It’s hard to wrap my head around Ezra’s labor and delivery. The timeline still leaves me and my husband, my mother, and the midwives scratching our heads.
The short version of my labor with our second baby: I went from 3 cm to holding our son in less than three hours.
However, as with any good story, there’s a longer and more complex narrative. Here is the detailed (a lot of gross details, because those are the fun ones!) version.
EZRA’S BIRTH STORY
SUNDAY, JUNE 14
Shortly after breakfast, my husband and I decided to take our 18 month old on a long family walk before it got too hot outside. I had Braxton Hicks contractions the entire 45 minute walk, which I knew were meaningful when they weren’t slowing down with motion and mild cramping in my lower belly started creeping in. When the cramping and the BH contractions were still present after chugging water the rest of the morning and into early afternoon, I knew my body was gearing up and labor would happen within a day or two. We had family lunch, put Nomesie down for an afternoon nap, and I ran out to get a gel manicure and a pedicure, because priorities. Afterwards, I drove to the airport to pick up my mother, who was staying with us despite COVID-19 to help with the birth. We arrived back at the house, relaxed for a bit, and I cooked dinner for everyone. By this point, cramping was much stronger and when we retired for bed, I couldn’t sleep. I was wide awake, chatting with my husband until well past midnight. I knew labor was going to start the next day.
MONDAY, JUNE 15
It was 1 AM and I was definitely having real contractions. I decided to call my doula to give her a heads up, just in case we needed to head to the birth center early in morning. She advised getting rest, even if it felt impossible. I parked myself on our couch and booted up Parks and Rec on my laptop. I napped for maybe an hour and crawled back into bed around 4 AM, wide awake, breathing through contractions. I waited until the respectable hour of 5 AM before waking up my mom. We went for a 45 minute walk around the neighborhood to help get things going. After a shower, coffee and breakfast, we decided to take my daughter to The Magic House, because staying busy in early labor is the best thing to do. We booked our online reservation (I hate this post-COVID world we live in) and left for a morning adventure.
The Magic House was great, Naomi had a nice time, but I needed to sit on benches for most of it. I received a call from the midwives confirming my ’39 week virtual appointment’ for the following afternoon. Sidebar: being pregnant during COVID-19 is so bizarre, I only had two in-person appointments my entire third trimester. I told them I was in early labor and asked if I could switch my appointment from video to in-person, and come in today instead of tomorrow — they said yes. Once our time slot at the Magic House was up, we drove back home, and I went back to bed to rest. My mom picked up takeout for lunch and my husband threw our hospital bags in the car — just in case we were to get admitted into the birth center after the appointment (which is what happened with Naomi’s birth).
JUNE 15, 1:20 PM
At my 39 week appointment, I was told I was 2 cm, but ‘not a true 2 cm’, as the midwife couldn’t feel the baby’s head. Nor was the baby even remotely engaged in the pelvis. She figured it was prodromal labor but to not lose hope, it could be any day now. Perhaps Wednesday, or Thursday. Walking back to the car felt like a walk of shame. It was disappointing, I really thought I knew my body well enough to know if I was in labor or not. I was absolutely crushed. Once we arrived back home, my husband and I both crawled into bed for a nap, my mom watched after Nomesie.
Our afternoon nap was absolutely blissful and exactly what we needed to recharge, we were both exhausted from a sleepless night and I was emotionally drained. My husband, my mom, and I decided to take Naomi to our neighborhood park, but my contractions were picking up in frequency and intensity. So we split up. Alex played with Naomi at the park, while my mom and I went for another walk, in the hopes to get things moving. For real this time. I could barely get through our walk, I had to stop with each contraction, so we decided to cut it short after 20 minutes. Once home, I began timing contractions and couldn’t get through them without squatting / on all fours and softly moaning / deep breathing and rocking through them. I sat in a warm bath while my mom cooked us dinner, at this point contractions were every 3-4 minutes. I called our doula and the midwife on call, this was it, this wasn’t prodromal labor. We decided to go back to the birth center after we put Naomi to bed.
JUNE 15, 8:30 PM
Contractions were consistently 2-3 minutes for well over two hours, it was time — I hit the 3-1-1 rule (contractions 3 minutes apart, lasting at least 1 minute, for 1 hour). My husband put Naomi to bed and afterwards we drove off to the birthing center, which is located inside of a major St. Louis hospital. It’s only a 12 minute drive from our house, but my god, having multiple contractions in the car is an awful experience.
At the entrance to the hospital, we put on our masks, had our temperature checked by a nurse, answered a few COVID-19 screening questions, and were let through. We walked maybe 20 feet past the main entrance when I burst into tears. I wanted a healthy and safe delivery, I wanted to make sure our baby was OK, I wanted to go unmedicated again, and knowing how little control I actually had in any of these outcomes… emotions took over, fear set in. I was so nervous it would all go pear shaped.
