Because it's about time I write down Hannah's birth story

My sister Jenny had a baby yesterday...Micah James...her second son.
Her first baby was born at 32 weeks, but this little guy came at almost 39 weeks (Praise God!).
To say I am happy for her would be a major understatement. Elated is more like it.
I get to meet Micah and introduce Jenny to Hannah on Thanksgiving Day. Can't wait!
Here they are in all their preciousness.

In addition to wanting to see a picture of my little nephew (and wanting to jump on a plane to Nashville!), I also wanted to hear Micah's birth story. I think birth stories are really important to share. I also think its really important to document birth stories...for the mama, and for the kiddo someday.

No matter how a baby comes into the world...planned/unplanned C-section, natural, epidural, at home, or at the hospital...births are a BIG DEAL and a BIG ACCOMPLISHMENT for Mama. I wish moms shared their birth stories more. I'd love to hear yours. Before I forget the details I thought I'd better write down mine.

Hannah Elizabeth
August 6, 2012 @ 12:45am
Her birth story...

I always knew that this baby was going to come early. I'm sure people thought it was just wishful thinking, but I knew. I never even really related to my due date. Hannah was due August 22nd, but I always just told people I was due in August. As far as I was concerned, any time after August 1st, when I would be full-term, was good for me.  I even had my mom book tickets for a week and a half before my due date.

I had been walking funny, was having stop-and-catch-your-breath contractions, and was generally miserable for a couple weeks by the time August 5th rolled around. I was full term on August 1st and more importantly all the big house projects were completed as of August 2nd. At 3cm, 60% effaced, -2 station, and extremely uncomfortable, I was GOOD TO GO at 37 weeks. But you can't will a baby to be born. Or can you?

I have a strange habit of going into labor late on a Sunday night and giving birth just after midnight on Monday morning...I'm 4 for 4 with that scenario. On Sunday night August 5th I watched some Olympic coverage and told Chris I was going upstairs to go to bed at 8:30pm. Yep, 8:30pm. After getting ready for bed and checking email I stood up from the desk and...my water broke...at about 9pm.

I went into full panic mode and yelled excitedly down the stairs to Chris to tell him that IT WAS TIME. Because Abby arrived about 2 hours after my water broke I was really nervous that this baby was going to come even faster. We'd been told by multiple Drs to get to the hospital RIGHT AWAY, so that is what we were going to do. We called fabulous neighbor and friend Tracy who came on over to be with the girls while we peeled out for the hospital. We called our Doula on the way to tell her to meet us at the hospital.

We checked in at the hospital and I got checked out by a nurse... 4cm, but no real strong or consistent contractions...well, no stronger or more consistent than I'd been having for the past few weeks. At about 10:30 "Dr. P", and his agenda, walked in the room to meet us. This guy wasn't my OB, or even in my OB practice, he worked for the hospital and would be delivering the baby because it was the weekend.

So back to Dr. P's agenda. He walked in the room and within seconds was strongly pushing Pitocin.  Now I'm sure there is nothing wrong with Pitocin, but when you are having a natural childbirth it is a bad word, because, well, it isn't natural and makes a natural childbirth that much harder (or so I've heard). Dr. P thoroughly scared me and made me feel like a bad mom for not immediately agreeing to his suggestion, like I was endangering my daughter by not augmenting labor. I resisted his advice, and I think annoyed him a bit, and then he mentioned in his very arrogant manner that if things weren't really moving by 7am he would insist on Pitocin.

7am? 7am? Had this guy looked at my chart? Apparently not. I'd most likely be comfortably situated in my recovery room nursing my newborn at 7am. I respectfully mentioned that my last two babies were born 2 and 3 hours after my water broke. His face said...Oh, well, that's interesting information. He responded to this new information (otherwise knows as patient history!) by suggesting that he check me again. I had progressed to 6cm. He somewhat sheepishly said, "Well, call me when its time to push" and he left the room. Coincidentally, he was called, but missed it, just like he missed it with Abby (yep, same guy).

OK, so after another hour of contractions, walking around the room, ice chips, and nervous conversation things finally picked up around midnight. And that's when the chit-chat STOPPED. And that is when I went "somewhere else". That is what I do when it gets crazy. I go internal, close my eyes, and just take it one contraction at a time. It's the phase of labor known as "that which can't be described". It's bad, real bad. It's just not helpful to anyone to describe it, so I won't. But I do know at one point I said "I can't do this," which usually means I have just about done it.

I made sure to tell them when I thought it was time to push so we didn't have a repeat of Abby where she almost dropped on the floor because I wasn't even situated on the bed (seriously!). Our wonderful nurse Tiffany checked me and told me I was 10cm. Yay! She suggested that perhaps I try to push on the next contraction. Yes, please, happy to! Well, this is the part where things just happen in a manner somewhat out of my control. I pushed. Once. I remember being told to stop pushing, but that is a totally ridiculous request.

And the next thing I knew Hannah Elizabeth came into the world. She was caught by Tiffany the nurse who only had enough time to put on one glove. Tiffany did manage to page the Dr when it became obvious that this was going to be a one-push affair, but once again he walked in too late and saw a joyfully crying mother clutching the newest love in my life.

12:45am. And life changed. A third amazing little girl was placed in my arms. 7 lbs 3 oz of love.

Crying with gusto, the most beautiful sound in the world, and covered in that white film that protected the skin on her perfect little body, she was spectacular. I held her and I wept. I wept out of relief and joy. RELIEF and JOY. It was over. Pregnancy was no more, delivery was done, the what-ifs that fill my anxious head and heart during pregnancy and delivery vaporized. And now the fun part was here. The baby part. My favorite thing about our hospital is that they let me hold her, just as she was, for over an hour before they took her from me to clean her up and weigh and measure her. I think they call it the "golden hour" in the medical world, and it really, truly, is.

We spent just 20 hours in the hospital and enjoyed visitors, phone calls, checking Facebook comments, and most of all introducing Hannah to the rest of her family, her big sisters. I will never forget watching Sam and Abby meet their sister. Ever. I think this will always be one of my all time favorite pictures of my girls.

On August 6, Hannah's birthday, we were cleared to go home. The walk down the hospital hallway and the drive home were incredibly emotional for me.  This was the last time we would be bringing home a new baby.

As we exited those hospital doors I was overwhelmed with the significance of what I was finally leaving behind...the anxiety, the fears, the planning, the things-never-going-according-to-plans, the pregnancies, the losses, the sickness, the discomfort, the pains of childbirth, the maternity clothes...were all behind me now (well, the maternity clothes aren't quite gone yet).

Thank you God for my children. Thank you for baby Hannah. And thank you, truly, for the broken road that has led us to each of these 3 beauties. What an astonishing privilege to be their mother.