In Which I'm Not (Do You Hear Me? I Mean It!) Going To Have A Baby Tonight

On Monday afternoon, the 22nd, I loaded the two younger boys into the van for what I hoped would be my last prenatal visit. I was anxious, yet again.

In some ways I am an unlikely homebirther. In contrast to Martha Sears, who writes about her quiet confidence in her body's ability to give birth, I have a quiet confidence in Murphy's Law. Having taken a public stand in support of planned attended homebirth for low-risk women, I was worried about providing anecdata for naysayers (specifically, about winding up on the front page of Homebirth Debate under the header "I could have told her it was a lousy idea"). On Sunday night I sat down and looked hard at my stillbirth fears. What would it be like to change plans right now, to head to the hospital once I was in active labor? What was best for us this time around?

I talked to my midwife about my anxiety and found her as reassuring as ever. I drove home with the last gleams of a December sunset in my rearview mirror, and Joe and Pete singing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" behind me. "Wejoice! Wejoice!" they chorused, and I thought, "This is a moment to hold on to." I came home by a route I don't usually take, one where I always turn too soon. This time I noticed that there's a big green sign for the street I need to take. I took a minute to pray: "Can you show me a sign if I need to change directions, God, and I'll try not to get ahead of myself worrying?" I still wasn't really at peace about the birth -- I got home and googled "fetal tachycardia" because the baby's heartrate had been 168 and I wondered if it signaled infection or something awful. (The midwife chalked it up to gymnastics.) But it seemed reasonable to plan on staying home unless I had a clearer reason not to.

Elwood and I got dinner on the table together, but I wasn't hungry. I was having contractions and I was uncomfortable. I made a couple of trips to the bathroom, thinking, "I don't want to come down with a stomach bug right before Christmas." A tiny part of my brain was thinking "...labor...?"  I ignored it. I was so convinced that I was having the baby after Christmas that I was assuming these were just irksome warm-up contractions. (I told my mother this story and my husband nodded wryly. "She's usually pretty smart," he said.)

Elwood asked me, "Are you all right? You seem really down." I said, "These contractions are bugging me. I'm going to run a bath and drink a glass of wine to try to make them stop."

After my bath I decided to go to bed early (really early, like 7:30), but I kept an eye on the clock, timing contractions. Five minutes. Eight minutes. Six minutes. Ten minutes. ("That's more like it," I told my uterus after the ten-minute interval.) Five minutes. I noticed, to my chagrin, that I was feeling chilled when they started and flushed after they were over -- a previously reliable signal that this was the real McCoy. I said, "I do not feel at peace about having this baby tonight." Did my uterus listen? Why, no, it did not. I also noticed that my arrhythmia was acting up, which should have clued me in that my body was working harder than I realized. I didn't put that together until later, but I threw back the covers and got up to tackle the things that were bothering me.

Problem A: my midwife had attended a wee-hours birth the night before and I didn't want to keep her up two nights in a row. Problem B: we didn't have a good plan in place for the boys on that particular night. Problem C: there were way too many pine needles on my living room floor for me to contemplate delivering a baby in the middle of it.

I checked in with the midwife, who took the prospect of back-to-back births right in stride. "I'm going to do my best to make these contractions fizzle," I told her. With her okay I took a beta blocker to settle down the arrhythmia. I called my friend around the corner, a nurse who was supposed to be working the night shift. Providentially, she had the night off and she was happy to come down in case we needed help with the boys. She also reminded me of something I'd forgotten: if the baby was born on the 23rd, she'd share her godfather's birthday. That made me feel better. I cranked up the vacuum and with Pete's help (he loves to vacuum) made quick work of the pine needles.

While I was up and moving the contractions picked right back up. Two and a half minutes. Three minutes. Four minutes. Three minutes. I called the midwife again. "The fizzle is not happening," I said. "Don't come yet, but I thought I should let you know." I called my friend. "I really don't think I'm going to have this baby tonight*," I said, "but maybe you could come down and have a cup of tea or something?"

*You have to imagine me saying this over and over, until you want to reach through your monitor to snap your fingers in my face and say, "Wake up, honey; you're having a baby."

Despite my denial, I was far enough into labor that my memory of the timeline is unreliable. I told the midwife she'd better head down. My friend walked down through the glittering trees ("What a beautiful night to have a baby!" she said as she walked in) and read to Petely until he fell asleep. This was another little providential moment -- he has a hard time getting to sleep when he's napped earlier but he settled easily, saying only, "Maybe I will find my mama and have some nonny in my bed" before he rolled over and drifted off. The midwife's assistant got there and listened to heart tones -- ticking along beautifully, responding nicely to contractions. I found myself beginning to wonder if the midwife would get there before the baby did.

I was going to have a baby after all.

Comments

[pnuts mama]

beautiful, mama...

thank you and the happiest of new years to you and yours!

[Maria]

Oh, how nice, what a lovely Christmas story.

I did the same denial thing with my labor. I was determined I was not going to go into labor in the middle of the night and have to wake people up, so I blithely, ignorantly, labored alone (with my faithful German Shepherd, actually) until about 6am when I talked with my partner on the phone and couldn't get through a full sentence. He suggested I call the midwife and I thought it was the most novel idea EVER!

When she arrived my dog jumped off the bed (for the first time all night), ran out into the yard and barked his head off: "Finally! Someone is here to deal with this! I had no idea what to do!"

Great happiness and congratulations on your smooth birth and many felicitations for your family in the New Year.

[Renee]

I did the same with with my #5. I was ready to head to Border's, because the erratic contractions were getting on my nerves. As a matter of fact, everything was getting on my nerves (should have tipped me off), but I was stubborn. My husband convinced me to stop off at my midwife's office on the way to Border's, just so see if I was in labor. I was 7 cm. dilated. Can you imagine if I would have gone straight to Border's? "Woman gives birth in self help section of Borders."

Anyway, I love reading your story. Your little love is so very beautiful!

[Lilian]

OH, what a cool beginning, wonderful to read and imagine... down to the I'm going to find my mama for some nonny ;-)