Prologue
Wednesday, August 12, 2020. In the midst of the ongoing global public health emergency and general chaos of 2020, I reached a momentous milestone in my second pregnancy: I had attained a gestation length of 34 weeks and 1 day. After delivering my firstborn at a gestation of precisely 34 weeks, getting past that point in pregnancy was such a relief. It was also surreal; each and every day I would think, “I’ve never been this pregnant before!”
Wednesday, August 19, 2020. At 35 weeks gestation, we were solidly within our midwife’s scope of practice. What a relief! My first birth was attended by an obstetrician because baby came so early that we risked out of midwifery care. This time things would be different! Braxton Hicks contractions were morphing into prodromal labor, with contractions consistently picking up in the wee hours of the night but always tapering off before morning.
Tuesday, September 1, 2020. Officially Early Term at 37 weeks, no preemie this time! Good news, because I was keen to avoid the NICU in the pandemic climate.
Thursday, September 3, 2020. At our weekly prenatal I had a nice chat with our midwife about the discrepancy between my dates and hers, and came around to the idea that even though I knew my ovulation date with absolute certainty, this baby probably just implanted quickly such that 38 weeks was likely the most accurate gestational age. Baby was head down and looking great on ultrasound. I was uncomfortably heavy and large and nauseated around the clock, grateful to still be pregnant but eager for baby to choose their birthday.
Wednesday, September 16, 2020. Spared by Hurricane Sally and still pregnant on our official Estimated Due Date. Baby scored top marks on all measures of well-being on our BioPhysical Profile. Our midwife said we can induce at any time but our preference was to let baby choose their own birthday; I was hoping for an autumn baby. A cervical check confirmed that all the prodromal labor wasn’t for naught, so any induction would go straight to pitocin with no need for a cervical ripening agent.
Tuesday, September 22, 2020. I found myself still pregnant on the Autumnal Equinox, and pleased to know we’d have an autumn baby.
Act I
Wednesday, September 23, 2020. Morning. All was well at our 41 week prenatal: baby was looking good on the BioPhysical Profile even though our placenta showed signs of ageing. I talked at length with our midwife about the induction process and what to expect. We went ahead and booked it for that night, knowing I could change my mind and pick a different day if it just didn’t feel right to come in. I decided to let her do a membrane sweep to try to get things moving in a gentle kind of way. I was 3cm dilated and baby was occiput anterior and fully engaged, so I was hopeful that a little nudge was all we’d need.
Afterwards Hubby and I spent a few hours walking in nature. As we walked along the seashore I realized that the decision to induce – as big and hard as it felt – was simply an indelible a part of my personal parenting journey. Just like my first birth required me to let go of my preferences and plans, this birth would require the same of me, although in a different way. Because my firstborn – in his characteristically willful, exuberant manner – brought me the lesson of relinquishing control, while this wee one was bringing me a lesson in taking decisive action. Different children, different ways of shaping my journey, but that’s their job, even when it’s not easy for me. So we decided to proceed with the induction and I was wholly at peace with it.
Until the car ride home. I didn’t realize that I had been counting on the element of surprise to take a bit of the sting out of closing the Only Child chapter of our lives, until I had to grapple with the absolute certainty that this would be our eldest’s last supper as an only child. Tears fell as I processed this unexpected grief, and I considered cancelling the induction, but ultimately we decided to go in as planned. Pandemic considerations also influenced our decision because having clarity about the timeline of our hospital stay made certain household logistics less stressful.
We got home and spent a few precious hours with our eldest. He was so eager to meet the baby; I think I mourned the loss of his only child status more than he did.
Act II
Wednesday, September 23, 2020. Night. We were instructed to arrive at the hospital at or after 9pm. Because access to midwifery care is abysmal in Mississippi, we had to drive 70 minutes to get to the hospital. It was dark and rainy and since I have excellent night time vision I was the driver. The ride was uneventful. I remember telling Hubby that, as eager as I was to meet this baby, I was probably more excited about no longer being nauseated after being miserably sick since January.
We had to check into the hospital through the Emergency Room. In the pandemic climate (pre-vaccine!) we were very apprehensive about encountering sick folks in the ER. But we were processed very quickly and didn’t even spend 5 minutes in the general population waiting area.
