Thirty hours

That’s the main thing I remember about Boy Genius’s labor, is how very long it was. That and the fact that he was born right on his due date of October 29, 1998. Looking back, those two things were our first clues to his personality: he doesn’t do anything quickly, but he’s a stickler for accuracy.

My labor, of course, actually started the day before he was born. In the wee hours. Slow, lazy, but regular contractions woke me up; and at this point I didn’t have any reason to discount the myth of shorter labors for the multigravida. My mind immediately kicked into overdrive, especially regarding when and how to deliver Drama Boy to my parents for safekeeping. The problem, of course, with a mind in overdrive is that I laid in bed timing each wee contraction instead of getting more sleep.

We ended up going to the hospital after lunch, having safely deposited the big brother with a friend until Mom could retrieve him. We got thrown out of the hospital after a quick cervical check–oh bother. Because it was a 30-40 minute drive from home, we stayed in that town and spent the afternoon walking the mall. I then reported to the clinic before they closed, where Kathy stripped my membranes (ow!) and told us to eat some dinner and go home. So we did.

We went back to the hospital late on the evening of the 28th and Ray would have sent me home again except that it was almost midnight and the staff had mercy on us. We were given the same room as we had had almost two years ago, and I spent the wee hours alternating walks through the halls with long hot showers and time in the rocking chair. At some point they also ruptured my membranes.

Early in the morning my favorite midwife Jeri took over; she was also the one there for the birth of Drama Boy. Towards the end I was getting so very tired, but she and Larry did a good job of keeping me focused. . .finally at 9:58am, Boy Genius was born.

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him, all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host:

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Happy 13th birthday to our Boy Genius!

Official boy mom

Nine years ago, we had a very hot spring in Iowa. I know this because I was 27 months pregnant with Bouncy Boy. Well, maybe it was only 9 months.

His labor began much like Drama Boy’s: I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, two days after my due date. It also was a weekend, though it was a Sunday this time. And my water broke at home again. However, this time I did recognize labor pains for what they were: the downside of knowing being that I was too excited to go back to sleep!

I left Larry sleeping for the time being and went downstairs by myself. I felt this labor more in my back and I remember spending some time watching a movie while on my hands and knees. Once it was a little more respectable hour I had to wake up Larry–being a Sunday, we needed to call our sitter before she went to church, as well as notify Larry’s back up pulpit supply. With hindsight he had plenty of time to preach and teach that morning, but my water broke around 7:30am and you know what they say about subsequent labors being faster. Ha!

We took our time, but headed to the hospital by 9am. . .if nothing else, it would have felt awkward pacing around  my house in labor with everyone at the church next door! Perhaps some women might have gone to church themselves to fill the time, but this little boy had his own swimming pool and I was a leaky mess most of the day.

My friend and doulah Debbie is also a pastor’s wife, so she waited to join us at the hospital until after their church services. I was very glad I had asked her to come, because it took a lot of work to encourage Bouncy Boy to move into a better position for birth! I spent most of the day changing positions, sitting in the tub, sitting on the birthing ball, walking. . .

Finally in the early evening Bouncy Boy arrived in his own way, starting with his wee nose getting stuck. Then the cord was wrapped around his neck and he was a little blue, so he had to spend some time in the warmer before we could hold him. Finally, after we had been cleaned up and moved to our own room, there was some concern he had broken his clavicle due to the way he held his arm. He was checked by a pediatrician and thankfully it was not broken. You might notice I haven’t mentioned the midwife. I happened to deliver on the weekend when one midwife was on vacation and the other needed a day off, so I ended up with the back up midwife from out of town.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow!

At 9# 140z, Bouncy Boy was our largest baby (until five years later, when Baby Boy passed him by 3 ounces). He had blue eyes at birth, like Boy Genius, but they later changed to a blue-green hazel. With all the fussing and checking and warming he didn’t take to nursing immediately–but he made up for lost time later!

Boy Genius (3.5 years), Drama Boy (5.5 years) holding Bouncy Boy (1 week), Twirly Girl (28 months)

Larry bought a t-ball tee while I was still at the hospital. I remember thinking that was not really a necessary purchase, and then it hit me: we had three sons now. In spite of Twirly Girl, I had made the shift from mom with boys to Boy Mom.

Are you sure?

