Birth Story-8 October 2021

 I feel terrible about not doing updates during this pregnancy. The exhaustion of working several part-time jobs and hanging out with my two sweet girls really took a toll on me over the past nine months.

This baby's due date was much anticipated. Her due date was 5 October. My father booked a flight to come out and visit us on 4 October. A couple of our friends were on-call before he arrived. The Saturday before my due date, I had contractions for a few hours in the late afternoon. Because with my two previous babies, I did not have a single contraction before active labor, we wondered if this baby was going to show up three days early. Those contractions fizzled out before we headed to bed.

Fast forward a few days and my father arrived. My two girls quickly fell in love with him again and had so much energy when he was around, showing off tricks and being silly. My husband and I felt relieved when he arrived and felt ready for this baby to show up. My due date came and went without any sign of the baby. I went on lots of walks, ate spicy food, did squats holding my toddler, and watched funny shows. The baby seemed very content with where she was.

On Thursday 7 October, I had my 40 week appointment. The ultrasound was with an OB instead of my midwife. I found out less than a week before my due date that my midwife was going to be on vacation the week of my due date. We were disappointed to hear that, but because we had hired a doula through the hospital, we still felt confident that the birth would be incredible. I had only met this particular OB once- 10 minutes before my last baby was born and he walked into the delivery room at 2:00 in the morning. Because I knew there was a 50% chance that he would be the one delivering the baby, I was pleasantly surprised that he was more personable than when I last met him.

When he learned that the last ultrasound I had received was 20 weeks prior, he had me head over to the hospital to do an ultrasound to check my amniotic fluid levels and monitor the baby for thirty minutes to make sure everything was still fine. As I left the office to drive the five minutes to the hospital, I made my next OB appointment, but I told the girl at the checkout desk, "I adore you, but I hope it's a long time before I see you again."

I was happy to be assigned to a nurse in the hospital that I had met several times. She is a midwife-in-training and had performed several of my checkups. After hanging out in the hospital for ninety minutes and getting a green light, I was sent on my way.

The next morning was Friday 8 October. Our family traditionally does their grocery shopping on Fridays so as soon as our favorite grocery store opened, we packed the girls in the car and headed to the store. While we went to our two stores, I had a few decent contractions, but thought nothing of it. When we got home, we started doing our regular activities. The groceries were put away, the girls started playing with their dad and grandpa, and I mopped the floor.

I put my toddler down for a nap around noon and then realized that the few contractions I had earlier in the day were continuing. I started timing contractions at around 12:15. The contractions were not regular, ranging in time from 4 to 8 minutes, but within just a few, I was surprised at the intensity. I told my husband I thought today was the day, but with the time between contractions and the inconsistency, I thought we had several hours before we would leave.

I started thinking about the potential of having a baby that day and decided to be extra prepared and make the soup we were planning on having for dinner. That way, if we had to leave early, my father and the girls would have a meal they could warm up. After peeling the outer skin off an onion and cutting it in half, I had to stop. Even with the length between contractions, the intensity was starting to pick up. I mentioned this to my husband and he announced, "We're going now." I was a little surprised. I had only been in active labor for around 30 minutes, but he looked serious and concerned. When we told our plan to my father, he was surprised. I had made him aware that we thought it was the day, but he also thought we would be leaving around dinnertime. I gathered the last few things that I needed to bring to the hospital, left my oldest playing a game with my father, and headed out the door around 1:25

The drive to the hospital usually takes just over an hour. Within 15-20 minutes, we could tell that because it was Friday afternoon, our drive was going to be longer than normal because of extra traffic. During the entire drive, I stayed as relaxed as possible, listening to birthing affirmations. The contractions quickly became every three minutes, lasting 45-75 seconds. My husband was a calm driver, not showing any of his agitation over the stop and go traffic. I could tell that he was glancing at my timer whenever we were at a stoplight or it was safe for him to do so.

The closer we got, the more convinced I was that this baby was ready to arrive. Because I had no distractions and was staying quiet and calm, I could feel her slowly moving lower. I was thankful as we pulled off the highway, but I started getting worried. With ten minutes left in our drive, I turned to my husband and told him I was feeling pressure. To his credit, he did not change his demeanor at all, but he started panicking. Neither of us wanted a car baby.

