My last pregnant day...

July 20, 2007

Ainslie,

If someone were to say to me, a year ago today was the last full day you were pregnant, I probably wouldn’t believe it. After all, I can still close my eyes and recreate so many of those sensations of being overfull with burgeoning life inside my belly. I can literally almost feel the kicks and stretches and thumps that rocked my belly so many times. I still sometimes find myself falling asleep cradling my belly, as I did when you were cocooned inside me.

But, were that fictional person to point out that particular fact to me, I’d have to concede that he or she was correct. Because it has been a year, an entire year wrapped into one nano-second that I can only recognize as a blink or two. In the wee hours of tomorrow morning, it will be a year since I woke up in labor, knowing that our family would soon be five. The delay in writing this story seems a bit absurd as I remember how I was after my other births, still feeling the fatigue of labor, but managing to settle down at the keyboard. I honestly can’t say whether it was the simple fact that I’m now stretched between three young ones or, maybe the less obvious but equally true fact that there was something potent about holding this memory within me, all mine. If I had to use a scant handful of words to describe your labor and birth, I would say that – all mine. As none of my other labors could wholly be described, this experience was, is, all mine. Like the proverbial Little Red Hen, I prepared my “nest,” strode and struggled through my labor. The time to push came, and I looked for someone else to own it but they did not. They supported me, they bolstered my inner resolve but they did not own it. I did. I pushed you from my body and then there you were, mine.

Yes, I feel some regret that I’ve hoarded this memory, the power of these words, to myself for a full year. I regret that I won’t remember every unnecessary little detail that I was able to capture with my previous birth stories, those of your sister and brother. But, in holding it for that year, I’ve gained the treasure of the power and confidence that your birth gave me. I fully expect this birth and you, to be my last. My family feels complete and my arms heavy with the love and weight of you all. So, I thank you for what you gave me. And I thank my body for what it gave me, and you.

Let’s see though – details are still important. They are the fine seasoning on a good story. Meat and potatoes can nourish but fine flavoring helps to fulfill. So we’ll see what a year’s worth of sand through the hourglass has done to my remembering.

It was a Thursday night, July 20, 2006. On Thursdays, your dad’s coworker has the night off, so Daddy always works alone. Inevitably, it often seems to be the busiest night of the week. Even more so this time because he was on police rotation (meaning the police called him first for any accidents, impounded cars, seizures, etc.). I woke up fairly early with contractions that were uncomfortable enough I couldn’t just roll over and sleep with them. So, I got up. I’m guessing it to have been around 11:30. I couldn’t settle to much of anything. I think I watched some tv but then ended up cleaning. I did the dishes, wiped the table and counters, began mopping. Like I said before, inevitably, your dad’s phone rang. A police call that he couldn’t turn down. So he left. I would say around 1 a.m.

I wasn’t terribly happy. Throughout all my tidying and cleaning, the contractions were steady. Not relentless yet but unyielding for sure. I felt…unwatched, insufficiently attended to, at least initially. It prompted me to call Tawnya, my primary midwife. It was a feeling like, hello, I’m in labor, there are two sleeping kids in the house, how can I possibly be alone. Typically though, Tawnya was matter-of-fact and set a more pragmatic tone. I told her that I wanted to give her a heads-up that I was indeed in labor, I felt this to be “it,” and I was home alone. She asked if I was okay, and I, of course, said yes because I was. I was just a little indignant, I suppose. After that, I felt better. I kept cleaning, although it seems to have passed in a blur. I don’t remember what time Lenny came home but he slept on the couch. For the life of me, I also don’t remember what time I called my mom or sister-in-law (they were coming to hang out with the older kids). I kept going and going, unable to stop. I’m normally a pretty placid, low-energy person. I’ll sit down and read a book any chance you give me. To be propelled in such a relentless way was odd, almost as if something else was moving me. The contractions were steady, steady, steady. I’m guessing 3-4 minutes apart, about 45-60 seconds long. I was breathing like a train. Loud, audible draws of air through my nostrils, drawn down, down to my belly. Steady, puckered mouth blowing it out. I can do it right now, the same pattern, same steady focus.

The midwives came around 8:30 a.m. I think my mom was already here. Again, I couldn’t swear. Tawnya and Mel, the two midwives I had planned on and hoped for. A surprise was little Abiona, Mel’s daughter (approximately 6 months) but she was happy with my sister-in-law and a good distraction for the kids. Suddenly, now, I realize I’ve scarcely mentioned Fionna or Grady. Truly, this birth was all about ME. They slept throughout the night and woke up, I think, to my mom already being there. They knew I was in labor but were mostly unconcerned. They watched tv, a Scooby movie we had rented, I remember, like some absurdly long dvd of countless Scooby episodes.