It was February 6, 2000, Twirly Girl’s due date (although we had no idea she was a she). We had settled on a boy name months ago and a girl name only the day before (actually that was our second girl name–teaching us to keep baby names to ourselves). For several nights I had laid in bed timing contractions until I fell asleep–more Braxton Hicks. And so on Sunday morning I got up as usual and dressed myself and Drama Boy (age 3) and Boy Genius (15 months) for church. I wore the forest green challis dress Mom had made during my first pregnancy; it was my favorite and I wore it often at the end of each winter pregnancy since it wasn’t at all suited for nursing.

We walked next door for the 8:00am Divine Service as usual; it was so early in the morning, but the boys behaved better when they weren’t quite awake yet. Both Irma and Krista stopped me to let me know that this was a good day for a birthday (it was theirs); this seemed a sure sign that I would still be pregnant at the day’s end. I was eager to meet our new baby, but it had only been fifteen months since Boy Genius was born–I remembered too much about labor and delivery to be too eager.

Yet as I walked back to my pew after receiving communion, I felt myself shift into another world. It wasn’t until after Bible study–when I had left Boy Genius with Larry long enough to visit the ladies’ room before picking up Drama Boy from Sunday school–that I realized I was finally in real labor. Early, but real. Cell phones weren’t a part of our life yet, so I let Larry know that if the church phone rang during the late service it was me, in need of him!

Back at home, I changed into my favorite white maternity top and black pants and sat in the rocking chair, watching the boys play in the living room until Larry came home. My contractions continued all afternoon, slow but steady. On advice from the L&D nurses, I alternated between trying to nap and soaking in the tub. Shortly before dinner time, I suggested Larry put our boy-sitter on notice that it might be tonight, and then I laid down for a nap. I had barely closed my eyes and rolled over when I opened them again for a huge contraction, and I called downstairs for him to call the sitter again and ask her to come into town. Now!

The hour or so that it took us to leave home is rather a blur. Calling the hospital. Larry feeding boys. Me refusing food. Me calling my parents–and hanging up on Dad when another huge contraction hit. Becky showing up, and us finally heading out the door for the half hour drive to the hospital.

While Larry dealt with the admissions desk, I was wheeled upstairs. The nurse wanted me to change right away and I wanted to wait for Larry to bring up my suitcase with my own gown (one size does NOT fit all). I remember standing in the bathroom crying because every time I bent over to untie my shoe, it set off another contraction. With the nurse’s help, I managed to change by the time Larry came upstairs with my gown–and my beloved hymn cd’s. I was already at 6cm, so my midwife Lori arrived soon. She and the nurse were in and out of our room, providing help when needed and complimenting Larry and me on our teamwork and our uplifting choice of labor music.

At some point in the evening, Lori broke my water (this was the second and last time mine didn’t break spontaneously). As usual, when the time to push arrived, one last bit of my cervix wasn’t cooperating. Lori was helpful this time just as Jeri had been with the older boys, but then baby’s heartbeat dropped. I was allowed to continue pushing while they waited for the OB on call to arrive–Larry jokes that I pushed all the harder because I didn’t want the OB–and Twirly Girl was delivered at 9:34pm by Lori. Without the OB.

“It’s a girl!” exclaimed Larry. . .and I replied “Are you sure?” He cut her cord and handed her over so that I could see he was telling the truth. We sang the doxology as usual, and most birth stories would end here.

But not this one. The placenta was taking its own sweet time, and I was given IV medication to help it move along. Then Lori gave a gentle tug on the cord to see if that would help, and it broke off in her hand. It was clear by the look on her face that this had never happened to her before, and the OB was called again. This time he actually made it to my room, and somehow or other the placenta was delivered. Intact, thankfully–later a nurse told me that I could have needed a d & c. I felt well enough that I was able to take a bath myself while Larry followed Twirly Girl to the nursery for her bath. Soon after I rejoined them, my bags were moved to my postpartum room–they gave me the large one, that used to be the head nurse’s office, since I would have two big brothers coming to meet their new baby sister the next day.

Thirteen years ago

The day has finally come: I am mother to a teenaged boy. When Drama Boy was born, thirteen seemed light years away, but as any mother knows it’s flown by all too quickly.

