A Few Firsts

Now before you go and think that motherhood is all work and no play, I've got to share some fun times!!!!


First time meeting Grandma Kauwe:

First teddy bear:

First trip to the temple:
Axton got to hang out with Grandma Kauwe while Adam and I went into the temple.

My boys! They are mine forever and I am so lucky!

First trip to Washington DC:

We went to the Library of Congress, toured the Capitol, and checked out the Archives.

 On the metro

 Touring the capitol

First Camping Trip:

We drove 2 1/2 hours west to Rocky Gap State Park. We stayed in a hot, hot, hot cabin, swam in Lake Habeeb, and enjoyed the mountains and country.

Axton got to sleep with Mommy & Daddy and it was one of his best nights so far! He only woke up once and I don't think he would have woke up at all if Adam hadn't had to get up and chase away the raccoon digging through our cooler!

The lake....I loved swimming. I have missed it so much since leaving Hawaii.

Axton's first dip in the lake - he didn't like it too much, but then again he had just woken up.

Favorite picture ever!!!

First trip to the DC Zoo:

This was the only picture we got as I, unfortunately, forgot my camera.

Baby blessing:

In our church we give our babies a blessing, typically within the first few months of life. In the prayer, Adam officially gave him his name and prayed that he would follow the example of Jesus Christ as His personal savior, and that people who knew Axton would feel the wonderful spirit he possesses. It was such as sweet blessing and I know Axton will treasure the words his father spoke. It wasn't Axton's very first blessing, as we gave him one after he had to go to the ER, but it was his first - and only - official Baby Blessing.

Tuckered out from all the loves he gets at church

In the first week of Axton's life, some of my "baby blues" (postpartum depression) stemmed from thoughts of Axton getting older. I would not only cry, but I would honestly and sincerely and intensely mourn the day ending, thinking, "He was only two days old for one day and now that day is over and I will never get it back. Tomorrow he will be three days old and it will only last one day and then it will be over and I will never get it back." I felt an intense need to fully and completely soak up each and every breath of his, every second, because I felt it would be gone too quickly and wasted if I didn't. I would feel guilty at the end of the day when I put him down to sleep because I would think, "I didn't spend enough time with him today. I didn't hold him enough." But no amount of time would have been enough during that first week and it was so emotionally draining for me. I didn't know how to not only let him grow up, but be happy to see it happening.


I've gotten much better since then, and instead of feeling sorry that he is growing up each day, I look forward and am excited to see all the changes he will make, the things he will learn, the person he will become. I feel so lucky to be Axton's mommy! It is still a crazy thought that I am anyone's mommy at this point, but we love being a family and my life is definitely richer with my son in it. 

and I think it's safe to say he has my eyes :)

4 weeks later thoughts

I didn't think it would be this difficult to write my next blog post....but I have had so many thoughts swirling around in my head and I just couldn't sort them out into a well-organized, readable, titled post. So I just didn't write at all.

My Axton turned 4 weeks old yesterday. He changes everyday. I thought it was time I throw some thoughts together.

I've been thinking a lot about motherhood and femininity, and how they seem a bit contradictory at first. Yes, of course, growing and creating and birthing and feeding a child is the ULTIMATE of womanhood because, obviously, only women can do it. And yes it's beautiful. But there are so many uglies involved in that process, too. So many things that the world wouldn't consider very feminine at all.

Pregnancy makes a woman throw up, swell up, get hairier, grow zits, have heartburn, be cranky, sweat copious amounts, and much more. And then there is the delivery - with grunting and screaming (in my case - and I know many others, so don't deny it), blood, a squishy baby, the placenta, and lots more fluids. And of course, in the weeks following delivery -- there is daily bleeding for weeks on end, the stinkiest armpits I've ever had, sticky breastmilk spewing and dripping all over the place, cheering on my son's farts and burps (though never the dog's), not enough time to shower, and bags under the eyes.

How could motherhood have so many seemingly opposing elements? Such beauty and grace on one side, and such "grossness" on the other side? I've determined that not only are women are a hell of a lot stronger than they get credit for -- and no man will ever, ever completely understand that -- but also, that all of those things must be feminine.

