I dream of all of my size six skinny jeans, but don't dare to try them yet, because I can only imagine how far off from my pre-pregnancy weight I must still be.
But that's not what I'm here to talk about.
Labor.
When I was very pregnant I read every book I could on natural labor. I wanted to do it the old fashioned way. No pain meds, no epidural. I wanted to be that crunchy granola woman. The woman who could do it all because she tells herself she can. For god sakes, size 0 super models have given natural birth. Why couldn't I?
Well, because
Those books, and ride-out-the-wave-of-the-contraction ideals weren't shit compared to the pain of Pitocin contractions. Perhaps if I could have gone into labor on my own....If only my blood pressure had behaved....But no.
They started off simply. I could handle them. I rode those waves like a cowgirl, pleased with myself each time I came down from a contraction, determined to get through the next and the next.
Then the babies heartbeat started dropping. There must have been a cord pressing against his neck they told me. So they jacked up that Pitocin. The contractions went from painfully bearable to the worst pain I have ever felt in my life.
The pain bloomed out from my abdomen. It was like a cloud of misery rising above my body, and hovering there over my bed.
Each contraction made it so I could not breathe, so I dry heaved and threw up into small pink basins, so I hated everything going on around me.
At the beginning of this whole ordeal I was mousey about using my vocal cords as a means of expression. By the time I reached a 7 in dilation and 100% effacement, I was mewing like an animal whose legs have been run over by a car. I didn't care who heard.
I couldn't control the tears. The pain was so white hot, so intense, I didn't much care anymore about any of it, I just knew I couldn't take it another second. The pain was only getting worse.
And this is not meant to scare. I would do it all over again instantaneously for my wonderful son, for another child. But ohmygod. It fucking hurt!
The Epidural.
The idea of an epidural scared me long before I was even pregnant. The thought someone sticking a long cord into the hollow space of my spinal cavity makes me skin crawl. Even now. All I can focus on is the error rate in such a practice. Who wants to be paralyzed for the rest of their lives? Definitely not me. It's a risk I was never willing to take, until my pain became so bad, I would have put that damn epidural in myself.
Well that hurt too. Dignity already out the window, I rolled my back, aware that my ass crack was hanging out, and possibly, I looked super fat too. I nuzzled my face into my nurses neck, snot and tears and drool pooling the front of her scrubs and lab coat. The local anesthetic hurt. And then the epidural really felt fucking horrible. Who likes a bunch of electrical shocks running through their spine and legs? And it's not a quick process. In all of the videos I watched on epidurals, no one mentions it's SEVERAL shocks, and no one mentions it's several LONG shocks. So I'm mentioning it for those of you who are curious and want to know. Like I would have.
But then.......
The relief from the epidural is glorious. It's like millions of fireworks tingling under your skin. Your bad mood instantly lifts and for the first time in a long time (unless you're smart and get it right away) you can breathe, or hold a conversation. Or eat ice chips.
Again....The there are things no one tells you. You'll itch like a junkie. Everywhere. And you're not allowed to scratch. I mean poison ivy itch. Also, you'll be able to move your legs, but they'll feel oddly disconnected from your body. They'll feel like dead things attached to you. AND....you can still feel the contractions, only they are more of a pressure. That kinda sucks too, only not as bad.
Pushing.
Pushing is nothing like I thought it would be. You're kinda on your own. And it seems like one of the most private things you will ever do, only you're doing it in front of people. People you love and care about, and then some people you don't even know. You can feel your butt bulging and you are acutely aware of the nurse wiping something away every few pushes. What the hell is she wiping? I never got the courage to ask. Poop? Blood? I guess I'll never know. Maybe it's best that way.
Also, no one ever told me that you will fart. I've heard the pooping bit, and while I'm sure I did, everyone was nice enough not to mention it. I farted like 4 or 5 times, before it started to hinder my pushing and I became shy. Then I realized, if I didn't push this baby out over something as stupid as farting, I'd have to have a c-section on account of his heart rate, and that's just absolutely ridiculous. So I got over that real quick, let out on last silly fart and continued on.
You push in sets of three. They ask you to curl around the baby and push down. Push into your breath, into yourself. Luckily I'm very in tuned with my body. If you are not, those phrases might confuse the hell out of you or agitate you. I pushed my baby out in an hour and a half.
It felt like 26 seconds.
Meeting My Man.
When he started to surface, I came to realize he was so close to coming out I couldn't close my legs an inch if I tried. When the doctor came in, she was stretching my perineum with her little gloved fingers and it hurt pretty bad. I hate to say, but I don't remember much about the final seconds when I was pushing him out. I only have a distinct memory of his shoulders passing through, and that I could feel their width with my body. I had requested Skin to Skin contact immediately upon his arrival. I would recommend that to anyone having a natural delivery. Place your baby on your bare chest. It is the most magical feeling in the world. Nothing could come close to it. His breath, your breath. Everything fades away but that little man and you. For me, it was the defining moment I became his mama, and he became my boy.
I remember most vividly how warm he was. It was the most intense warmth I had ever felt. Strangely, his skin wasn't even close to being hot, but the warmth was astounding and glorious.
Also.
It was amazing to feel the hardness of his bones, under his sticky, waxy skin. For so many months I had waited for him, Amanda and I had waited for him, but we didn't know him. We would talk to him through my belly and poke at him to feel him move, but not until he was born
could we attach our emotions to his little sweet baby body.
And now he was ours. And we were his. That is something that can never be recreated, nor taken away. It is our moment, there with our son, the first steps on the path to our new life together.
Jace, we will love you forever