He was actually due on Thursday, December 12, 1996, but it’s just as well he waited a couple days: I had the flu that week, and finally started feeling better Friday night. I woke up very early Saturday morning with a stomach ache. It went away and came back. . .and went away and came back. . .finally I woke up Larry to complain, and he had the presence of mind to recognize that I was in labor. After timing some contractions, we called the hospital; while on the phone, my water broke. That’s generally a do not pass go, head directly to L&D kind of thing. But I hadn’t showered for a few days and couldn’t stand the thought of going anywhere–even the hospital–without taking a shower first. Larry showered too, along with calling my mom and making some toast which I wasn’t able to choke down.

We grabbed the bag I had packed a couple weeks before and headed out the door. It was nearly a 45 minute drive to the hospital, and car contractions are always the pits. But Jeri, my favorite midwife in the practice, was on call that day, and I was at 4cm so she let me stay. She also had to give me an IV that I didn’t want; after a few days of flu, I was dehydrated. I was also too tired to walk the halls much, so I spent the day moving back and forth from rocking chair to bed.

Contractions picked up in the early afternoon, about the time Larry’s lunch tray arrived! He was interrupted every few bites, but did a wonderful job of keeping me focused. This was my first experience with my reluctant cervix; it was frustrating this time but to a lesser extent than the third or fifth time it happened. Jeri was patiently helpful and encouraging.

I was ready to start pushing around dinner time–right at the “twelve hours past water breaking” mark. My first IV had been removed earlier, and now hospital policy required a new one to administer antibiotics. The scene that ensued is comical now. The nurse was as determined to start an IV as I was evidently determined to push the baby out before she succeeded. Every time she almost got one in, another contraction would come and they would ask me not to push while she finished starting the IV. Pushing is hard enough, but not pushing is a Herculean task. I had bandaids and bruises up and down both arms, and one failed IV site actually started bleeding on the back of her neck when she and Larry were supporting me in a squatting position.

Our Drama Boy was born at 7:18pm, making an impression on everyone in the room by having his first bowel movement right away. Now to be fair, I must admit I would have liked that nurse better if she had not been so sure that I would need an episiotomy. Jeri was  equally insistent that I would not, and she was right (I did need a stitch or two, but that was all).

Once everyone was cleaned up and Drama Boy had been duly weighed (7# 11oz) and measured (20.5″), Larry and I were alone with our wee son. It was then that we began our tradition of singing the common doxology together to celebrate a new life. Larry worked his way through our list of phone calls while I laid back and admired his dark hair with the three cowlicks, his big brown eyes, and his ten tiny toes and ten tiny fingers.

Now he is as tall as me, and his feet are as big as Larry’s, but he still has big brown eyes–and dark brown hair with three cowlicks. But I love him as much (or more) as I did then. Happy birthday, Drama Boy!

At home with Daddy, four days old:

Almost two weeks old with Mommy:

Four years ago. . .

It was a Wednesday evening, and the weeks of Braxton Hicks had finally settled into a slow but regular pattern, one day short of a week after Silly Boy was due. I rocked, I tried to knit, I wished the myth of “each labor is shorter” were true, and finally shortly after Dad and Mom had retired for the night, Larry and I grabbed a snack and headed to the hospital.

Sandy was on call, and she insisted the nurse monitor me in the rocking chair, knowing I didn’t want to go near the bed until necessary. We turned on the hymn cds that always bring me comfort through the birthing process. As the initial mandatory monitoring time came to an end, she ran a lovely warm deep bath for me and in I went. There was no doulah this time, as Debbie was unable to drive and I couldn’t reach her backup. It was okay though, because in retrospect this was my easiest labor. I knew well what to expect, and my body threw no curveballs.

I don’t know how long I stayed in the tub, but that was where I was when my water broke. Sometime after that it was decided that birth was eminent enough that I needed to get out, although it turned out I wasn’t completely dialated yet. Of course not. . .because I have a very uncooperative cervix that likes to hang out just shy of 10cm. Sandy did what all my midwives have done, holding that last bit during a few contractions to encourage it to play nice. It was now around 3am on Thursday and Silly Boy still wasn’t quite ready, and then I realized I was. . .having an embarassing moment in the bed. I inisisted they help me to the bathroom to finish my business privately, even though the contractions while standing gave me flashbacks to the hip pain I experienced during Bouncy Boy’s birth, which about sent me through the roof. As I returned from the bathroom, I started yelling that I was being split in two as I crawled headfirst onto the bed. Sandy was about to roll me over to check if I was fully dialated when instead she saw a wee dark head, and started yelling herself “Gloves! I need gloves, I don’t care what size!” Silly Boy was born soon after, with me still on my hands and knees. . .once he had arrived, I rolled over to meet him while Larry cut his cord.

