Fisher's Birth Story
I wanted to get this written down sooner than later, because honestly, it all happened so fast there is a lot of it that, quite simply, feels like a blur. (Probably because it was.) But, alas, 2 kids + serious sleep deprivation = little to no time.
A little background before I launch into this story: Fisher's due date (Dec. 31) was a stressful one for me. I was worried I would go into labor either before/after my parents were in town, and I wasn't going to have anyone to watch Lyla because all of our friends were either traveling or were busy hosting for the holidays. I was worried that I would need to go to the hospital in the middle of the night and would not be able to get a hold of anyone to watch Lyla. I was worried I was going to saddle him with a Christmas birthday. I was worried I would have him late and we would be in a new insurance cycle (and miss our tax deduction), making his birth significantly more expensive. I was worried he was going to be huge (a valid concern). Bottom line: I was worried. And also superbly uncomfortable and really ready for this baby to be on the other side.
Fortunately, we made it until December 22 (the day my parents arrived) without incident. Christmas came and went and still no baby. My parents were planning to leave on the 26th, and we decided it would be easiest all the way around if Lyla spent the week with them. The plan was for me to have my membranes stripped at my 39 week appointment scheduled for the following afternoon (the 27th) in an effort to get labor moving. If that didn't work, I was going to ask for an induction on the 29th or 30th, as a last resort. Turns out, we were not going to need any of those interventions.
Jake and I decided to get one last date in before baby, and right after Lyla left with my parents, we headed to the movies to see Rogue One and then went to our favorite local restaurant for happy hour. Before heading to bed, I was having a bit of cramping and I told Jake I was hopeful that might mean things were happening. He jokingly looked at me and said, "Ok, but don't wake me up until 8." (Last time, my water broke around 5:00 am.)
I kid you not, my water broke the following morning at 8:00 am on the dot. I rolled over in bed and felt the smallest little gush. When I moved a bit more, I could tell I needed to move fast. I looked at Jake and said, "this is it! My water is breaking right now." I launched myself out of bed and managed to make it (mostly) to the bathroom before it gushed all over the floor. Lucky for me, it was clear and I had again tested GBS negative.
Side note here to talk about the symmetry between my two kids' births. With both Lyla and Fisher, I was due on Saturday the 31st. With both kids, my water broke at 39 weeks and 3 days, which set off labor. I had both of them on Tuesday the 27th, following a Monday holiday--in Lyla's case. she was born the day after Memorial Day; Fisher was born the day after the (observed) Christmas holiday. They are exactly 2 years and 7 months, to the day, apart. But that, my friends, is where the similarities start and end, because Fisher's birth was wildly different than his older sister's.
I really loved my birth experience with Lyla, but there were a few things I wish I had done differently at the start of labor: 1) take a shower, 2) eat breakfast, and 3) stay home longer. Naturally, I wanted to do these things differently this time around and since my labor with Lyla was roughly about 12 hours from start to finish, I thought I had time. I did not have time. But I didn't know that yet. So right after my water broke, I jumped in the shower. Contractions had started immediately, but they were pretty mild and manageable. We had (fortunately) packed up our hospital bag the day before and put it in our car while we were out and about. All I had taken out was my facewash and a toothbrush, so replenishing it was super easy. While I was blowdrying my hair and getting ready, my contractions started to pick-up (still manageable) and Jake was getting nervous and antsy to leave for the hospital. He made my breakfast for me and encouraged me to eat it in the car. I declined and bounced on the exercise ball at the table while eating. About this time, I started needing to hang from our counters and leaning back into my heels to get through the contractions and they were coming about 2-3 minutes apart. I agreed; we needed to leave. This was at 9:00 am, just one hour after my water broke.
I think I knew somewhere on the drive to the hospital that things were going to be different this time. Perhaps it was when my breathing through contractions turned into moaning, or when my husband wordlessly reached over and squeezed my hand and didn't let go, or most likely when he started driving 15 miles an hour over the speed limit. As we approached the hospital, I knew there was no way I was going to make it from the lot all the way into admission. We parked right out front in the patient loading zone and I had to crouch in the entry way just to get through a contraction. They kindly brought me a wheelchair and wheeled me over to admission where the woman at the desk had the gall to ask me, "So, you believe you're in labor?" I responded (as nicely as possible) while getting through a contraction, "I AM in labor!"
