Caleb's birth

Veni. Vidi. Vici.

That's how I feel about Caleb's birth. I came. I saw. I conquered.

About 5:20am, I wake up with contractions that cause me to get up and dance. They are strong and close together, which scares me. You don't sprint at Mile One of the marathon! A few contractions like this and I wake up Mr. Graff. (I say "labor" and he bolts out of bed.) A bit before 6am, I call my midwife.

About thirty minutes later, she and the birth assistant arrive. I get into the bath tub and the space between my contractions spread to 5-8 minutes. Rae wakes up and Mr. Graff starts making phone calls to take each boy to their separate sitter. Rae comes in and and kisses me goodbye. Off he goes. Joe wakes up a little later, and he is fed, changed, and taken in another direction.

Labor steadily progresses when I feel something bulging out of me, so I grab a mirror. The midwife helps me to see the bluish translucent look of the amniotic sac. "It's the fore-waters. It can bulge out ahead of the baby." I feel a sense of awe -- what amazing work birth is!   

A few minutes later, my water breaks, and we stand around looking at the fluid; I feel curious about everything. I'm in labor and actually curious about what is going on, instead of just enduring it. Labor is nerve-wrecking because it's unpredictable. There are few sign-posts that say when things are happening, but instead of feeling nervous or scared or even tired, I am interested in the process. 

We put on Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and prepare for the long haul. The midwife and birth assistant run across the street to buy some food. Contractions are steady but less intense. Every contraction releases another gush of fluid and eventually we have to change out the water-proofing. 

The midwives come back and check on the baby. I have several intense contractions, during which I yell out, "Woohoo, YEE HAW!" (mimicking Raeford when he's excited). I move onto my hands and knees and remind myself that I can do this. This is hard, this is very hard. At this point, I still think I have hours of labor left, not minutes. 

I get up and move to the bathroom to try to pee. I can't. As I stand up to go back to my bedroom, I start pushing, not really believing that it was time yet, just feeling the need to push. But once I start pushing, I keep going! Did I really already transition? Where was the puking and the uncontrollable shaking and the extreme exhaustion? I can't believe that I am already pushing---and that the baby is coming out. Mr. Graff holds me as I lean over the bathtub.  The midwife tells me to breathe into the contraction and focus my energy into pushing instead of vocalizing. It's good that my neighbors are at work; I'm loud.

The baby crowns and I reach around to feel his head. The skin of his scalp is wrinkly and I feel a lot of hair. As I keep pushing, his head and one shoulder come out together so even though he's big, he doesn't get stuck. Instead of falling out in one big push (like Rae), I push a couple of times to get his sturdy, little body out. "It's a boy!" Mr. Graff says after Caleb plops out. I don't even care. I'm just grateful that he's out and breathing and healthy. I'm beaming. I've done this hard thing again. 

Caleb's little body is white and his hands and feet are purple. I notice, but it does not concern me. His umbilical cord connects him to me and I can feel the blood flowing from the placenta into him. He breathes gently and quietly. Eventually he cries and pinks up nicely. 

I walk back to my bedroom and lay down with Caleb. I cough to push out the placenta. The placenta's huge and my tender belly feels much better without it. The midwife and her assistant check me (almost no tearing), clean up the room, do laundry, go through newborn instructions, do a newborn exam of Caleb, and tuck me, Mr. Graff, and Caleb into bed before they leave. 

Overall, 6.5 hours of labor, 5 minutes of pushing, and a 10 lbs. 4 oz., 21" baby boy born at 11:50 am. 

I'm a mom again.

Caleb's birth has been healing for me. Caleb reminds me that life is good and goes on. I can do hard things. One step at a time.