I don’t recall if the nurse even got to touch him, because he was still in his birthday suit when Sandy tucked him up inside my nightgown where he latched on and Larry settled into the recliner. We all dozed off and on until a more reasonable hour in the morning. Before sleeping, though, we did call Dad and Mom with the news and Larry fed me a clementine.

We made all the other phone calls later, and used speaker phone to tell the kids. Their reactions were sooo typical:

Drama Boy (age 8): Babies are soooo cute & cuddly!!!

Boy Genius (age 6): It’s a pattern: Boy, boy, girl, boy, boy.

Twirly Girl (almost 5): I love babies even if they’re boys. . .but I’m going to teach him to BE NICE when he’s bigger.

Bouncy Boy (age 2.5): MY baby boy.

One year

Baby Boy will actually be one year old on Saturday, but I want to get my unhappy thoughts out of the way before it is time to be happy and celebrate.

It is not that I am sad he will be one year old. . .well, maybe a little bit. He is my baby, my last baby, and his growing up marks the beginning of the end of my days of being mommy to a baby. I have never really been the type to pick up and love on other people’s babies, but I absolutely adore the baby stage of my own children’s lives. The soft sweet skin, the kissable piggies, the coy smiles while nursing, the ticklish belly rolls, the little fingers tangled in my hair. . .all too soon he will be up and running with not so much time for mommy. Things like no more diapers and sleeping all night have a certain ring of freedom about them, but I will very much miss the baby years.

His first birthday also marks the one year anniversary of my cesarean section. As silly as that may sound, I still feel occasional discomfort at the incision site, reminding me that I am not yet at peace with that experience. You see, Silly Boy’s birth 2.5 years before was one of my least difficult (I did not say easy!) and left me feeling confident that I finally had a handle on this birth thing.

When it was Baby Boy’s turn, the weeks of contractions finally because regular in the late afternoon a full week after his due date. They continued through the evening, increasing only slightly enough to keep me from resting, until my water broke around midnight. I have a history of spontaneous rupture early in labor, but after that many hours all I could think about was the lovely deep bathtubs in L&D so off we went. I was at 6cm which sounded promising, so I turned on my hymn cds (my birthing music of choice) and got my soak in the tub with the company of Larry, Sandy (midwife who delivered Silly Boy), and Debbie (fellow pastor’s wife and doula who was there for Bouncy Boy’s birth). I stayed there until Sandy recognized that “pushing” look on my face; but I was only 8cm. If you’ve never pushed before fully dilated, don’t. I tried not to do it either, but I ended up back at 6cm with a bruised cervix. Exhaustion set in (it was, after all, in the wee hours) and by the time Lori (midwife who delivered Twirly Girl) took over for Sandy in the morning, I had agreed to my first-ever epidural in hopes that my body could rest and stop pushing.

All depends on our possessing God’s abundant grace and blessing, though all earthly wealth depart.
He who trusts with faith unshaken in his God is not forsaken and there keeps a dauntless heart. 

I don’t like the monitoring that goes with a ‘natural’ hospital birth, and I really didn’t like all the extras that came with medication. But I liked even less when Baby Boy’s heart rate responded poorly to attempts to keep labor moving and dilation appeared to be permanently stopped and I finally had to tearfully agree that it was time to schedule a c-section. I had seen the OB a couple times that morning, as he had been consulted as I failed to progress, but he was still a stranger and I understood little of his accented English. Larry prayed with me, which stopped the shakey scared feeling but not the tears. After that I napped until it was time to go to the OR; I was tired to be sure, but I also wanted to escape reality if only for an hour.

He who hitherto hath fed me and to many joys hath led me is and ever shall be mine.
He who did so gently school me, He who still doth guide and rule me will remain my help divine.

About 12 hours after arriving at the hospital, I was wheeled to the OR which was heartlessly cold and sterile. Had I the strength, I would have walked out. I very much wanted to see my new baby but at the same time I very much felt sorry for myself. The first part of the surgery, getting the baby out, went very quickly, and I got to see him briefly. But there was no surge of joy, of triumph, as in the natural birth of a baby; instead there was only a quiet sigh of relief for his healthy arrival. Larry and I sang the Common Doxology, as we always do with our new babies. But instead of his being placed in my arms, Larry took Baby Boy to the nurses for them to do their work; instead of enjoying his first moments of life, I lay strapped to a table while Debbie held my hand and the doctor slowly stitched me back together.