As the hospital came into sight, we both felt relief. Our hospital has a free valet service option. My husband turned to me and asked if we should use the service. Looking at the four cars in line, I quickly shook my head. He quickly found a parking spot and he jumped out of the car, grabbing my bag as I slowly maneuvered my way from my seat. Standing up felt so much nicer than sitting, but I started feeling anxious about getting into labor and delivery. It was around 2:40.

We made it into the hospital and walked past the information desk. "Do you know where you're going?" I was grateful I had visited just the day before so I nodded my head as I tried to ignore everyone. "Wait! You need to grab some surgical masks." Frustrated, my husband grabbed several and accepted a wheelchair on my behalf. After clutching their desk during a contraction, someone from the information desk rushed us to the elevators. We cut in front of someone waiting for an elevator and made it up to the fourth floor. Our group approached the doors to labor and deliver, the assistant scanned a card to made the doors open, and my husband took over pushing, bringing me just inside the doors.

"Stop."

I jumped out of the wheelchair, turned around, and grabbed onto the back of the wheelchair for support. I was done. I knew I would not make it any farther. My husband waved frantically to several nurses sitting at their station. In a non-hurried manner, one came over and tried to coax me back into the wheelchair.

"She's coming."

"You can't have your baby here." Around this time, I heard more activity around me.

Another contraction and I looked down, feeling the baby crowning. "The baby is in my pants!"

Very quickly, a bed appeared behind me and arms gently but forcefully pulled me back onto it. A nurse pulled my pants down. There was a gush of fluid and the rest of her body emerged along with crying (from the baby) and relief (from me) at 2:44 pm. (I am pretty positive she started being born in her amniotic sack.) They placed her on my chest as they pushed me into the same triage room I had been assigned to the day before. The nurses started working and checking on both of us. They helped me with my shirt so I could do skin to skin and threw a sheet over the two of us. Within minutes of the baby being born, my husband texted my father to tell him she had arrived. He was shocked by the speed.

After ten minutes, an OB from my clinic made it to the hospital and with a loud booming voice, inquired as she approached, "Where's that troublemaker?" I had not seen this doctor in almost two years, but she was the OB we used for the first half of my second daughter's pregnancy. She was very personable and I enjoyed chatting with her during my appointments. She told me she was going to help deliver the placenta, but after pulling the sheet back, told me I had done that on my own as well.

We were moved to a room later where they cleaned me up, stitched me up (I tore less than with my previous two), and eventually measured the baby. 8 pounds 7.4 ounces and 21.5 inches long. The exact same size as baby number 2.

Because the birth happened so quickly, we did things out of order. I had to sign a paper stating that I was okay with my husband being present during the birth. I wanted to turn to him and exclaim, "What!? I didn't want you with me during the birth!" I had a COVID test. They asked several questions. The doctor made sure I ordered a dinner and eventually things quieted down.

Later, a woman who worked with the billing department wandered into my room and asked if I was the one who had her baby in the doorway. Word was getting around! She told me that her office was on the opposite side of the floor as the labor and delivery unit. Everyone became very interested in what was going on when they heard a nurse shouting for a warming unit.

I had the same nurse that day as well as the next day. When she returned to my room, she told me that my story was the talk of the department. The main nurse who delivered the baby loved sharing her favorite parts of the story.

We stayed in the hospital for less than 30 hours. I was happy to leave the next day even though they wanted to keep us due to jaundice.

A few weeks later, the main scheduler at my OB office called to schedule my 6 week appointment. She asked me who delivered the baby. After I hesitated and then mentioned the name of the OB who showed up after the birth, I said, "Technically, none of the doctors delivered the baby." "Oh yeah! You are the one who delivered your baby in the hallway! I remember reading about that." I was slightly perplexed. Did I make the office newsletter? I am curious to see what my midwife says when I see her in a couple weeks.

I'm Pregnant and I Feel Guilty

 I never thought the day would come that I am nearly eleven weeks pregnant with a natural pregnancy and it's viable. And I feel guilty about it.

In early February, I approached my husband late one night.
"My period's late."
"How late?"
"Like a week..."
"What are you thinking?"
"I don't know."

I did know. I had done copious amounts of research when my period was more than a day or two late. Can periods be late for reasons other than pregnancy? Can you skip periods when you traditionally have had a pretty regular cycle? Can breastfeeding make you skip a period? That last question was where I hit the jackpot. It turns out that lactating women can have a skipped period. It's normal. I still was anxious. This never happened after my first daughter.