Because all of those things mean women are pushed to the very edge of everything they have within themselves. It means we go until we don't think we could ever go any further, and then somehow, we find this hidden reserve of strength we never knew we had, and we just push on. And I'm not just talking about labor and delivery, though that is obviously a large part of it. I'm also talking about taking care of a newborn. Somehow functioning on dinky amounts of sleep, not screaming alongside your child as he wails in your face and you don't have any clue how to help him, dealing with hormones rapidly diminishing and shifting and completely throwing off your groove.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that labor, delivery, and now parenthood, are the hardest things I have ever done in my life. Probably will ever do. And I never liked reading that on other women's blogs after they had a baby - it scared me too much and I didn't want it to be hard. I wanted it to be natural and easy --- but, aside from loving your child so much you fear your heart is going to burst --- none of it is natural or easy. At least not for me. Those three things have made me question my very being - who I am, what I am capable of, what I can actually accomplish versus what I think I can. These experiences have pushed me past all that I thought possible - and yet here I am, still going. It's a lot to take in in 4 short weeks. And it's not over yet -- It still hurts to poo, it hurts to pee, it hurts to lie on my side or stand on my feet too long, and I'm sick of wearing sticky pads that rub all funny no matter what position I am in. I'm still way too fluffy to fit into any of my clothes, my boobs and nipples have never been so exposed and at times it makes me feel like I'm not even a person anymore, and I cry when I shower, because that's the best time to do it.

It's completely incredible the things God has women go through for their children. And I know He made it this way because not only does sacrificing make us love deeper and truer, but He knows we can handle it. And I think that's the most feminine part of it all: Us women? We can do hard things.






Something else that's been on my mind is breastfeeding. I have always had a weird..."thing" about my breasts. I don't know why, probably because they are small and I'm self-conscious about that? I don't know....I just am kind of scrunchy-nosed about them (scrunch up your nose....that's how I feel about them) (Sidenote: Collette, in answer to your question about being completely exposed during delivery --- it didn't bother me so much that my hoo-ha was all up in their faces, for some reason. I guess I was just so intent on getting Axton out that modesty flew out the window. However, I was embarrassed about having my boobs exposed - go figure). And so I was worried about how I would feel about breastfeeding. In the three days following Axton's birth, I'm pretty sure I was naked about 99% of the time. There was no point in wearing a shirt I would be taking off in an hour, and no point in wearing pants when I was icing my crotch anyway. This is not very typical of me, and even my mom was pretty surprised to see so much of me (not that she cared, she just knew I'm not usually so..."Free"). Anywho.
But lately, it's gotten to the point where I feel like I am always exposed and it just makes me feel like less of a person (like I said above). Sometimes I can't always clip things back together right away and so I'm just hanging out all over the place and I feel absolutely ridiculous. And it gets so sticky and messy and tricky sometimes and it's frustrating! And sometimes I feel like I'm producing too much and sometimes too little and I just want to point to them and say in a scolding voice, "Regulate yourselves already!!!!"
And it's both sweet and terrifying that I am the only one who can feed Axton. That I am completely in charge of his most basic need for food. Sometimes I am so exhausted I just want to cut my breast off and hand it to Adam and say, "Please don't be jealous that he stops crying when I feed him. It has nothing to do with me. You give it a try and you'll see." and then I'd run away real fast and go take a nap.
But I recently discovered how much it really does mean to me to be able to do this for my son. I was talking to my mom the other day about some symptoms I have and she said I should go to the doctor. The next time I took a shower, I started crying thinking that they would have to give me medicine and I wouldn't be able to breastfeed. I was absolutely SHOCKED at the guilt that poured over me thinking that I might have to give him formula for a week or two. I was so hurt that he was going to have to turn to another source, that my body could have the potential to hurt him. I couldn't believe how attached I had gotten to breastfeeding, and how disappointed I felt in myself at the thought of not being able to do it.




And I really hate that I am a perfectionist and that I am so hard on myself. I've read 4 parenting books in the last 4 weeks, trying to figure out the best way to take care of my baby. It's so difficult to have to decide:

Am I going to hold and cuddle and kiss my son to sleep right now? Or let him sleep next to me in bed all night long so I can hear his sweet breathing? Because I know he will only be this small for such a short time?

.....Or am I going to put him down in the bassinet while he is still awake and let him fall asleep on his own so he can develop "healthy life-long sleep habits"?

It literally tears me up inside sometimes, that seemingly simple question. And it's not just with sleep - it's almost every decision I have to make with him. Am I going to give him a pacifier, feed him an hour early, let him sleep, wake him up, how to make him stop crying?????.......and I am so dang paranoid about doing it "right" and it hurts when I don't know how to stop his tears and I wish it were easier and came more naturally or more instinctual, but it's really just a learn as you go kind of thing.

So you see, it is a complete rollercoaster, this motherhood ride. Inside and out, it is hard stuff. But, in case you couldn't tell through my writing, it's hard because I love him so much. Because I want to do it right and make him happy. And I'm going to wrap up this stream of consciousness with a lovely cliche ---

It's hard -- but oh-so worth it.

(and now I'm going to publish this without even reading over it because otherwise I might not ever share this)

Welcoming Axton: Delivery

*As I’ve been writing this, I’ve realized that most of it is not in any sort of chronological order, but rather as the memories come to me. I could start every paragraph with “At some point...” because I just don’t remember. I hope it still reads coherently and still accurately tells how our sweet Axton came into our arms for the first time.