We made it upstairs to labor and delivery and got settled in (around 9:30 am) and I promptly asked (begged) for the epidural, knowing I was probably on limited time. Trouble was, I was already feeling the urge to bear down and I think everyone in the room (including me, no matter how reluctantly) knew it wasn't going to happen. The midwife hadn't even gotten there, yet, but my nurse was about to check me on her own, because she knew we were close. The midwife came in and promptly checked me and I honestly do not even know what she said, but the message was clear--this baby was coming soon. She pretty much looked at me and said the epidural would take 45 minutes, or we could just have a baby. I was desperate (transition will do that to a person). So they entertained my craziness and attempted to start IVs on each arm. I have good veins, but was so far gone in the labor process that my veins kept blowing. There was blood everywhere. The poor nurse. I was rocking and moaning and cursing (I really tried to keep it PG in there, but man, a curse word slipped out a time or two) and not exactly the most helpful, still patient to make it happen. I finally looked at her and said, "Are we ONLY doing this for the epidural??" The answer, of course, was yes, that was the only reason. So I just shouted "Forget it!" My husband thought this was hilarious, by the way, but I wasn't trying to be rude (even if I did yell it). I was legitimately trying to simplify things and make life easier for everyone.
The rest, honestly, is pretty much a blur. The beauty of a short labor is that it is, in fact, quite short. The challenging part is that it hurts like hell (I know, natural labor hurts, period), but there was just no time to adjust or have coping techniques, because honest to goodness, one minute it was all manageable, and the next I was in mind-numbing pain. But thank the dear, sweet Lord for my labor and delivery nurse. Oh my word. It was like I had a doula at my birth. I am not even exaggerating. She was with me the whole time, whispering encouraging words, rubbing my back, getting a heat pad for my back, letting me hang on her through contractions. I was really struggling with self-doubt and negative self talk, and she helped keep me centered. She was a Godsend; Jake literally refers to her as an angel. She was that good. I don't think I would have been able to do it without her (I mean, I would have, because I didn't really have a choice), but man did she make it so much more manageable. I will be forever grateful for her calming presence.
I should also pause here to give major props to my husband. During Lyla's birth, he paced nervously in the corner of the room until I got my epidural, then had to have juice, his own chair, and his own nurse while I was pushing because he was not feeling so well. The man can barely handle blood draws. Needless to say, childbirth is not his cup of tea and the way this was all going down was WAY out of his comfort zone. But he rallied and got in there to do whatever he needed to do without freaking out or fainting. I joked to him that we should share a 'his and hers' version of the birth story, because I know he remembers more than I do and it was probably a different experience from his side of things. He did not wish to relive it... haha.
I ended up giving birth on my knees draped backwards on the hospital bed, that had been bumped up almost like a chair. I had Jake up on one side of my head, and my angel nurse on the other. Contractions had been brutal, but pushing this baby out (yes, even at 10 pounds) was easy. I am not even kidding. I felt the ring of fire on the initial crowning for sure (oddly, that hurt like a beast initially and then really didn't hurt that badly at all once his head was about halfway out) but I think it took all of 4 or 5 pushes and he was out without any issues. I was so emotional at Lyla's birth, but I was seriously too stunned to even shed a tear when Fisher was born. My first thought was literally, "wait... what??" I was obviously deeply relieved, and so happy, but mostly just stunned. Plus, he came out behind me, so it took a moment for us to re-position and for me to actually SEE my baby. It was 10:40 am when he entered the world. So from start to finish the entire process only took 2 hours and 40 minutes. It was insanity.
The next few hours, on the other hand, were incredibly calm and peaceful. Our hospital had changed policies just in the 2.5 years since Lyla was born (they were already really progressive to begin with, but even more so now). I cuddled Fisher skin to skin totally undisturbed for hours. They rubbed in his vernix and he didn't get a bath until the following day, right before we left. Cord clamping was delayed, as was the vitamin K shot and the eye drops. Heck, they didn't even take him to get weighed until right before we moved into our recovery room. I got to experience him root around and take an interest in nursing all on his own (which was SO cool!).
I have to say, not having drugs does make the recovery just that much easier. I was able to walk (slowly) from our birthing room to our recovery room. We saw our midwife on the way (who still didn't know any of his stats yet), and when she learned his weight was so surprised, and pleased, that Fisher didn't get stuck or have shoulder dystocia, as it's pretty common with big babies. Thank the lucky stars he was my second. No one had to monitor my fluid output and in general, they seemed to check on me way less. I am two weeks out now, and feeling really good. I think part of that has to do with the fact that it's just easier to birth babies the second time around, and partly because I was so horribly uncomfortable at the end of my pregnancy that managing a few minor stitches has really been a cake walk in comparison.