"What do you want to do?"

After talking for a while, I determined that I would not take a pregnancy test unless I skipped a second period. I do not like home pregnancy tests. I have had more false positives on pregnancy tests than actual positives or negatives. After my first miscarriage, the OB center I was at (and then quickly left after they poorly handled the beginning of our infertility) requested I do weekly blood work to check my hcg levels. Once we realized that each blood draw cost over $80, I stopped. The OB clinic was not amused.
"Is there anything else I can do that will not cost $80 a week?"
"Well...I guess you could take a home pregnancy test once a week and then once it comes back as negative, you can do a blood draw a couple weeks later."
I chose that option. Week after week for over a month, I dutifully took the home pregnancy test, cringing when I saw the digital screen light up with "YES." What a liar.

I kept to my decision of not taking a pregnancy test until 12 February. I felt a little off all day. By 13 February, I was noticeably nauseous most of the day unless I was munching on the Aldi brand of extra toasty cheese crackers. By that evening, I knew what I had to do.
We needed to make a CVS run because our sweet baby was teething and she could expel liquid baby medicine from her mouth with high entertainment value for the person not giving her the medicine. We bought her chewable medicine and while we were there, I determinedly walked a couple aisles over to grab a pregnancy test.

That evening between putting the baby to bed and tutoring a sweet boy who lives in China, I took the test. My husband was reading bedtime stories to our three-year-old and I solemnly walked out and stared at him. At a break between books, he looked up. "Well?" I showed him the test. "It's negative?" I shook my head.

A positive pregnancy test for a naturally conceived child has only ever meant one thing to me. A miscarriage. Seeing a positive test brought out so many emotions. I was not excited. I was sad and anxious. I did not want to have a miscarriage again. How would we time the miscarriage? Having a miscarriage when you are childless is one thing, but having a miscarriage when you have two sweet girls who love to cuddle up with you and be with you all the time is another.

That evening, my husband and I started talking about the logistics. "I think it would be best if the miscarriage could happen on a Friday so I have the weekend for all the heavy bleeding. If I could time it, I would want it to start around dinnertime. I think with miscarriage #1, I bled the most heavily for around four or five hours." In a factual manner, we talked through how we wanted it all to happen. It never occurred to us that we would have a little miracle arriving later. 

I picked the worst week to have to schedule an OB appointment. First, there was a huge winter storm to tear through our area and many states. The OB office was closed for most of Monday and all of Tuesday. Second, neither my phone nor my husband's phone worked for the next two weeks due to ice on the cell phone tower. If the OB office tried to leave me a message, I never received one and every time I tried calling from my computer, I never got through to a human. Third, when I was able to connect with someone, they sent in labs for a blood draw and scheduled an OB history appointment for me. In my mind, this made no sense. I didn't need to give anyone an OB history because this pregnancy would not progress. I was told that during the OB history appointment, I would schedule an ultrasound.

The two blood draws went off without a hitch and we discovered that my hcg level was not decreasing like I dreaded.

The day came for the OB history appointment and because our phones were still not working, I drove to a nearby building in town and did the 45-minute long appointment there. The nurse was very sweet, but when she realized this was not an IVF pregnancy like my two daughters, she became very excited for me. "You must be so happy! Did you take more than one pregnancy test? Well, congratulations! You and your husband must be so thrilled." I did not want to tell the nurse that, no, we were not excited, because we did not want to get excited about a pregnancy that we were positive would end in heartache. At the end of the appointment, she told me about the next step. "We really only schedule ultrasounds at ten weeks unless it's high risk." This is my sixth pregnancy. I have two children. Both my children were conceived via IVF. How was this not a worrisome pregnancy? I felt sick with frustration at the end of the phone call. I didn't even bother to write down the date and time that was scheduled for me because I was determined that I would either start to miscarry sooner than that or we could find a different clinic that would do the ultrasound sooner.

No such luck. My husband called a clinic in town and discovered that in our area of the world, ultrasounds are rarely done before ten weeks.

