Love's Labour (Found)  

It's a little ironic to me that Labor Day falls just a few days before G's first birthday. It gives me a chance to reflect back on the events of one year ago.

If you've ever made it to 40 weeks pregnant, than you have my sympathies. Last year at this time, I was 39+ weeks pregnant and headed for 40 weeks 2 days before I finally got to meet my daughter. I distinctly remember being on the elliptical trainer at the gym at 39 weeks 6 days (my doctor had told me that physical activity could help bring on labor... he lied). The woman on the machine next to me asked when I was due. I said, "Tomorrow". She near about fell off the machine. She spent the rest of her workout eyeing me critically; I think she thought my water would break at any minute and splash her.

The day I reached 40 weeks pregnant, I took this picture:



See the "Where's The Baby?" expression? This was just minutes before DH & I left to go to my 40-week appointment. My OB told me the baby was still floating-- if you've ever slid your nine-month-pregnant body into the stirrups at the OB's office only to hear your doctor say, "Well, she's still floating", then you know exactly how frustrating that word can be. That's when I begged my OB to induce me. He told me they generally didn't induce patients until 41 weeks (ugh!), but that he would strip my membranes. Not to my preggo friends out there: If a doctor ever offers to strip your membranes, RUN THE OTHER WAY. I know I asked for it, but geez, it was painful. But it did the trick. By the end of that day, I was having contractions every 10-15 minutes.

At first, it felt like indigestion. It wasn't so much painful, just uncomfortable. Then, about 12 minutes later, that feeling was back. Then another 12 minutes. And another. And another. After about an hour, I knew: I was in labor. So I woke up DH and told him what I thought was going on. We'd watched a childbirth DVD, and both agreed a natural childbirth was the way to go. Subject our unborn child to the potential pitfalls of an epidural? Heavens, no! Not us! So, those first contractions weren't anything that alarmed us. We knew we were in for the long haul. Our birth plan was clear: labor at home until my water broke. We were naive. Ok, we were stupid.

I tried to go to sleep, hoping to get good rest for what I felt certain lay ahead the very next day. Around 2am on the 281st day of my pregnancy, I awoke with horrible pain in my bulging belly. Breathe, I told myself, breathe. DH was still asleep, and being the strong, confident, in-control laboring woman that I was, I didn't disturb him. Instead, I went into the bathroom and drew myself a hot bath. That would be just the thing to relax me. That's what the lady on the childbirth DVD had said.

LIES! All the bath did was make me sopping wet. I pulled myself out of the tub, toweled off, and hobbled back to the bed to start timing these contractions again. 8 minutes. Still no where near close enough to call the doctor. So I tried my best to get through each painful contraction, but by 5am, it was no use. I calmly told DH it was time to go to the hospital. We ate breakfast (the first sign I wasn't really ready to go to the hospital); we walked the dog (the second sign I wasn't really ready to go to the hospital); I even took the time to fold a load of laundry (the third sign I wasn't really ready to go to the hospital). Then we got in the car, and drove the speed limit all the way to the maternity ward.

Once we arrived, I serenely told the on-call nurse that I was in labor. I think she smirked at me. They took me upstairs, put me in a gown, and hooked me up to a fetal monitor. Then, a nurse came in to check me. 3 cm, 80% effaced. You have GOT to be kidding me. Seven hours of contractions, and I'd only progressed a centimeter from the day before? DH & I walked the halls for seemingly endless hours, hoping gravity would yank baby girl from my loins. No such luck. After five hours in maternity triage, my doctor gave me a vicodin for the pain, a sleeping pill to help me rest, and sent me home.

When we arrived back at the house, I went back to sleep. DH, on the other hand, stayed up to do some errands. Do you remember that scene from "Father Of The Bride Part 2" where Steve Martin keeps taking his wife and daughter to the hospital every night as they think they're in labor, then goes to work during the day as they sleep? That was us. After I awoke from my nap, I ate a chocolate malt and gorgonzola walnut salad from my favorite sandwich shop (the fourth sign I wasn't really ready to go to the hospital). Then I knocked out again into a deep, fitfull sleep.

2am must have been my labor "witching" hour, because that's the time I awoke early on the 282nd (aka, 40 weeks 2 days) day of my pregnancy. But this time, the pains were horrible. Awful. Within minutes, I was lying down on the ground of our bedroom, pounding the floor as each contraction rocked my body. Breathe, I told myself, breathe. Go to your happy place. Envision the beach, a pina colada, and a warm breeze. Relax. Yeah, not gonna happen. After the whole hospital debacle the night before, there was no way I was going back until my water had broken. So as the contractions came five, then four, then three minutes apart, I continued to scream and pound the ground in primordial pain. Finally, DH stepped in. He told me we were going to the hospital, NOW.

This time, we flew out the door without turning off the lights or walking the dog. Along the way, I begged DH to drive as fast as humanly possible, cussing like a sailor all the way. When we arrived, I bolted into the maternity ward between contractions, breathlessly telling the on-call nurse I was in labor. No smirk this time. In an instant, I was upstairs in triage. 6 cm, 100% effaced, baby at station 0. They officially admitted me minutes later.

On the way to my labor and delivery room, the nurse asked if I wanted an epidural. I was torn. I'd sworn up and down my entire pregnancy I would go natural. That I'd be that amazing woman who endured labor without pain medications. That it was what was best for me and the still-unborn G. But in that instant, I snapped. I gave in. I'd been in labor for 32 hours. I took the epidural.

I was in heaven. I was smiling, happy, chatting up the nurses. And then my labor stopped. Sure, the contractions were still there, but they were no longer coming closer and closer together, causing me more and more pain. In the eight hours that followed, I did not progress at all. In fact, I might be the only woman ever to regress, going back to just 5 cm.

And that's when it happened-- the epidural stopped working. Suddenly, I felt every thing. Pelvic pressure, whaaaaa? I was in tears. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I felt was pain, pain, pain. And my water still hadn't broken. Sweet.

The doctor finally broke my water at 2:30pm on September 14th. The final 2+ hours of labor are a blur. I know DH coached me to 10 cm, urging me to use the yoga breathing I'd paid a fortune to learn during my pregnancy. He talked me through each contraction, becoming my hero, until the doctors finally told me it was time to push. I was ready. 40 minutes later, G arrived.



It was the most beautiful moment of my life. Suddenly, all the pain, all the exhaustion melted away. It was just me, my amazing husband, my beautiful new baby girl. It was our new family. And it was totally new. Nothing can prepare you for those first moments. The entire process of conceiving, carrying your child, then laboring to bring that baby into the world is a true miracle. It is purely the hand of God made present in our lives. And now, almost one year later, I still thank God every single night for the blessing of making me a mother.