Welcome, Fisher! We are so happy you're here!
A little background before I launch into this story: Fisher's due date (Dec. 31) was a stressful one for me. I was worried I would go into labor either before/after my parents were in town, and I wasn't going to have anyone to watch Lyla because all of our friends were either traveling or were busy hosting for the holidays. I was worried that I would need to go to the hospital in the middle of the night and would not be able to get a hold of anyone to watch Lyla. I was worried I was going to saddle him with a Christmas birthday. I was worried I would have him late and we would be in a new insurance cycle (and miss our tax deduction), making his birth significantly more expensive. I was worried he was going to be huge (a valid concern). Bottom line: I was worried. And also superbly uncomfortable and really ready for this baby to be on the other side.
Fortunately, we made it until December 22 (the day my parents arrived) without incident. Christmas came and went and still no baby. My parents were planning to leave on the 26th, and we decided it would be easiest all the way around if Lyla spent the week with them. The plan was for me to have my membranes stripped at my 39 week appointment scheduled for the following afternoon (the 27th) in an effort to get labor moving. If that didn't work, I was going to ask for an induction on the 29th or 30th, as a last resort. Turns out, we were not going to need any of those interventions.
Jake and I decided to get one last date in before baby, and right after Lyla left with my parents, we headed to the movies to see Rogue One and then went to our favorite local restaurant for happy hour. Before heading to bed, I was having a bit of cramping and I told Jake I was hopeful that might mean things were happening. He jokingly looked at me and said, "Ok, but don't wake me up until 8." (Last time, my water broke around 5:00 am.)
I kid you not, my water broke the following morning at 8:00 am on the dot. I rolled over in bed and felt the smallest little gush. When I moved a bit more, I could tell I needed to move fast. I looked at Jake and said, "this is it! My water is breaking right now." I launched myself out of bed and managed to make it (mostly) to the bathroom before it gushed all over the floor. Lucky for me, it was clear and I had again tested GBS negative.
Side note here to talk about the symmetry between my two kids' births. With both Lyla and Fisher, I was due on Saturday the 31st. With both kids, my water broke at 39 weeks and 3 days, which set off labor. I had both of them on Tuesday the 27th, following a Monday holiday--in Lyla's case. she was born the day after Memorial Day; Fisher was born the day after the (observed) Christmas holiday. They are exactly 2 years and 7 months, to the day, apart. But that, my friends, is where the similarities start and end, because Fisher's birth was wildly different than his older sister's.
I really loved my birth experience with Lyla, but there were a few things I wish I had done differently at the start of labor: 1) take a shower, 2) eat breakfast, and 3) stay home longer. Naturally, I wanted to do these things differently this time around and since my labor with Lyla was roughly about 12 hours from start to finish, I thought I had time. I did not have time. But I didn't know that yet. So right after my water broke, I jumped in the shower. Contractions had started immediately, but they were pretty mild and manageable. We had (fortunately) packed up our hospital bag the day before and put it in our car while we were out and about. All I had taken out was my facewash and a toothbrush, so replenishing it was super easy. While I was blowdrying my hair and getting ready, my contractions started to pick-up (still manageable) and Jake was getting nervous and antsy to leave for the hospital. He made my breakfast for me and encouraged me to eat it in the car. I declined and bounced on the exercise ball at the table while eating. About this time, I started needing to hang from our counters and leaning back into my heels to get through the contractions and they were coming about 2-3 minutes apart. I agreed; we needed to leave. This was at 9:00 am, just one hour after my water broke.
I think I knew somewhere on the drive to the hospital that things were going to be different this time. Perhaps it was when my breathing through contractions turned into moaning, or when my husband wordlessly reached over and squeezed my hand and didn't let go, or most likely when he started driving 15 miles an hour over the speed limit. As we approached the hospital, I knew there was no way I was going to make it from the lot all the way into admission. We parked right out front in the patient loading zone and I had to crouch in the entry way just to get through a contraction. They kindly brought me a wheelchair and wheeled me over to admission where the woman at the desk had the gall to ask me, "So, you believe you're in labor?" I responded (as nicely as possible) while getting through a contraction, "I AM in labor!"