The feelings of frustration melted away within a day or two and I focused on getting through the next two weeks until the ultrasound. The biggest challenge, as we expected, was the closer we got to the ultrasound, the more we talked about the pregnancy as though it were going to result in a live birth. I started thinking about October in a positive light, whereas before the OB history appointment, I refused to look up what a potential estimated due date might be. I began thinking of the baby I was carrying as a boy.

The evening before the ultrasound, we told my daughter. Her original emotion seemed indifferent. We emphasized that we didn't know if the baby would be healthy and if he/she would be able to be born and live with our family.

The day of the ultrasound, we drove the 75 minutes to the clinic. (Road work now means that the drive will be an hour and fifteen minutes. We still feel committed to going to the hospital and working with the midwife and her staff.) My husband decided to make it a family outing with the idea that if I did receive bad news, I probably would struggle driving the distance home by myself.

He dropped me off at the imaging center and he took the girls to Costco to wait out the ultrasound and OB appointment. I was taken back my the ultrasound technician within a few minutes of arriving. I was more than a little glad for the mask I was wearing because I am sure I looked terrified. The tech had the imaging wand on my abdomen within a minute of me getting into position and I glued my eyes to the screen. Almost immediately I felt a wave of relief. I saw a small figure and more importantly, I saw the tremor of a heartbeat. I was strangely very collected as she went through the motions of a ten week ultrasound. Having been to enough ultrasounds with my first two, I was able to correctly identify that I had a sub chorionic hemorrhage even though nothing was said to me. (I was hoping I only got those with IVF pregnancies.) The measurements of our little one gave a slightly later due date which did not surprise me. My estimated due date was given to me based off a 28-day cycle and mine are normally 31 days long. The tech asked me a few times if I was feeling okay. I was speechless the entire time she measured everything. When the scan was complete, she took me through the secret hallways to get to the OB clinic. I passed the nurse that works with my midwife and felt at home. She gave me a very surprised look. "Oh, hi!"

Several minutes later when she called my name in the waiting room, we were able to chat. "You just had a baby! A girl, right? Did you do IVF again so soon? A natural pregnancy!? Congratulations!" When the midwife came in, we had a very similar conversation. After I told her our reproductive endocrinologist had given us a 0% chance of getting pregnant naturally, my midwife told me that she had gotten pregnant with her tubes tied. We also connected when I told her that I provide child care for a friend. She ran a daycare before she went back to school to be a midwife. I really hope she is the one to deliver this baby this time.

We chatted a bit more, I learned that I get to do genetic testing at my next appointment, and I left. My husband happened to be pulling into the parking lot again as I got dressed, so our timing was perfect. I was able to show my three-year-old the ultrasound pics and after scrutinizing them for a few minutes, announced that only two of them looked like a baby.

We make one stop on the way home and I asked her how she felt about the baby. Her eyes got misty as she told me, "I'm just so happy that the baby is healthy!" We were all feeling a similar emotion to hers.

I guess I'm having a baby at the beginning of October!

And I feel guilty. We have five beautiful embryos in storage waiting to join our family. We have a duty to those embryos. I also feel bad because we are supposed to be infertile. I am currently supporting two friends (and maybe a third soon) who are doing rounds of IUI. I dread telling them that I got lucky. Why was I so blessed when others suffer?

We obviously need this baby in our lives this year.

Birth Story. April 28, 2020

Leading up to the birth of my second daughter, I felt all sorts of emotions. Excitement eclipsed all the other emotions, but at various points in time, I felt worried that my husband would not be able to attend the birth, overwhelmed at trying to keep up with all the new rules being thrown my way from the hospital, nervous that the baby would not arrive when my darling aunt was visiting, and hopeful that I would have the type of birth I wanted.

My aunt arrived on April 23, rather late in the evening. My husband and I were so excited to see her, and not just because COVID-19 had restricted our in-person relations with others. We only chatted for a short period of time that night, but spent almost every other night talking for hours after my daughter had gone to bed. I am so thankful that we were able to strengthen our relationship with her and I hope we can keep up that relationship in the future.

As soon as my aunt arrived, we were a little anxious to get the baby out! I bounced quite a bit on my exercise ball. Sunday for dinner, we had spicy Thai food (normally I completely avoid spicy food because I have a food intolerance to onions, peppers, and garlic). 