A nurse greeted us at the birth center entrance, and led us straight into an exam room. To my horror, I was still at 2 cm, but this time, a ‘true 2 cm’. My jaw hit the floor. I could not believe I made such little progress in the seven hours between my 1 PM appointment and then, especially with contractions every 2-3 minutes for 3 hours at that point. The birthing center will not admit patients into the birthing suites until they reach a minimum of 4 cm. The nurse suggested we walk around the hospital, and all agreed to get rechecked and reevaluate where I was at 10 PM.
Walking around a brightly lit hospital and wearing a face mask was quite difficult to labor through. Definitely not the ‘birth environment’ I envisioned for myself. But it was either that, or go home, again. Contractions were picking up in intensity and required my husband to drop to his knees, allowing me to lean over him, while he gave hip squeezes and apply counter pressure on my back. Because we’re in the midwest, everyone is insanely nice, literally every person that passed us in the hospital hallways asked if we were OK, if they could do anything for us, or get me a wheelchair. My husband must have explained 100x that we were OK, I’m in labor, yes the midwives asked us to walk around to get things moving, and we do not need assistance at this time, thank you so much! By 9:40 PM I was done. I couldn’t take deep cleansing breaths wearing a mask. I couldn’t do what my body needed to do in labor while in the middle of a hospital hallway. We parked ourselves on benches outside of the birth center, I got down on my knees, leaned over the seat of the bench, closed my eyes, and did my own thing for the next 20 minutes.
JUNE 15, 10 PM
We arrived back at the birth center at 10 PM on the dot. I was at 3 cm. I absolutely could not fucking believe it. My non-existent progression made zero sense. To this day, I’m still convinced the nurse didn’t measure my dilation properly, but whatever. The nurse called in the midwife on call to the exam room so we could all chat. Contractions were way too intense for 3 cm. My mind was blown. But I was SO HAPPY to find out the midwife on call was a midwife I knew, trusted, and felt very comfortable with. She knew that this was definitely ‘real’ labor, but she technically couldn’t admit us into the birthing suite until I hit 4 cm. We were at a weird impasse. I told her I couldn’t walk around anymore, I needed a dark room to help my body progress, and going home and coming back again wasn’t something I felt comfortable doing. She definitely took pity on me, thank god, because we hatched a new plan: she wasn’t going to ‘officially’ admit me into the birthing center but she’d allow me to labor in one of the birthing suites. We’d recheck my progress after 30 minutes. However, I wasn’t allowed to use any water features, no shower, no tub until I was ‘officially’ admitted.
The nurse set me up on their queen size bed with a peanut ball between my legs, while my husband called my doula and both our mothers. I couldn’t have our doula join us, since I was technically not admitted to the birth center, so it was a bit of a weird spot to be in. And I was quickly getting very, very discouraged while contractions were getting very, very intense — considering I was told I was only 3 cm less than an hour before. I started to wonder if I’d be able to do this unmedicated again. I questioned every woman who told me the second time around is much easier and much faster.
As soon as I had the peanut ball in between my legs, on a soft bed, in a dark, quiet room, contractions hit a new level. I got louder and louder with each passing contraction. So loud, that the nurse came back in, and stated she’s admitting us RIGHT MEOW, no need to recheck me (thank fucking god, I hate cervical checks, getting two in 90 minutes was more than enough). She could tell from my moaning and guttural screaming that I was making good progress. I was finally allowed in the birth tub, she filled it up for me, and my husband called our doula back, we were finally ready for her to join us. I sat in the tub for the next 45 minutes. I did my absolute best to not clench up my fists, keep my shoulders down and relaxed, and keep my face as neutral as possible. I made the conscious effort to keep everything relaxed and open. The tub was very deep and very wide with handles to grip. It made for an excellent labor spot.
When I look back at our sons birth, laboring in the tub is when I have the fondest memories of my husband killing it as a birth partner. I was struggling in the tub, I was sans doula, and I needed help. My husband matched my screaming, decibel for decibel (which for whatever reason really helped), he took slow, super deep breaths in between screams / mid contraction (which reminded me to catch my breath). He held a vomit bucket under my chin and gave me cold water. I was shivering, I was burning up, I was nauseous, I was screaming louder than I thought possible with each contraction. I was definitely going through transition in the tub, I knew at the time that I was. But it made no sense, because, again, I was 3 cm an hour ago. It was a bit of a mind fuck. I told myself it wasn’t possible, and that this was simply going to be a tougher labor than Naomi’s. I started crying, because I was going to need an epidural.
TUESDAY, JUNE 16, 12:00 AM
My doula finally arrived. And that’s when I stared to feel push-y. I felt myself pushing and knew I needed to get out of the tub and change positions. At this point, the midwife joined us, and two more nurses. No one left the room from here on out. I was helped out of the tub and made it to the edge of the bed bench, squatted down and told them I was ready to push. I was asked to empty my bladder, so they walked me to the bathroom. I couldn’t sit, and I couldn’t pee. I wanted to go back to the bed bench, so we did. I got low to the ground in a squat and began pushing, listening to my body. I ended up peeing all over the floor with that push (I guess I did have to pee after all), followed by my bag of waters.