“9 and three quarters. Let’s have a baby.” Joanne’s voice was such sweet relief. I wouldn’t be going to the hospital after all. Of course I was worried about my son, but I’m not sure I was fully understanding things. I just knew what my body was telling me and didn’t feel like I needed to worry about him, other than getting him out. I don’t know if that was a crazy, woman-in-labor thought, or just a loving Heavenly Father allowing me to concentrate on pushing rather than our baby breathing in meconium with his first breath.

Sometime before me beginning to push, Laurel, the nurse who had sat with me on the bed, had to leave. Laurel had been an older, round, motherly-type nurse, and was comforting in that way. The new nurse, Andrea, came into the room with blonde hair, a bright, happy smile, and a big cheery wave.

I was not happy about this change.

But, I would soon come to see, Andrea was exactly who I needed to get through the rest of the night. Not sweet nurse Laurel who held my hand and told me to blow it away, but stare-me-in-the-eye-and-tell-me-I-have-to-do-this Nurse Andrea. Because if labor had been long and exhausting, then pushing was going to be no different.

Things were a flurry of movement and action while Andrea and the two midwives, Susannah and Jessica, prepared the room. There were towels and a shallow, circular dish, and tubes and other instruments. Apparently Andrea had told me that I was going to drink some orange juice now, and Adam had turned to me and said, “Is that ok?” and Andrea said, “I don’t care if it’s ok. She’s going to have some orange juice.” I don’t remember this conversation, but I do remember the orange juice.

I don’t know how the transition happened, but suddenly I was pushing. My back was propped up against the headboard of the bed and my knees were up --- this was exactly what I didn’t want. I had wanted to be out of the hospital so I could birth in whatever position felt right. At one point, I had asked the midwives if I could squat or try a different position, but they told me they needed to have as quick as possible access to the baby so they could suction his lungs immediately. So. I stayed on the bed.

Jessica had her fingers on me, and would press down and say, “Push right here. Push my fingers right out of the way.” I concentrated on the pressure of her fingers and tried to do as she was saying. Susannah had stepped out of the room, and when she came back in Jessica said to her, “She really is a good pusher. Watch.” Then she said to me, “Show Susannah how good of a pusher you are, Meghan.” I don’t know if she meant that or if it was just to encourage me but I did my best to show off to Susannah.

Hypnobirthing had taught me to “breathe the baby down,” rather than doing what they called “Purple Pushing.” This meant I was supposed to just allow for the natural descent of the baby, with gentle, exhalation pushes. Adam tried to remind me of this and to breathe out when I pushed, but the ladies put a stop to that right away. “No, take a quick, deep breath in. Hold it, and push.” They would count to 10 and make me take another quick inhalation and do it again for another 10 seconds. It was just like in the movies: Deep, chin to chest, eyes squeezed shut, counting to 10 pushing. Just what I had wanted to avoid. They wanted me to do this 3 times for every contraction, but sometimes I could only make it to count 6 or 7 before just sinking into exhaustion. Or, by the third push, I’d barely be doing anything. After the contraction I would be panting and just fall back onto the bed, giving everything in each push. Andrea would say, “Slow your breathing way down, way, way down.” And she would give me a drink of water or orange juice through a straw. “Rest in between contractions.”

They soon had me holding the back of my knees to lever myself up and to bear down harder, but eventually even that was not enough. For awhile I felt I like I wasn’t getting anywhere - I couldn’t feel him moving and I was just slowly dying of complete and utter exhaustion. I have no idea how many times I said, “I’m just so tired.” or “I can’t do this.” Then Andrea would look me right in my drowsy, loopy eyes, hard, and say, “Yes, you can. You can do this.” I didn’t believe her, but I pushed like I did. At one point, after saying I couldn’t do it again, Susannah spoke up:

“You have to find your center. You have to find it in you, whatever it is. Find it.”

….I didn’t know how to find it. I had come in with so much confidence, and it had all been blown away with my exhaustion and the fact that everything had gone so differently from what I had been imagining. It wasn’t until I began to feel the burning --- which meant his head was close --- that I found more strength. I loved the pain of that burn. I dove so hard into that burning, it pushed me harder than anything else. It hurt so bad but I loved what it meant. Everyone got so excited when they began to see the head -- Adam’s excitement drove me the farthest. “I can see him!”