Monday April 27, I went for a walk. I loaded my three-year-old in the stroller and power walked! ...for about 15 minutes until we started going uphill and then slowed down into a regular stroll. I texted a friend whose home we would be passing, hoping we could wave and talk across her lawn, but she did not see my message until we were on our way home. We meandered, smiled at all the dogs, observed any birds that passed us, and stared at a stream that cuts out a path near my subdivision.

When we got home, we sat and chatted with my aunt as my husband worked on one of his classes. It was the Monday of his last week of classes. As we talked, I noticed my Braxton Hicks were making an appearance again, but this was nothing new. I had felt their presence for at least thirty weeks. After a while, I made a comment that even though they felt uneventful, I noticed there was a pattern emerging. My aunt suggested I start keeping track of them. I recorded my first one at 3:28 that afternoon.

The next two hours, I did not pay much attention to my surroundings, but kept a close eye on the timer. At around 5, I started to really feel them. They were becoming real. I heated up leftovers for my daughter to eat for dinner and made myself a protein smoothie. I wanted healthy calories, but nothing that would sit heavy on my stomach or cause discomfort if my dinner ever wanted to make a reappearance.

After dinner, I tried to enjoy my time with my daughter and not appear too distracted. I helped with bath time and gave her a very long hug after I tucked her in. When she was successfully in bed, my husband said he was planning to mow the lawn that evening. I didn't respond. After he debated with himself for a few minutes, he ruled out that idea. At this point, the contractions were every 3-4 minutes apart and lasting approximately 45 seconds each. After some experimenting, I learned that they seemed to progress more quickly the more I moved around so I tried not to sit too much.

I took a shower at around 8:00. A friend that I had been keeping updated on my progress reminded me to have my husband give me a blessing before things got too crazy. I remained calm during the blessing until he paused at the end. He quickly told me that my mother would be there with me as I went through the labor. That brought the waterworks.

We debated what to do for the next hour. Finally, just after 10, we bid farewell to my aunt and headed out the door. The night was cool and quiet. I tossed my small bag in the car and fiddled with the Gatorade bottle I had brought. As soon as we started our car ride, the contractions immediately went to being over 7 minutes apart.

Right before we got on the freeway, my husband suggested we call my father. We had a nice chat before my call was dropped and continued the rest of our drive listening to solo classical piano music and talking off and on.

We arrived at the hospital at around 11. With the ability to move my body again, my contractions immediately went to 1-3 minutes apart again. We noticed that the main doors of the hospital were completely dark so we meandered towards the ER. We entered the doors and I chuckled under my breath. Those manning the front desk looked at us very expectantly and very ready for any COVID patient that might walk through the door. They were covered in medical gear and there were several medical personnel with a huge space for long lines, but no patients. Seeing my large state and the bag we carried, they probably could have made an educational guess, but instead, "Hello! What brings you to the hospital?"

"I am hoping I will have a baby!"

They chuckled and directed my husband to one person and had me go to another. For all the intensive COVID talk and for being in a county with a high count, I was surprised that they only asked a few questions. We were not tested for COVID nor was our temperature taken.

After we had passed, they told us to head down the hallway to the vending machines and a gentleman would escort us to Labor/Delivery. (Vending machines? That everyone can touch with their germy fingers? During COVID? Strange.) No sooner did we arrive at our destination then we saw our helper. I ensured him that I did not want a wheelchair and he took us down a hall, up an elevator, and a few steps over to the labor and delivery desk.

We checked in with the nurse at the desk and she printed off a sheet of 20 stickers with my information on it. As we waited for her to finish checking us in and fumbled with our masks one of my friends made for us, I noticed something vital on the stickers.

"Huh. Look at the doctor's name." My midwife's name was not listed. Nor was the OB that we had seen during the first trimester. It was the name of the only OB we had not met prior to that night. My husband shrugged. "Maybe they just put his name down, but the midwife will show up."

We were quickly walked down to the triage section, I was handed my attractive gown and shapeless socks and we were told someone would be by soon to connect me to all the monitors. The triage section in this hospital was at the end of a hallway. Each triage "booth" was just large enough for a bed, a chair on one side, and space on the opposite side of the bed for someone to shuffle to the computer. A curtain separated us from the other three triage rooms. As the next nurse came in, I asked if I could walk around, even just pace back and forth on one side of the bed.