Many spend their lives in fretting over trifles and in getting things that have no solid ground.
I shall strive to win a treasure that will bring me lasting pleasure and that now is seldom found.

As difficult as it was to labor for so many hours and then end up needing surgery, the recovery was even more difficult. It took effort to focus on getting to know our newest little miracle instead of feeling sorry for myself; Larry stayed at the hospital much of my stay to help where he could. It was difficult to care for Baby Boy myself; my legs are short so that getting myself in and out of bed was excruciating. . .and yet a nurse yelled at me for keeping him in my bed. On the computer screen beside my bed, I could see that other mommies on the floor were fully dilated; the day I went home my entry on the chart still said 6cm. He was my biggest baby, at 10#1oz, and many well-intentioned folk still say “of course” I needed a c-section (but Bouncy Boy was only 3oz smaller!). The nurses deferred my questions to the doctors, but a different OB took over rounds and he was as distant as the first; the midwives also came but they specialize in normal births. The only ray of help came from our family doctor when she came to see Baby Boy; she herself had been in my shoes and did her best to help and comfort me. I never like hospital beds or hospital food or midnight vital checks, yet because of the c-section I could not be discharged early to my own quiet bed and my mother’s cooking.

When with sorrow I am stricken, hope my heart anew will quicken, all my longing shall be stilled.
To His loving kindness tender soul and body I surrender; for on Him alone I build.

Even going home did not improve many things. I had to use disposable diapers because I was restricted from doing laundry. It helped to talk to friends who have also had a c-section (or four), but at the same time there was that reminder that many friends have never needed one. Nursing in bed required much more effort than usual, and I couldn’t carry Baby Boy up or down stairs. Silly Boy kept wanted to hug me, and I had push him away before he head-butted my incision; he wanted to sit on my lap, and didn’t understand why he had to climb up rather than be lifted. Medications that numbed the pain made both Baby Boy and me too sleepy. And I still kept wondering why my body had failed to do what it had done five times before.

I am thankful that doctors have the knowledge to perform c-sections; it’s how I was born. And I realize there can be very valid reasons for c-sections; but at the same time we live in a time that seems afraid of childbirth, that is quick to choose medication and procedures even in the absence of complications. I do not say this to criticize my friends who chose epidurals or other interventions. But had this labor not been so unlike my others, for me the disadvantages of the epidural far outweighed the benefits. I am no spartan; my fears are of needles and numbness.

Well He knows what best to grant me; all the longing hopes that haunt me, joy and sorrow, have their day.
I shall doubt His wisdom never; as God wills, so be it ever; I to Him commit my way.

Now, Larry will tell you that Baby Boy was 10#1oz with a large head, for goodness sake! For me, I keep wondering if the two-plus years of unrelenting stress left me ill equipped for any labor, much less such a difficult one. Was I tired not just from a long night of labor, but from long weeks-months-years of having my life turned upside down? I know I will never know the answers, but this question and others like it still keep me from fully accepting the experience and moving on. Is it selfish pride that my final birth experience was everything I had successfully avoided the first 5 times? Absolutely! Eventually I will come to terms with Baby Boy’s birth, but not yet. The scar on my abdomen. . .and in my heart. . .still ache too much.

If on earth my days He lengthen, He my weary soul will strengthen; all my trust in Him I place.
Earthly wealth is not abiding, like a stream away is gliding; safe I anchor in His grace. Amen.

Introducing lively boy #5

Why I haven’t blogged for three whole weeks:

After five relatively uneventful and natural births, our 10# 1oz sweetheart landed me in the operating room. He was delivered by cesarean section at 1:04pm on September 27, 20+ hours after days of sporadic contractions finally became regular and 12+ hours after my water broke at home. I’ve had big babies before but this labor was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Surgery wasn’t my first (or second or third) choice, but I was exhausted from my body’s lack of cooperation and his heartrate was giving cause for concern.

The big kids were all thrilled to meet their new baby brother. . .

. . .including the Princess, once she had shed a few private tears over having yet another baby brother.