But again, this stage lasted quite awhile. Poor little Axton’s head remained barely poking out for a very long time. He had bruising on the back of his skull for a few days after delivery. They had me turn over onto my hands and knees to push for a little bit. The strength this took -- with Axton’s head barely crowned, nonetheless --- to turn over and hold up my own body weight with my noodle arms was completely unreal. I whined. “I don’t know how to push like this! How do I do it?” It was a different kind of pushing -- it felt like I was pushing him back into me rather than farther out. They had me curl my pelvis into a C shape, quickly zapping my hamstrings of anything left in them, too. They brought the birthing ball onto the bed and had me rest my upper body on that, so I didn’t have to hold myself up. I would sink into the ball after every push. I remember turning to Adam....I remember the absolute hopelessness I felt. My eyes pleaded with him, though I knew there was nothing he could do. Adam says it was during pushing that he first started to feel a little bit panicky about the way things were going -- he knew how tired I was.
While I was in this position, the midwives told me to reach down and feel his head. I was surprised at how squishy it felt. Adam says I gave a small “Ah” when I felt him. It was so crazy knowing that was my son’s head.

I was going a bit crazy myself by this point. I wanted to ask them, “Now that his head is out, can’t you just pull him the rest of the way?” I laugh at that thought now, but I sincerely thought they could just help me out a little bit more, but weren’t. They did mention an episiotomy at some point, and right away I just said, “Yes, ok, whatever you need to do.” I was so. so. so. desperate.

They had me turn back over onto my back after awhile. They asked me how long it had been since I’d gone to the bathroom, and I said it had been a long time - the last time I had tried I couldn’t go. I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t know how to use those muscles the right way anymore. They thought that maybe my bladder being full was slowing things down. So, they used a catheter to drain me. Unpleasant, I know, but I do think it helped. They were all very impressed with the amount of fluid in me, and all I could think was, “Adam did a good job of making sure I stayed hydrated.”

Now I knew I really had to step things up a notch. He had to come out of me. I was going to meet my son - it was up to me how soon. Instead of grabbing onto the back of my knees, I began to reach all the way down to my feet, and pull them as far back as I could - almost up by my shoulders. Adam helped lift my back, to move my body into the push so I was completely curled into every push as much as physically possible. I heard the midwives murmur something about “That’s it, the feet. That’s working for her.” I held my feet for every push from then on out. The burning began to increase, and as it did, so did everyone’s excitement. I can’t even describe the relief and drive it gave me to know there was progress. Adam said he could see more of the head, and I was so happy to know I had finally gotten past that point I had been stuck at for so long.

It was as if my body knew Axton’s head was coming before I felt the pain of it, because a true and incredible scream literally bellowed out of me before I knew what was happening. I didn’t think about it and I wouldn’t have known I even did it if I hadn’t heard it. I was startled at myself and almost embarrassed but was too thrilled to know his head was out. The midwives were talking amongst themselves about which way to turn him/ his shoulders. Adam told me later he couldn’t believe how much they were pulling on his head to get him out and to get him to turn his shoulders. I don’t know how many more contractions or pushes it took, but when Axton’s shoulders did come out, so did another unbelievable and involuntary scream - that’s how I knew he was out. Not by anything else but my own scream.

At 8:53pm, after the two most intense hours of my life, he was out.

I did it.

I didn’t care about anything else that came next -- I knew I was far from being “done” --- but after that, I could handle anything.

I would have broken blood vessels in both my eyes for the next two weeks (my left eye is still not completely healed), and swollen, purple bruises all over my face and down my neck. For the first week following delivery I would be unrecognizable as Meghan. Even Adam says I didn’t look like myself.

I remember looking down at my stomach right after he came out and wanting to laugh at how weird it looked. A wrinkled, deflated balloon.

They couldn’t put him on my stomach right away, because they had to suction him out and make sure he hadn’t breathed in any meconium. They told us later that he had lost a tremendous amount of meconium (this meant he didn’t have another bowel movement for the first 3 days and that we never had to deal with the sticky, tar-ry poo in a diaper). The midwives did a good job of cleaning out his mouth and ensuring he was healthy. I couldn’t see him very well down by my feet, so Adam helped lift me up, but still I couldn’t see much more than the tops of his hands and feet in the air. Plus, I was so tired that I had to keep one eye closed the whole time.

“We did it. That’s our baby.”

The midwives commented on how beautiful he was and I swelled with pride. My boy. He was beautiful. They placed him on my belly and I just put my hands on him and looked at him.

I thought seeing my son for the first time would be a sort of recognition, a sense that maybe we had met before and that “Ah yes, I do remember you now that I see you” kind of feeling. It wasn’t like that at all -- and still hasn’t been. That first day and every day since then it’s been, “I never could have imagined that this what you would look like, and that this is what it would feel like to be your mommy.”

After allowing the umbilical cord to cease pulsing, they handed the scissors to Daddy. I watched as he cut the one thing keeping my son and I one complete unit - it was tougher than I was imagining, but he did it in one chop.

I brought Axton to my chest then and we held each other as a family for the first time. It was so incredibly special. 

