Breathe.
My baby turned five. He'll be starting kindergarten soon and then he'll be married, living on his own, and maybe even have kids. Whoa, slow down.
Breathe.
My baby. My very first baby. The little boy who chose me to mother him. The little boy who stood his ground as I tried all the parenting "tricks" everyone says you have to do. All the stupid parenting tricks.
So many.
He's the baby who taught me to listen to my instincts. He's the baby who paved the sometimes bumpy road for his little sister. He evens says, "Raquel is lucky that I taught mommy so that mommy didn't try stupid things with her." He's right. He's smart. He's intuitive. He's kind. He's generous. Generous beyond his years. More generous than most adults. I am extremely proud of what my little five year old is growing into.
FIVE!!!
Breathe.
I wrote his birth story in technical terms, as if it were notes taken by a medical student. All my emotion was tied up in my beautiful new baby not his birth. He was small enough to be held using just one arm but his presence was enough to fill the world. His birth did not go as I had hoped but I had my baby and that's all I cared about. So I jotted down the facts of his birth. Labor started at 3am, at 5pm we went to the hospital, at 5am he was born... but his birth was more than just a series of events. His birth was beautiful, meaningful, long, scary, tiring, medical, and more. It wasn't until the natural, unmedicated, perfectly as planned birth of his sister did I realize the beauty in
Breathe.
It was 3 in the morning on April 6th. I was awakened by what I assumed to be contractions. This assumption was based on the intensity being enough to wake and keep me up. Or maybe what kept me up was the hope of getting to meet my baby boy who had stayed snuggled comfortably in the womb for 3 days longer than expected. I was eager to start this mothering thing so three days felt more like three months. This was my second pregnancy but only my first successful one. We, Rob and I, tried for him, we planned for him, we waited for him. Patiently waited for him as my due date came and went. And here I was, 3am and unable to sleep. My body filled with excitement that flowed through me like a fast flowing river pushing through my blood vessels. It was April 6th. I can't remember the weather 5 years ago but I considered taking a walk so it must have been nice enough for fresh air. I woke Rob up. The anticipation of Jamison's looming birth was more than I could handle alone. Rob seemed to have the same flow of excitement through him because he was up and ready to care for me.
Breathe
My plan was to labor at home as long as possible, then head to the hospital and hopefully be so close to pushing that no drugs or interventions would be required. I hired a doula to help me reach this goal. So at home I labored. Rob brought me pineapple, water, and anything else I requested all the while packing our hospital bag. That's right, we waited until my "past due" baby started to announce himself before packing the bags. As Rob ran around frantically filling up our bags, and oddly enough cleaning up the house, I remember shouting some demands at him. To which he responded, "I'm a little stressed out here." We both were. There were big changes and neither of us were able to comprehend in the slightest just how big those changes would be. And I kept laboring. My positions of choice were in bed on my left side or leaning over the birth ball while Rob rubbed my lower back in an attempt to soothe the back labor I was feeling. The back labor was getting intense but it was manageable.
Breathe
After I had been in labor for over 10 hours (or more) my parents showed up from St George and my doula arrived. I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by everything, the length of the labor, the people in my house, the pain of the labor, and of course the soon to be baby in my arms. I was eager to get settled in where this baby was going to be born, St Marks hospital. So around 5PM the birthing team headed on over to the hospital. My doula, Angie, supported my decision to go to the hospital but reassured me that I could stay home longer if I wanted. I chose to get going. Angie gave me some suggestions to ease the discomfort that was sure to come with a car ride but I declined them as I felt safer in the seat with the seatbelt on. Laboring women and cars do not mix. The ride was horribly uncomfortable and the fifteen minute drive to the hospital seemed to go on forever. The focus I had at home was lost in the car and my contractions became unbearable. My back felt as though it could be splitting in two so in order to cope I kept telling myself if I am dilated to a 7 a can do this. If I am a 7 I can do this, I can keep going...if I am a 7.