"Nope. Sorry. I know that you 'natural birth' girls like doing that, but with COVID, we need you to stay in your bed." Huh? I didn't want to tango down the hallway of the labor and delivery section, hospital gown flying open behind me, breathing my diseased breath on all surfaces, tossing my mask at a nurse in a defiant way. (How does one tango well if they are overdue?) I wanted to pace the four feet to the side of the bed, still hidden from sight by the curtain.

And so we sat.

We settled into our nook at around 11:45. By examining the computer, it was easy to see that my contractions had slowed way down. I was at every 7-10 minutes.

Around 20 minutes passed and the nurse returned. Apparently one of my monitors had come loose. "It looks like your contractions are around every seven minutes. Does that seem accurate?" When I confirmed that what I felt was what I saw on the screen, she said they were consulting with my doctor on call to see if they should keep me.

Oh boy.

My husband and I looked at each other. I didn't want to be released because our drive was so long and it was so late and I was starting to feel so frustrated.

So then, I started what any slightly crazy, overdue woman would do. I stayed on my back as instructed, but started kicking my legs and moving as much as possible while serenading myself with a song of my own impromptu composition.

Whatever I was doing must have worked because not much longer, the nurse came back, said I was getting a room, and checked my dilation. I was only at a 4.5. I glamorously draped the monitor cables around my neck, my husband grabbed my hospital bag, and the nurse speed walked to my room. "Can we go a bit slower?" Pause for contraction.

The room we were led to was beautiful and large. I followed the nurse to the hospital bed, plopped down, and she hooked my up again. We were told that our delivery nurse would be in shortly to introduce herself to us and see if we needed anything. It was around 12:30.

When our nurse entered the room, something seemed off. She quickly introduced herself and after speaking to us for just a minute, quickly left the room. My birth plan sat untouched and we were at a slight loss. I struggled with contractions. I was incredibly warm. In the middle of one contraction, I turned to my husband and asked for a hair tie. My hair was still damp from my shower and it was making me miserable. After I asked, he requested I repeat myself.

"WILL YOU GET ME A HAIR TIE...PLEASE!" He fumbled at a tie on his wrist, handing it over and muttering something about the fact that I was lucky he had long hair.

Around half an hour later, we called in the nurse. Every time we requested her presence, it seemed to take a long time for her to enter the room.

The first time we called her in, I asked for water and ice. I could not believe how hot it was in the room. She came back with them five minutes later and quickly left.

Around thirty minutes later, I started to really feel the pain. I was expecting my midwife to be there and helping out. At the very least, I was expecting a nurse to be in the room with us and helping me with pressure points to help relieve what I was feeling. We called the nurse back in.

"I understand that I want a natural birth and it's something I need to do by myself, but are there any pressure points you can help with? I am struggling a bit here."

"Well, do you want me to check you?"

"Sure."

"Oh! You're at about an 8! It doesn't really look like you need much help. You're progressing just fine on your own."

...I may have been progressing, but I was not getting any enjoyment out of it.

She quickly left again.

Around that time, I started to do everything in my power to help myself. Every time I felt a contraction coming on, I furiously rubbed the area on my forehead between my eyebrows. My husband offered to try doing a counter pressure point that he had used when I was delivering my first child. It was very sweet of him, but it would not have worked in the bed I was tied to.

After she left, I turned to my husband and we started having a discussion. I laid it all out for him. This was not what I wanted. We were completely alone. I planned on my amazing midwife to be there and help coach me. I was basically strapped to the bed. I did not want to be in a bed at any point during my labor or delivery. I wanted to be walking around the room, possibly relaxing in the shower. I wanted to move. The nurse seemed very uninterested in us. "I am so frustrated. I do not care any more. I just want to hold my baby and get over this delivery. Let's call the nurse in and ask about an epidural. I'm done."

The nurse was summoned again.

"Can we discuss the possibility of an epidural?"
"Well, what do you feel?"
"I feel pain and pressure."

"Where do you feel it?"
Uh, I feel it where all women in labor feel it. "My lower uterus."

"Oh. An epidural wouldn't help with that pain."

...

What?

...

An epidural would not help with the pain of labor and delivery? I admit I do not know much about epidurals, but I am pretty sure that the entire purpose of an epidural is to help relieve the pain of labor and delivery.

She left.

Around this time, they started prepping my room for delivery. A sweet technician was moving equipment in and actually seemed to care. She stayed in my room, hovering over by the door. As she noticed me sweating profusely and frantically rubbing my forehead as the pain surged, she asked if I would like a cool washcloth. Yes, please!