I knew I still had to birth my placenta, but I wasn’t feeling anymore contractions. Nurse Andrea told me I needed to stimulate my nipples in hopes of bringing on more contractions. She even got friendly with me and did it herself when it wasn’t working for me. A half hour passed --- the placenta should have been out by now. I could tell they were starting to get worried. They told me to try to go to the bathroom, but again, I couldn’t tell what I was doing and nothing came out. So once again they drained me. They also gave me a shot of pitocin (Now? Now they give me pitocin? After I had went all day without it? Sigh....). I think almost an hour and a half went by before my placenta finally detached and came out. There was lots of uncomfortable massaging of my belly, but like I said, I knew I could do anything after getting Axton out.

Next up: Stitches. I had a first degree tear. They told me then that Axton had never decided which way his shoulders wanted to turn, that he had come out with his shoulders square on. “Superman” style, they called it. Birthing a 9 ½ pound baby superman style? Yeah, a girl’s gonna tear a little. They told Adam to take his shirt off and have skin-to-skin contact with him while they stitched me up. They numbed me and told me that if I ever felt pain to tell them. At one point I did feel pain and told them so, but she said she was almost done anyway so I just grinned and bore it. Susannah prided herself in her excellent stitching jobs, saying she always wanted things to look just as they did before coming in. So she showed off her work to the other two and all three of them Oohed and Aahed at my vagina. It was great.

Finally we were given some peace and quiet to just enjoy our baby to ourselves. We dozed on and off for about an hour. By this point it was about 2:30 in the morning, May 18th. Andrea came in to check on us and we told her we were ready to go home now. So she went over a bunch of papers (caring for a newborn, caring for myself, birth certificate, social security, etc), and then we got up and started to dress Axton. We put him in the same shirt Adam went home from the hospital in 26 years earlier. He looked so handsome and I was so clueless I didn’t notice anything unusual, but suddenly Andrea said she wanted to check his blood sugars one more time. When she saw that they were low, she told us that he was having difficulty breathing and was jittery. So she wheeled out an oxygen tank and told us to hold the tube in front of his mouth, cupping our hands around it. She remained calm, and I tried to, too, but the words “Please don’t take my sunshine away....” sang in my mind.

Then, and 4 hours later as I hobbled into the pediatrician’s office, Axton’s little chest was working in overdrive, and he didn’t know how to breathe through his nose very well. He struggled with breastfeeding the entire day, and I was only able to feed him 3 times. He didn’t know how to breathe in through the nose, suck with the mouth, and swallow in the throat. When his pediatrician saw how hard he was working to breathe - and how fast - she sent us to the Emergency Room. My first day with my baby. My first day of recovery. I can’t begin to describe the sick, sick feeling I had in my stomach.

However, when we arrived at the ER, Axton’s breathing had already returned to normal. They kept us there for two hours, just to monitor him, and when everything appeared fine, they sent us home. That night my mom took Axton for awhile so I could sleep. When I woke up, she told me he had had another episode of hard breathing, but that he was doing much better now. If it happened again, we would go back to the hospital - but thankfully we never had to. 

I’ve been asked by several people if I will birth at a birthing center again, and I honestly don’t know the answer to that yet. The only reason I would want to be at a hospital would be for my baby’s sake, not mine. In fact, I feel I’d be sacrificing my personal desires for the safety of my baby to birth at a hospital. But after a few scares with Axton, knowing those things would have been monitored and taken care of in a hospital, I’m more inclined to want to be there. However, I would want to look for a more “liberal” hospital that still allowed me to eat as I pleased, not be hooked up to IV’s, and have a hot tub (if such a place exists!). I’ve also been asked if I will go natural again, and I would like to say yes to this, though it would be harder not to get an epidural if I was at the hospital where they were readily accessible. I am so grateful the birth center didn’t have anything like that so I didn’t even have the option of asking for it.




My friend asked me a few short hours after delivery how it went.

“Unbelievably brutal.” was my answer.

Hours after that, I had dropped the “unbelievably” - it was now just “brutal.”
Now? My answer would be closer to “It was hard, but I did it.”

And I don’t think this shift is just a matter of me “forgetting,” like it’s often described as. It’s also the fact that the more I fall in love with Axton - and each day my love grows exponentially - the more “worth it” labor becomes, and the more beautiful his birth story is to me. At first, I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed in the way things went, and I found myself jealous of others’ “quick” labors and 15 minutes of pushing (Still, 15 minutes? Seriously? Blows. My. Mind. I can barely believe that’s possible!) But now, what I went through to get Axton here - the very much imperfect way things fell - seems like a big, fat, trophy to me. Something I’m not only proud of, but that makes me appreciate Axton’s presence even more. I went through a lot, but look what it brought me! The greatest reward I could ever, ever imagine.

Welcoming Axton: Labor

The Short Version: 

I began having my first real, consistent contractions at noon on Wednesday. By 9pm they were coming every 7-10 minutes, and by 1am every 5 minutes. When we arrived at the birth center at 5:30am I was dilated to a 4. By noon I had only progressed to a 5, so they broke my water. By 5:30pm, 12 hours after arriving at the birth center, I was still only measuring a 7. I was finally given the “okay” to push at 7pm.