Breathe
Once at the hospital I was assigned a room and a nurse after checking in with some crying at the counter. I was terribly uncomfortable and exhausted. I had it in my head that the average first time labor was 12 to 15 hours. I SHOUDL BE HOLDING MY BABY BY NOW. The nurse, for some reason, did not like me laying on my left side which was one of the few positions I could handle. So she rolled me onto my back and held my arms down. She held me down! I desired my arms to be bent and by my face, my nurse desired them to be down and at my side. I experienced unbearable pain in that position but I laid there as I was told. The nurse checked my dilation and I was a TWO!!! The word, "two" fell from my mouth as I lost control of my entire body. The blow of hearing I was only a two after 15 hours of labor was more than I could recover from. Without a doubt I wanted an epidural and in that instant requested one. My sweet and supportive doula knew I meant it and supported my decision.
Breathe
After a arduous attempt at getting an IV in failed multiple times the anesthesiologist was called in, she did a wonderful job but I pulled it out on accident when I changed position. So she stuck me again. I waited desperately for someone to come in and give me the epidural while my doula offered her support to help me cope through each painful contraction. Without her I don't know how I would have gotten through this part. I had already given up. I was no longer focusing through the pain of contractions but rather crying through them. I wanted and needed pain relief. When an epidural was finally placed I was relieved, relaxed, and began enjoying this birth. My biggest concern was that the epidural would wear off and I'd have to experience the unimaginable pain of another contraction.
We discussed watching a movie but the selection was terrible so we chatted. We chatted about how exciting it would be to have our first baby and about how hungry I was. My family snuck me some crackers against doctor's orders. Many hours later I was dilated to a 5 1/2. My labor wasn't progressing so the resident doctor suggested breaking my water. I agreed with the support of my doula and family. It helped a little but labor was still slow.
***The above was written and never finished 6 years ago. I guess you could say I got busy. Today Jamison turns 11. Breath. Today I visited this blog for the first time in 6 years to remind myself of Jamison's birth and found this revision of his birth story left incomplete and forgotten about. Below I will do my best to finish the beautiful story of his birth.***
Breath.
At one point I experienced a contraction that would not stop which caused Jamison's heart rate to drop. I was given medication to stop the contraction, oxygen, and a position change. This all helped Jamison and his heart rate returned to normal but labor had stalled and so pitocin was started. Things moved along slowly until I was at 7 centimeters. Thanks to my doula's notes I can say that by this time I had been laboring for 24 hours and the day had switched over from Sunday to Monday. When I was checked again I was a 6. Dilation had gone backwards due to cervical swelling. At this time it was determined that a cesarean birth would be necessary. I was happy to have an end in sight. I had been laboring for over 24 hours, I was tired hungry, and I wanted to meet my little boy. Rob suited up and I was prepped for a c section. The lights were bright, the room was cold, and operating table was hard but I was happy to be there. I was happy to be done with labor and meet my baby. With me, Rob, the anesthesiologist, the doctor, and a nurse there were five us. And then, just like that at 5:03 in the morning, there were 6. I heard Jamison cry and my exhaustion melted away. I was a mom! Rob jumped up to see him and snapped some photos. He ran back to where my head was and showed a picture of our son from the screen of his camera. It wasn't the way I thought I'd see my baby for the first time but his full head of hair and apple red cheeks were so delightful I didn't care. I was proud, content, and in awe that my corner of the world had just gotten beautifully complicated.
As of 5:03 this morning I was officially the mother of a preteen. His kindness, honesty, and generosity are inspirational to those who are fortunate enough to know him. His sense of humor sometimes sneaks past me but when I catch it I’m left laughing for days. He cares deeply for others, from bugs to people, and has been known to revive worms from their death beds. He can’t play soccer to save his life, once kicking the ball to the other team because he, “didn’t want them to feel sad for not getting a turn,” but can skateboard like he has no fear. My little portion of this world is a fantastic place to be with this kiddo in it. Happy birthday to my first born, Jamison. Whoa, slow down!
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