They walked me back to the toilet, because that’s where Naomi was delivered, and they thought it would help for the grand finale. But sitting on the toilet was the last thing I wanted to do, sitting was terribly uncomfortable this labor, all I wanted to do was squat / be on my haunches. I dropped to my knees gripping the toilet and started pushing again. Since there was nothing to grip but the toilet seat, they walked me out of the bathroom to the stand alone sink in the main room. They repositioned my legs so I was in a low lunge, gripping the sink with all I had. I still can’t believe I didn’t rip the sink out of the wall. I felt the ring of fire for all of three seconds on two separate contractions. I knew we were close. A huge and dark blood clot landed with a plop all over my foot. I needed to change positions again, we were so close! I was put on the bed, lying on my side, my husband next to me. That wasn’t really effective (at least for me it wasn’t, for some women it works magic), so I got back on my haunches and was in somewhat of a yoga frog pose on the bed. I pushed with a few contractions, and then the urge disappeared with the next several contractions. I took that time to rest (maybe five minutes), and then needed to change positions. I was running out of positioning ideas. Even in the midst of all the pain, I was aware of how little help my doula was, I felt angered she didn’t take control and reposition me, the way our doula in DC took charge. My husband kept chanting toilet, toilet, toilet, because of Naomi. I decided to give it one last shot, even though sitting still felt impossible.
Tuesday, June 16, 12:40 AM
As I was climbing off the bed, the midwife and I gripped each others arms for stability as I slowly put both feet down on the ground, a nurse and my husband right behind me. Once I had both feet on the floor, everything happened all at once. In the amount of time it took me to yell “RING OF FIRE!” our baby boy came out in a rush — literally all of him. His head, shoulders, and body in one fell swoop. I don’t remember if I pushed or simply let gravity take over. The instant release of pressure, and endorphin high, once the baby is out is unmatched. The midwife and I were still holding onto each other, he came out so quickly I barely had time to process it. Behind me, I heard our baby screaming and I started laughing and crying. I could not believe what happened, nor the time when my husband announced it was only 12:40 AM. A nurse had caught our baby from behind, I am beyond thankful she caught him, considering how quickly he slid out and how little warning she had… and passed him back through my legs because of the cord.
I was helped back onto the bed, my husband next to me, and I got to have that magical golden hour, holding and kissing our sweet baby boy, who was covered in vernix. Once the cord stopped pulsing, my husband cut it, and I delivered the after birth in a few easy pushes. This time, I asked for a dose of lidocaine before the midwife checked for tearing or damage. It was still incredibly uncomfortable, but whatever, I didn’t need stitches so I’m thankful for that.
We were set up with all the snacks and drinks you could ever ask for, and once temps and vitals were checked, and my bleeding slowed down, everyone left us to rest. The three of us were wrapped in heated blankets, napping together in bed, it was absolute bliss. A nurse came in to check on us every 2 hours or so. At some point, I got into the shower, and crawled back in bed with beautiful baby boy and husband. We ordered breakfast at 7 AM (best egg and cheese croissant ever), and by 9:30 AM we were loading our baby into our car, ready for him to meet his big sister and his grandmother back at home.
EZRA ABRAHAM BOXER
06-16-20, 12:40 AM | 6LB 9OZ, 20″
We still find his labor a head scratcher, but after a bit of time to think it over, it’s shocking how similar the pattern is between both of my births — even down to the day of the week. Both my babies were born early morning on a Tuesday, with my body giving clear warning signs of impending labor the Sunday prior. Ezra’s was a bit more intense than simply period cramps, though that’s par for the course with subsequent births. Including postpartum, as my uterus cramped and began its process of shrinking after birth, it was immensely more painful than it was the first time around.
I loved the birth center, how natural and serene and calm it was. A stark contrast to delivering in a hospital with midwives, which is what I did for Naomi’s birth. Heading back home after breakfast, and resting in my own bed with Ezra less than 10 hours after his birth was icing on the cake. The second time around feels much more natural and way easier. It also helps that Ezra is extremely easy going and took to the breast immediately. I’m very proud of Naomi, who is handling this huge life change with such grace. She really enjoys kissing her brother, petting his hair, touching his fingers and toes, and ‘holding’ him on her lap. I’m very impressed with my husband and his newfound birthing partner skills. I’m beyond thrilled I was able to go unmedicated again. I’m insanely grateful for my mother, for booking her flight with superior timing (she literally could not have timed her arrival any better), and the three weeks she devoted to helping us adjust and get settled as a family of four, with two babies 18 months apart. And above all, forever grateful for another healthy baby, an uncomplicated delivery, and the gift of motherhood a second time around. I still can’t believe I’m a mother of two, I don’t know what I did to get so lucky.