The Super Duper Long Version Only Me and Maybe My Mom Will Appreciate:

May 16th
Around 4am: I woke up with a few contractions. I had been losing my mucous plug gradually the last week or so, and today had a bit of the “bloody show” I’d been waiting to see. I told Adam my contractions may be starting, so he had a heads up for the day. I tried to go back to sleep, but was restless and excited, hoping today would be the day.

Around noon: Mom and a friend and I went out for lunch. As we were walking in, I started feeling a heated cramp wrap around my lower back, into my pubic area and travel down into my inner thighs. I told Mom each time I had a contraction, and we figured they were coming about 3 an hour, or every 20 minutes or so.

Around 6pm: I was still feeling contractions that inched down into my inner thighs, coming about every 10 minutes and lasting about 45 seconds each. Adam was watching a few funny videos on YouTube, and I had to turn away and not watch because laughing was too painful during a contraction. We started watching a movie to try to distract me and to pass the time. I only made it about halfway through it, and around 9pm I went to lay down and tried to relax through my contractions. I turned on some of my Hypnobirthing, but was pretty distracted with timing the contractions - they were slowly starting to last longer and come closer together. I thought for sure I would be calling the Birth Center before the end of the night. I even told my mom that if she went to bed now, when she woke up we’d be back with her grandson in the morning. We packed milk and cereal to eat after delivery, and double-checked our bags. Adam fell asleep around 10:30pm, and I tried to rest and relax as much as I could, but I was still busying myself with timing contractions. I didn’t sleep, and around 1am my contractions were coming every 5 minutes, lasting 60-70 seconds, and had been for the last 1-2 hours. It was time to call the Birth Center.

May 17th
1am: I had the midwife paged, and she called me back within 5 minutes. I didn’t have a contraction the whole time, but was nervous. She asked me a few questions, and said I was free to come in now if I wanted, or I could try relaxing some more and waiting longer at home. I said I would wait a little longer and would call her back in a few hours. Adam ran a bath for me, and I poured water over my stomach for the next hour. I was a little disappointed to feel that between the excitement of calling the midwife and relaxing in the tub, my contractions had actually lessened. They were now coming every 7-10 minutes. I went back to bed and tried to sleep a little longer.

4:30am: My contractions were back up to coming every 5 minutes, and though I had originally told myself I wanted to labor at home for as long as I could, I now was starting to think that I would be more comfortable just being there and not having to worry about leaving at the “right” time. So I called the midwife back and she said to come in, she was already there with another couple who had come in a little bit earlier.

5:30am: I was a little disappointed that I was only dilated to a 4 or a 5 when we arrived, but still felt more comfortable just being at the center (the car ride over was quite uncomfortable) (Though I must say it is interesting to write about the “pain” I experienced in the beginning stages of labor, knowing now that it would be nothing compared to what was to come.) They told me I could either lay down in bed and rest or go for a walk to get things moving. So, we walked for a half hour, and then we would rest for a half hour, alternating between the two. I would listen to my Hypnobirthing tapes while we were resting, but I found it very difficult to really get into them.

Midmorning: After quite a few hours, I hadn’t dilated anymore, and my contractions still weren’t very strong (keep in mind, they certainly felt like it to me at the time, but the midwives knew they were far from being what they needed to be). The midwives have and used a lot of homeopathic medicines; throughout the whole night they would come in with little white cups and say, “This is such and such, it will help with this....” and then they would slip it under my tongue and I’d have to suck on them for a few seconds. They also gave me a Labor Tincture that was pretty bitter, but was supposed to help bring on stronger contractions.

At this point, they had me use a breast pump. I was to put the pump on, and take it off when a contraction started, and then put it back on as soon as the contraction was over. Within 5 minutes of using the pump, I could tell a distinct difference between the past contractions and the ones that were coming on now. They started coming anywhere from 1 to 3 minutes apart, sometimes beginning just as one was ending, leaving me with no break to relax and prepare for the next one. It was not only physically exhausting but mentally, as well, because I felt like it was a self-inflicted pain! Each time I put those pumps up, I knew it wasn’t going to be long before another contraction came. As good as I knew this was, it was still difficult.

In front of the birth center is a decent hill, with a Jewish church ontop of it. After pumping for an hour, they told me to go walk up and down that hill for another hour. I only made it up twice, because I had to stop and breathe through each contraction. So many people drove up and down that road and would watch me as they passed. I really wanted to laugh at the situation, but couldn’t find the energy to do so or to really care. One lady in a van pulled right up next to me and said, “May 17th is a great day to have a baby! It’s my mom’s birthday and my anniversary!” I think that was supposed to be encouragement, but all I could say was, “I hope he comes before the end of the day...” I was really disappointed in how slow things had been progressing.