I remember pacing, pacing the living room, driven to move, walk, squat. I bounced and rocked on the birth ball. The steady suck and blow of my breath, constant.

Tawnya checked me, 9 c.m.’s. More pacing, squatting. I have a memory of blood, mucus on my leg, I’d lost my mucus plug. I remember asking at some point, “Now what?” I was looking for the direction to push, the command of how to position myself, when to do what. It had always been like that in the hospital. Instead, Tawnya gave me various options of how to push when I wanted. Squatting against the bed is what I remember, Lenny sitting on the bed behind me. It didn’t feel good. Not in the sense that it hurt. A steady, ever-tightening wire of pain had been running through me for hours now. It just felt…scary. I became light-headed, had that sensation of intense cold but breaking out in sweat. They checked my blood-pressure (they’d checked it a couple of times before), and it was elevated somewhat. They had me drink water, lay on my side. I was scared, I felt something was wrong. Mel assured me that this was normal. I had been on my feet for hours and hours. I was tired. They suggested oxygen. I was scared to have the oxygen, I felt like it was a medical intervention. I was driven to ask, is there something wrong with me that I don’t know about? They reassured me again, went over the facts of my tired state, etc. I accepted the oxygen and felt immediate relief. Tawnya offered me the option of “passive descent,” choosing not to actively push but, rather, to push when I needed and otherwise to let my body passively move the baby down. By this point, we were in the bedroom. I lay on my right side on the lower end of the bed. The kids had been outside with my mom and Brooke (my sister-in-law). They came in and saw me with the oxygen, looking more tired and in more pain. They were concerned but Tawnya reassured them that the oxygen was helping me to have more energy, to get through this long process. She talked again with them about the funny noises I might make. I laid there, I don’t know how long, my breaths still rhythmic and so, so important to me. Those steady breaths were my tethering cord to the ground, to a place where I wasn’t overwhelmed with pain, where I had trusted and chosen this experience. Periodically, my stomach and yoni and everything in between were seized in the grip of a huge contraction, and I pushed, pushed, pushed. Then, shuddering, it would subside, and I would just breathe again. I don’t know how long, I don’t know how many pushes. I remember groaning, moaning, deep juddering sounds. I remember Fionna being concerned but I was mentally distanced from her. She had people with her, she was okay. I was all about me, and you, Ainslie.

Suddenly, very suddenly, one of those tearing, pulling, shuddering contraction/pushing combinations came, and I pushed and pushed and didn’t stop. I remember the burn, intense, and the pop, equally intense in the cessation of pain, as your head was born from my body. Tawnya was there, easing your way, as I pushed you fully into this world. Fionna, Grady, my mom and Brooke were all there. Lenny was behind me. You slid from me, and loving hands were there to put you on my belly, my chest. I remember Grady saying something nonsensical and ridiculous about the “noodle” (umbilical cord) and something silly like it had Coke in it for you to drink (this from a boy who has seldom had Coke). Things were going on in the background, bustling, efficient movements but I remember really only seeing you. The pain was gone, gone and, better yet, there you were. You cried, brief lust cries but were mostly content, taking it all in. You lay at my breast with your mouth on my nipple, not actively sucking yet but poised to. Fionna cut the cord, squeamishly, head turned to the side, eyes rolled to catch the barest glimpse of what helping hands were guiding her to do. Grady was giddy, bouncing on the bed, screeching about the messy blood and the “noodle” but in the happiest, most carefree way.

Tawnya and Mel got down to the business of the placenta being delivered, cleaning me up, making sure I was okay. As with my previous births, there was some bleeding and particularly, as I moved and allowed a clot to be freed, and then the placenta was expelled, more hemorrhaging. This was expected and quickly dealt with. I received injections to stop the bleeding. They continued checking and monitoring me. As with my previous births, I was aware of the extra bleeding but not concerned. I knew they had the necessary medication and had covered all contingencies. I knew they had spoken with Kamy (who was out-of-town). I felt cared for and focused essentially on you, my baby. You nursed as I still lay there, waiting for the bleeding to subside further. We marveled at your beauty and perfection, at how similar you looked to Fionna and yet, how completely unique.

In time, I was able to get up, go to the bathroom. Then, back to bed, my own bed already tidied with fresh sheets. You were out of my hands for scant minutes, and never out of my sight. In a bit, after some juice and something to eat, I got up to shower. You were weighed, checked for all the important stuff and again, promptly back to my arms and back at the breast, nursing. Life was, is, bliss…

Ainslie Einin B...
7/21/06
9:58 a.m.
7 lbs. 6 oz, 18 inches