We were escorted through a maze of hospital corridors, through the secure doors of the labor and delivery unit, and given a standard little room. Not nearly as luxurious as the huge corner room where I birthed our preemie. I changed into my birthing gown and we took off our masks. I hung twinkle lights, set up electric candles, and unpacked my blanket and pillow to make the place a bit more cozy.
Because my cervix was soft and already 3cm dilated we started with low-dose pitocin in an intravenous line a bit before midnight. My first labor had been augmented with pitocin after 32 hours, so I knew what misery awaited me from the pitocin contractions. But I also knew I could tolerate the discomfort.
Thursday, September 24, 2020. I was actually able to snooze a bit for a few hours but they were steadily increasing the pitocin drip and by 5am I was swaying on the birth ball and working though the waves with deep breaths and vocalizations. Just before 7am our midwife came in to check on us. I had dilated to 7cm and we decided to stop the pitocin, rupture the bag of waters, and let me and baby progress the rest of the way on our own.
Things got intense quickly. I got up to pee and vomited as soon as I got up from the toilet. Then I started to feel a pushy kind of pressure. Our midwife checked and said I had a small anterior cervical lip but I could start pushing whenever I felt the urge. It didn’t take long before my body was involuntarily pushing with each contraction. The pressure was so intense, though, and I was exhausted, and it was difficult to find a comfortable pushing position, and it was hard for me to work with my body to push effectively. Our nurse was so encouraging, she helped me out of my gown and helped me find a tolerable pushing position.
I was untethered from the monitors after we stopped the pitocin and it had been a bit since checking baby’s heart tones. When we checked, the pattern was not encouraging, and my midwife gently said we didn’t want to spend too much more time pushing. But it was so hard! I was barely coping with the extremely intense pressure deep in my pelvis. I didn’t think I could do it; I was sure they’d have to cut this baby out of me. But I was doing it! And after a brief eternity baby started crowning, and our midwife guided me into a different position. They got the mirror out and I took a peek at baby’s head for a bit of extra motivation but I didn’t want to watch baby emerge. I closed my eyes during the next contraction and with 3 more pushes baby was out!
Act III
Baby was big and pink with a back covered in vernix and passed immediately into my arms. Time ceased to have meaning as I gazed in awe at this stranger with whom I had shared my body through winter, spring, and summer. I was enthralled with their dark hair and chubby cheeks. I cooed loving nonsense at the fresh tiny human I had grown and birthed until eventually someone interrupted my reverie to ask about the baby’s sex. We had waited until birth to find out and I hadn’t even looked, but when I did there was no mistaking the external gonads. Another baby boy! And we had a lovely name picked out: Milo James.
I have no memory of pushing out our placenta. But I do remember being stitched up! I suffered a nearly 3rd degree laceration. The repair was not pleasant and seemed to take forever; the lidocaine was ineffective and I felt so many of the sutures but it wasn’t the absolute worst because the natural childbirth endorphins were flowing freely as I snuggled our fresh little squish.
Just as I had hoped, the nausea vanished as soon as the baby was out! I was ravenous and asked about breakfast. It was mid-morning but they said they’d find me something.
The facility was Baby Friendly, so Milo and I were never separated for any of the newborn procedures. We had over 2 hours of uninterrupted skin to skin – long enough for him to latch and nurse and poop – before he was even weighed. 10lb6oz! No wonder pushing had been such a challenge!
The breakfast platter that appeared was an odd assortment of bacon, sausage, biscuits, grits, and fruit. I ate every bite and it was among the best meals I’ve ever eaten.
Despite his high weight, Milo had consistently good blood sugar readings. He was healthy and strong and he never left my sight in the hospital. Such a healing experience after the trauma of having our preemie whisked away to the NICU immediately after birth.
Prologue
We were discharged together less than 36 hours after Milo was born. Morris was thrilled to have a baby brother; he says Milo is just the baby he was hoping for. My postpartum recovery in the time of COVID was busier than it would have been in the Before Times but since everything was remote I was still able to spend plenty of time lounging around. Milo and I established a successful breastfeeding relationship with only a few hiccups along the way. He truly is the perfect addition to our family and the absolute best thing that happened to us in 2020.