When we returned to the center, Adam - who had been keeping track of my contractions on the walk - told the midwives that they weren’t coming as often or lasting as long as they had on the pump, so they put me back on it for another hour. I rotated between being on the bed, the birthing chair, and an exercise ball.

2pm: The midwives checked my cervix, and I still had not dilated any further. It was so frustrating - I felt like I was going through all this pain and it was serving me no purpose. I tried reminding myself that each surge brought my baby closer to me, but when I wasn’t seeing the proof of it, that was really hard to believe and to want to keep going. I was pretty discouraged. The midwives were also wanting to see progression - it was at this point that they offered to either give me some medication to go home with to help me sleep and come back later, or, if I wanted, they would break my water for me. They had brought it up earlier as an option so I had had time to think about it. We decided to have them break my water - I was halfway there and it would have been really hard for me to go home and just sit and wait at this point. I was surprised that it didn’t hurt at all, and the fluid was really hot.

Now that there wasn’t any cushioning between the baby’s head and my cervix, things were able to start progressing a little bit faster. I spent a little bit of time on the birthing ball, and things began to pick up in intensity. This is when I started losing steam. There was one point where we heard a newborn cry from just outside the door. We figured it must be the other couple’s baby who had come in just before us. It was both encouraging and disheartening at the same time: “She did it! She did it and so can I!” but also “She did it....she’s done, and I’m still going through it....when will I ever be done?” This was the first time I cried. I cried because I was tired, I cried because the contractions hurt and were so intense now. And then Adam mentioned that he felt like we weren’t alone in the room, that we had some guardian angels  - ancestors - in attendance. And I cried some more then too.

Soon after, I asked the nurse if I could get in the shower. I really wanted to get in the tub, but they were worried that it would make my contractions slow down again, so they wanted to wait until I progressed farther. I got undressed and started the shower. Between the water and the new and stronger sensations, I started to get really shaky. My legs were practically clashing together while I sat on the bench and my teeth began to chatter. My legs were so sore from clenching during contractions, I couldn’t control them. I didn’t really want the water on my face, but wanted them to first run over my hands to warm me up, and then on my belly and back. There was some relief in the shower until I hit the blessed “Cold Sandwich” that the nurse warned me of. The water turned freezing cold and didn’t get warm, leaving me still violently shaking and chilled. Adam wrapped me in a towel and I sat on on the birthing chair for a bit, but the seat was so hard and I was still so cold with my wet hair that I asked the nurse if I could please get in the tub now.

I found some relief in the tub. I thought I would like the jets on but they just irritated me. I thought I would want it hot, but that just irritated me, too. So I sat in lukewarm water, pouring cupfuls over my belly. However, the tub is also when I began to feel the extremely heavy pressure down in my lower bowels. Pressure unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Pressure I was NOT expecting. Uncomfortable, butt can’t touch anything, want to bear down and get it out pressure. I was glad to be in the water then, because I could lift myself off the tub floor and just let my bottom float in the water during the surges. This pressure took me so much by surprise -- I literally did not know how much longer I could handle it. It was so uncomfortable. I moaned - loudly - through each contraction. I was not a quiet, noble bearer of pain at any point during this labor. I was a wailing, moaning, crying mess. I was such a whiner. Sometimes there was a a part of me that worried that other patients could hear me, but then the contraction would come and I wouldn’t care. This was the point that I started thinking of medication. I fought against it so hard in my head - but the word “epidural” kept creeping back up. It was illogical: they didn’t have anything like that at the birthing center, and it would have been so ridiculous to go to the hospital just to get the epidural. But still I could not completely shake the idea out of my mind.

Around 5pm: After being in the tub for awhile, the nurse had me move to the toilet, facing the back of it. She put a towel on the back of the toilet so I could rest on it, but that made me feel too crunched up. I think this is when I started pushing through the contractions. I had resisted it up until now. I don’t remember what made me snap, but the next time the nurse came in to check on me, she asked me about the pressure “down in the bum” - and I said yes, it hurts. “Is there anything I can take for the pain?”

And there it was. The question I didn’t want to ask. The question I didn’t think I would ask. Looking back, I don’t remember if I felt like I failed then, or if I just didn’t care by that point. I know I had fought against the idea for a long time and wasn’t anticipating the words actually coming out of my mouth. The nurse smiled at me then, and said, “That sounds like a transition statement. Do you feel like it’s time to push?” I said I did, and she said she would have the midwife come into check me.

I thought relief would be coming soon. I found so much hope in her voice. “Thank God, it’s almost over.”

Can you imagine my disappointment when the midwife told me I was only dilated to a seven?

