off the horrible movie I was watching and got ready for bed. I’d been feeling crampy but figured it was because of the stretch and sweep the midwife had done that day to help get things moving. I lay down, asked my husband to rub my back and drifted off to sleep. Or so I thought! Probably 10 seconds after I closed my eyes I felt a pop! And then a gush of liquid between my legs. HUH? Did I just pee? This, of course, is exactly what I said to hubby, who in turn replied “No, Megan. Your water broke.” AHHHH! But, but, but I was supposed to be induced on Friday?! This was, of course, in the back of my head. I’m seriously in labour, after all that, now I’m in labour??
It was like I needed to have my plans pulled away from me, for me to accept that things could go differently, to then be given them right back and be told- get ready! Here we go!
Now, most labours, probably 85-90%, do not begin with a dramatic movie-style gush of water. Another thing all first time mothers are told. Generally, waters will get broken by a doctor or will break naturally later on in labour. So, there I was like a chicken running around with it’s head cut off, grabbing towels, laying down, getting up, running to the bathroom at 2 am. Just 12 hours after my midwife appointment. I literally was in shock. We called our doula first, my sister-in-law, who lives in Toronto. She had checked all travel schedules in order to take the fastest way to get to us. She packed her bag and headed for the airport. I had a few contractions, like strong menstrual cramps, within the next 30 minutes. At 2:30 am we called our midwife who was just finishing up a very fast birth across town. She said she would head over to the Maison de Naissance and that we should call her in an hour and let her know how things were going. At this point, I was on the toilet, moaning, rocking, and my body was “preparing for birth” in many ways, shall we say. Just great. I felt like crap. I was not expecting half an hour of labour to feel like this. Was I really that weak? What about my birth CD? How would I have time to burn the songs onto a disc feeling like this? Sh*t. I had a strong urge to vomit and after I finished doing that I said to my husband, I don’t think we should wait for an hour to go by. We need to call the midwife now! I wanna go now! Once she heard it was Peter on the phone and not me, she knew things were really cooking. She said she’d meet us outside the birth center in about 20 minutes.
I managed to do one thing between each contraction. Put on my flowery blue dress. Contraction. Scream at Pete to pack the camera. Contraction. Waddle to the car. Contraction. When we finally arrived I remember looking at the clock in the car. 4:08am. If I was still 3 cm dilated after all this, I was going to cry.
When we unloaded the car and got to the stairs outside our midwife was waiting for us. She laughed as I knelt on the stairs having a contraction and said, “You wanted labour, honey. You got it.” I managed a small laugh and she helped me to my room. I was checked and told I was 6 cm. Hurray! I wasn’t faking it after all! Pretty soon after the bath was filled. I had chosen the room with a nice big tub, knowing that that’s where I liked to hang out whenever I was sick or in pain. As soon as I climbed in I proclaimed to my husband “Wow, all of a sudden it’s like I’m on a Club Med vacation!” The jets bubbling, the juice being offered to my mouth with a straw, it was heaven! For about 5 minutes. Then labour was back in full force and I spent the next 4 hours in the tub. I didn’t really want anyone talking to me; I would shush Pete if he tried to whisper in my ear.
I was completely focused on my thoughts. I visualised moments where I felt free, riding my bike as a child, or times when I felt powerful and in control. That helped me to focus and to remind myself that I had been through so much to get myself there and I could do this. It was mind over matter at that point.
Because they knew the baby was going to be quite large, the midwives didn’t want me to deliver in the water. They wanted to see everything that was happening and make sure they could assist in case any part of the baby got stuck on the way out. I chose a moment to climb out onto the bed and began feeling the need to push. This went on for quite some time, but I never once looked at the clock after seeing it in the car at 4:08, so I had no clue how long I had been doing this. I noticed the sun come up while I was in the tub so I knew it was early morning when I began pushing. I tried a few different positions; squatting (I totally suck at that), on the birthing stool, on my side, but ultimately the best for me was completely flat on my back. Odd, yes, as most women are fighting to avoid that position, but I was so tired and able to rest so well in between contractions that way. My doula and husband each rubbed one of my legs and I could talk in between contractions, stopping to push whenever I felt the need. After a while, someone told me the baby’s head was there. Everyone was very excited and told me to touch the head. I expected an entire head, but all I felt was a sliver. Not as motivating as I expected it to be. But, still I kept going even though I thought surely I wouldn’t be able to push one more time. Finally, one more push and Dylan’s head came out. Sweet relief! The room seemed to fill with more energy then as everyone made sure that the rest of him came out as easily. The midwife assisted in getting his shoulders out and someone cried out, “Take your baby!” I made a feeble attempt to reach for him, but it seemed like 4 sets of hands placed him onto my belly. He was HUGE. It was like the blue ribbon fish at the Annual Great Lakes fishing contest had been plopped onto my belly.
I couldn’t believe this was my baby! I started laughing, and then crying, and then laughing again. I couldn’t believe I had done it, and at the same time I was so happy to be done with all the pushing. It was over, he was here and he was all ours.
After a few minutes I asked what time it was. I was so confused; it could have been 5 pm for all I knew. “He was born at 10:00 exactly”, someone said. 8 hours? From start to finish my first baby was born in 8 hours!? In a funny way, I felt like an even bigger superhero than I did before. They attempted to weigh him after we’d had an hour or so of cuddling and some breastfeeding, but he was too big for the traditional midwife scale. They brought him to the scale they use to weigh older babies and he weighed in at 11lbs 2oz and was 22 inches long.
I had some tearing that needed to be stitched up, but I was so pumped full of hormones I felt like I could have done it all over again. I called my mother, who was fully expecting to hear me moaning about still being pregnant, to tell her while she was sleeping her 3rd grandchild had been born. My husband called his father to tell him that his first grandson had been born and on his 70th birthday to boot.
What an amazing morning that was. I was treated so well at the birthing center, everyone was so lovely. All of the people there who helped welcome Dylan: my doula Angie, my husband Peter, the great midwives, a midwifery student and the aide-natal made it so wonderful. I was fed French toast, fresh fruit and juice for breakfast and we got to lie around all day enjoying the huge, yet tiny and fragile boy we had created. What an amazing way to welcome our baby into the world.
Dylan: You literally light up my heart. You have made me into a more passionate person. You’ve taught me to be kinder, gentler and given me a new sense of wonder about the world. We love you Little Dyl.