We made it upstairs to labor and delivery and got settled in (around 9:30 am) and I promptly asked (begged) for the epidural, knowing I was probably on limited time. Trouble was, I was already feeling the urge to bear down and I think everyone in the room (including me, no matter how reluctantly) knew it wasn't going to happen. The midwife hadn't even gotten there, yet, but my nurse was about to check me on her own, because she knew we were close. The midwife came in and promptly checked me and I honestly do not even know what she said, but the message was clear--this baby was coming soon. She pretty much looked at me and said the epidural would take 45 minutes, or we could just have a baby. I was desperate (transition will do that to a person). So they entertained my craziness and attempted to start IVs on each arm. I have good veins, but was so far gone in the labor process that my veins kept blowing. There was blood everywhere. The poor nurse. I was rocking and moaning and cursing (I really tried to keep it PG in there, but man, a curse word slipped out a time or two) and not exactly the most helpful, still patient to make it happen. I finally looked at her and said, "Are we ONLY doing this for the epidural??" The answer, of course, was yes, that was the only reason. So I just shouted "Forget it!" My husband thought this was hilarious, by the way, but I wasn't trying to be rude (even if I did yell it). I was legitimately trying to simplify things and make life easier for everyone.
The rest, honestly, is pretty much a blur. The beauty of a short labor is that it is, in fact, quite short. The challenging part is that it hurts like hell (I know, natural labor hurts, period), but there was just no time to adjust or have coping techniques, because honest to goodness, one minute it was all manageable, and the next I was in mind-numbing pain. But thank the dear, sweet Lord for my labor and delivery nurse. Oh my word. It was like I had a doula at my birth. I am not even exaggerating. She was with me the whole time, whispering encouraging words, rubbing my back, getting a heat pad for my back, letting me hang on her through contractions. I was really struggling with self-doubt and negative self talk, and she helped keep me centered. She was a Godsend; Jake literally refers to her as an angel. She was that good. I don't think I would have been able to do it without her (I mean, I would have, because I didn't really have a choice), but man did she make it so much more manageable. I will be forever grateful for her calming presence.
I should also pause here to give major props to my husband. During Lyla's birth, he paced nervously in the corner of the room until I got my epidural, then had to have juice, his own chair, and his own nurse while I was pushing because he was not feeling so well. The man can barely handle blood draws. Needless to say, childbirth is not his cup of tea and the way this was all going down was WAY out of his comfort zone. But he rallied and got in there to do whatever he needed to do without freaking out or fainting. I joked to him that we should share a 'his and hers' version of the birth story, because I know he remembers more than I do and it was probably a different experience from his side of things. He did not wish to relive it... haha.
I ended up giving birth on my knees draped backwards on the hospital bed, that had been bumped up almost like a chair. I had Jake up on one side of my head, and my angel nurse on the other. Contractions had been brutal, but pushing this baby out (yes, even at 10 pounds) was easy. I am not even kidding. I felt the ring of fire on the initial crowning for sure (oddly, that hurt like a beast initially and then really didn't hurt that badly at all once his head was about halfway out) but I think it took all of 4 or 5 pushes and he was out without any issues. I was so emotional at Lyla's birth, but I was seriously too stunned to even shed a tear when Fisher was born. My first thought was literally, "wait... what??" I was obviously deeply relieved, and so happy, but mostly just stunned. Plus, he came out behind me, so it took a moment for us to re-position and for me to actually SEE my baby. It was 10:40 am when he entered the world. So from start to finish the entire process only took 2 hours and 40 minutes. It was insanity.
The next few hours, on the other hand, were incredibly calm and peaceful. Our hospital had changed policies just in the 2.5 years since Lyla was born (they were already really progressive to begin with, but even more so now). I cuddled Fisher skin to skin totally undisturbed for hours. They rubbed in his vernix and he didn't get a bath until the following day, right before we left. Cord clamping was delayed, as was the vitamin K shot and the eye drops. Heck, they didn't even take him to get weighed until right before we moved into our recovery room. I got to experience him root around and take an interest in nursing all on his own (which was SO cool!).
I have to say, not having drugs does make the recovery just that much easier. I was able to walk (slowly) from our birthing room to our recovery room. We saw our midwife on the way (who still didn't know any of his stats yet), and when she learned his weight was so surprised, and pleased, that Fisher didn't get stuck or have shoulder dystocia, as it's pretty common with big babies. Thank the lucky stars he was my second. No one had to monitor my fluid output and in general, they seemed to check on me way less. I am two weeks out now, and feeling really good. I think part of that has to do with the fact that it's just easier to birth babies the second time around, and partly because I was so horribly uncomfortable at the end of my pregnancy that managing a few minor stitches has really been a cake walk in comparison.
Welcome, Fisher! We are so happy you're here!
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