Just before 2:00, we paged the nurse again.

"I need to pee."
"Oh! You might have to push!"

"No. I need to pee. I promise I will not push my baby into the toilet."
"I bet you're at a ten. You have the urge to push!"
"Nope. I just need to pee." Please release me from this bed!

She unhooked my monitors and helped me up. It felt so good to get out of that bed. I should have asked to use the bathroom an hour ago! I slowly (so as to savor more time out of bed) waddled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. It felt so good. I did not want to move.

As I perched on the loo, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eyes. The door to the room had opened and in strolled the OB, confused at his patient sitting on the toilet.

"Why is she on the toilet?"
"She said she needed to pee."
"She might have to push! We need to get her back to the bed."

"She just said she needed to pee."

"I'll go back to the bed in just a minute."

It took the OB a couple minutes of coaxing for me to get off the toilet. I slowly walked back to the bed, but stopped five feet before the foot. I glared at the bed. All eyes were on me. I did not want to resume my stroll. I didn't care if I delivered my baby standing up. It sounded like a much better deal for me. Blood was pouring down my legs. The medical professionals in the room started looking a little anxious.

"It sounds like you're at a 10. Has your water broken?"
"Nope."

"Okay. After your next contraction, let's get you back on the bed. If you are okay with it, I can break your water. I bet your baby will come very quickly if I do that."

My brain was so foggy and I was very frustrated. I did not feel like I could make wise decisions at that point in time, so I turned to the person I trusted much more than anyone else in that room.

"I need you to make this decision for me."

My husband paused. "Let's do it."

A couple minutes later, I flopped back onto the bed. The OB pulled out his amniotic hook and moved to break my water. I squirmed and he pulled it back. Everyone paused. Nothing happened. My nurse turned to him. "Did you break her water?" He looked slightly perplexed. "I did. I think the baby's head is so far down that she's blocking anything from coming out.

Things got serious.

"I need you to push."
"I don't want to."
"Okay."

"Wait! I do now!"

The next few minutes were crazy and chaotic and not controlled. Thankfully, I only needed to push for four or five minutes before she came out. It was 2:18 am. I was handed my gorgeous baby and was so happy to be done with that experience. I gushed over her and cried and noticed that she seemed large. We eventually learned that the baby was 8 lbs 7 oz and 21.5 inches long.
The doctor seemed to take forever to stitch me back up (I had apparently torn in the exact same place as last time).
An hour later after things were cleaned up, we were left alone except for our nurse. My husband turned to her. "Now that my wife has given birth, is there anything she could have to eat?"
"The cafeteria is closed right now."
"When does it open?"
"6:00"
"Is there something she could have now?"
"I think there's a Steak and Shake that is open 24 hours around here."
My husband and I were confused again by this nurse. There were no snacks available? Especially if we were told we could not bring in any outside food?
It took my husband around 40 minutes to get back with something for me to eat. Because of COVID, hardly anything was open. He had to leave after just a few minutes so he could get home before my daughter woke up.
The rest of my stay at the hospital was delightful. The rest of my nurses were witty, helpful, kind. One brought me snacks when I mentioned I was getting hungry for dinner (so they did have snacks after all...). One went above and beyond with getting lactation to see me twice in one day. One of the nurses I knew from the OB clinic. My final nurse brought a present for my toddler and helped me get discharged early. She also grabbed the car seat from my car. She loaded my bag with lots of freebies from the hospital.

There are definite things I would have changed about my labor at that hospital, but I like to think that I came out of the experience with a positive mindset. Even though I had a very disgruntled nurse (I like to think she was jut having a bad night), because she was very uninvolved, I feel extremely empowered. I did basically everything myself except catch the baby. I think the experience may have been traumatic had I not had a very positive birthing experience with my first, but I used that knowledge to help when I  was literally left alone with this delivery.

OB Appointment 39 Weeks, 2 Days (And Reaching 40 Weeks)

My OB appointment at 39 weeks was uneventful. I sat in my hot car for 5-10 minutes prior to entering the office. Because of that, my temperature was up by a couple of degrees. I was told I barely made the cutoff. Joking with a friend later, she suggested they do drive thru OB appointments. You drive up, lean your seat back, and the doctor can quickly come by to do measurements and check for the heartbeat.
Today I was told that I would have a cervix check. It was not something I was interested in (because honestly, a cervix check means nothing), but I got ready for that. Baby's heartbeat sounded great and my cervix is apparently nice and soft right now. In my midwife's words, "I don't think you will make it to your next appointment."