I was absolutely crushed. My morale and strength withered to nothing right then. 12 hours after arriving at the birth center, and 5 hours after breaking my water and all I could show for was two centimeters?

All I could say was, “Ok. I’m going to need something.”

The nurse gave me the only thing they had in terms of “pain relief” - a narcotic to help me sleep in between the contractions, to help me get my strength back up. At this point I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours and was just exhausted. The shot hurt like no other, but I had so much faith in it to help me that I didn’t care. I cried out when she stabbed me, and she said it’s gonna hurt and that I could use any swear words I wanted, the worst ones I could think of. I think all I said was, “Oh my gosh....”

The nurse told Adam to go get food - he had been only eating the snacks I had been: fruit cups, pudding, granola bars, Snickers, apple juice, Nutter Butter bars, water. She said she would stay with me on the bed.

It didn’t take long for my eyes to get droopy, and for my vision to slur and slow down, noises and lights hitting me in waves seconds after hearing and seeing them. As soon as I closed my eyes, I was asleep. But seconds later, I’d be awake again, fully experiencing and feeling the peak of each contraction. I felt a little more under control now, as I had had a moment of rest before each contraction began. However, something had changed: My body was now involuntarily pushing with the contraction. I was in such a sleepy state, I couldn’t stop it. Plus, it felt good. Really good.

The nurse sat next to me on the bed and held my hand the entire time Adam was gone. I don’t think she realized I was pushing through the contraction, even though I was grunting and would raise my body up and curl into myself. She would tell me to “take a deep breath, and then blow it all away.” I loved that - I listened to her, and it helped. It helped me refocus. At the end of each contraction, I would look at her with my sleepy, doped up eyes and I can only imagine how ridiculous and pathetic I looked but I just wanted to tell her “Thank you...” each time, but nothing ever came out. I was so grateful to her for staying with me while Adam was gone, but was also so relieved when Adam returned. It felt like he had been gone for hours, but it was only 30 minutes.

Adam was an amazing Birth Companion. He made sure I stayed well hydrated, and made me eat every hour or more. He stayed by my side the entire time and did exactly what I asked. He brushed my hair, he touched me when I wanted him to and gave me space when I needed it. I trusted him 100% and even though I knew he was seeing me at my absolute worst and lowest. I was showing him my true colors - my true strength, or my lack of, at certain times.

Around 6:30pm: Finally someone noticed, and asked, “Are you pushing through your contractions?” Her tone of voice said I probably shouldn’t be, but I wasn’t about to deny it. She said she better check me then.

8 centimeters.

So slow.

My body was so slow to react to these contractions.

This was something else I was NOT expecting. I don’t know if it was because I was fighting against them, or what, but it really shocked me and depleted me of a lot of my confidence.

Something else happened when she checked me this time, though, too. When she removed her hand, she kept it cupped and showed the other midwife. “Look.” She said. A few minutes later, the head midwife came in and sat on my bed. She looked me square in the eyes, and I tried to focus back on her, but was still feeling the narcotic. “There is meconium in your fluid. We are going to need to transfer you to the hospital. We don’t want to run the risk of him breathing in meconium with his first breath, and if something like that does happen, we need to have quick access to the NICU.” I heard Adam ask them how long I would stay in the hospital, and they told him two days. This wasn’t supposed to happen --- why was nothing going according to my “plan”? But I wasn’t fully comprehending things, so I just nodded my head and said Ok, but something in the back of my mind yelled, “I’m not going to make it to the hospital.” I tried imagining getting out of this bed and into the ambulance, driving the whole way there, being transferred to a new room and new bed, getting all hooked up --- it was going to take too much time. It was all so much work, and too much time. “I’m not going to make it.” The midwife turned to Adam, who was on the bed next to me, and said, “I’ll ride in the ambulance with her, you will follow in your car.”

I didn’t like that. That got me feeling panicky more than anything else.

I don’t know why, but they decided to have another midwife check me one more time before calling the ambulance.

Finally ---- something went my way. Finally, I had been right about something. Just this one thing I was right about: I wasn’t going to make it that long.

I heard the midwife’s voice and overwhelming relief poured into me.

“9 and three quarters. Let’s have a baby.”

Read the rest of my story: Delivery.

Introducing

Axton Reed Harrison 

was born May 17th at 8:53pm. He weighed 9 pounds 11 oz, and was 21 1/2 inches long.

Everything is still too new and precious and lovely for me to spend much time away from him, so this will have to do for now.

40+

We have everything ready.

The diapers are bought. 

The bassinet is set up, right next to our bed.

 I often wake up with my hand draped over its edge, as if in anticipation of its soon-to-be occupant.

The meals are cooked and in the freezer, waiting for those days of exhaustion.

The clothes and blankets are washed.

The carseat is installed, and its stroller leaning against our closet door.

Even Grandma has arrived.

All we need now is you.