And yet, here I am. It is my due date today and my next appointment is in two days. I never made it to my due date with my daughter. She was born two days early. One of my darling aunts arrived at our house this past Wednesday to help out when the baby comes. I knew, after inviting her in January, that there would be a chance that the baby would come early or late and my aunt would not be here. I feel slightly anxious to get the show on the road because I would love to take full advantage of having her here. My older daughter is adjusting to having her here (even though she still hisses like a snake at my aunt).
The baby still squirms like crazy every day. I honestly feel great. I need to visit the bathroom more frequently like all pregnant women. My only painful side effect is that my fingers are so bloated that the joints pop every time I bend my fingers-especially on the left side. As long as Baby is healthy and I am healthy, I have no qualms about being pregnant for as long as the baby needs. I do not plan on setting an induction date. If we reach 42 weeks, I will have a discussion with my midwife, but I do not know what will come of that conversation. That is not to say that I do not want to meet this little girl and cuddle with her and hibernate in bed for a week or two until we find some semblance of a routine.
So far I have had very few pre-labor signs. I have had very few real contractions, but have had Braxton Hicks since around week 10. My husband and I joke about making grand plans so that the baby can come and ruin them. The only problem is that with COVID going around, we cannot make any plans except what we plan on cooking. But I do not mind that we have been planning very delicious meals. Will I get to enjoy the delicious Thai curry with strawberry lassies and flourless chocolate cake with hazelnut ice cream for dessert? Probably. But if I end up in the hospital, that would be good too.

I would just ask someone to save me a slice of that cake.

OB Appointment 38 Weeks, 2 Days

As I planned on this appointment, my husband and I discussed the idea of having the whole family drive up together because he had a pharmacy pickup at Costco. (The nearest Costco to our home is just over an hour away. It is a mere two minutes from my doctor's office. He is more than a little fed up with CVS right now and determined that the savings for the Costco pharmacy would pay off the Costco membership every year.) We thought that they would hang out in the car while I was at the appointment and then my daughter and I would stay in the car while he visited Costco. We would then enjoy a picnic lunch at a nearby park before heading home. We were excited about this idea and I was looking forward to spending the drive with my little family. We ultimately decided against it so that my husband could grab a few more groceries from Costco without worrying about the timing with a three-year-old in the car.

I made the drive up North by myself and donned the beautiful homemade mask a dear friend had made for me. I was once again ushered back within moments of opening the side door of the OB office. The staff is incredible with dealing with all the changes. They know all the usual patients and simply asked for my birthday instead of name, phone, address.

As I chatted with the nurse before my midwife came in, I learned that she works in Labor and Delivery every other week at the hospital. I really like this nurse so it made me hope that my labor aligns with one of her shifts.

She informed me that when I get to the hospital, I will most likely have to check in at the ER to be tested before going to labor and delivery. In my non medical mind, this makes no sense. I made a mental note to have my husband call the hospital as we are on our way up so that we can learn what the regulations are for that specific day. She also was lucky enough to relay to me the information that I get to labor in a medical mask. "Bring the mask that you are wearing and we will make sure your husband wears one." I was told that I only had to wear it when there was a doctor or nurse in the room with us. She mentioned that none of the women had been bothered by it yet. I remembered how hot and uncomfortable I was as I labored with my daughter. This is something I am not looking forward to.

I am starting to feel so frustrated with being pregnant during this pandemic that I wondered (silently) in a very sarcastic tone if the baby would have to have a mask fastened to her face as soon as she emerged.

My midwife emerged and did her quick measurements of the heartbeat and fundal height. She mentioned something that took me aback and made me wonder if she wasn't actually going to be the one to deliver the baby. I was a little shocked so I did not think to ask questions.

I left the building feeling slightly frustrated at the new information I had gathered.

Since that appointment, I have started to notice a few signs of pre-labor including much more noticeable contractions, but I still do not expect her to make her appearance for at least a week. We cannot wait for this baby to make her appearance and then get out of the hospital as quickly as possible.