Phoebe's Birth Story
I have been meaning to write this for a while now but finding the time to sit and write at length has proven rather difficult for me this year. However, with Phoebe's first birthday fast approaching the motivation to put her birth story into words has reached its peak. So here goes...
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Depending on who you asked (my doctor or one of the midwives) my due date was either December 18th or 20th. I had my suspicions the 22nd or 23rd was closer to the mark but was more than happy to go with the 18th, obviously. Since it was my second pregnancy I was told I could have a strip and stretch done at 40 weeks to help bring on natural labour. I offer no prizes for guessing where I was the morning of December 18th; 40 weeks according to my doctor. Because a strip and stretch had worked with Leo, we saw no reason why it wouldn't work again so we decided to call my Mum and have her make the drive to Gympie in order to take care of Leo when things got serious.
Unfortunately we were premature in calling but I'm so glad we did because it made the following days that little bit more bearable. I was well and truly over being pregnant by this stage, frustrated that I was going to go over again, and feeling lack lustre to say the least. Mum was a breath of fresh air; entertaining Leo, encouraging me and helping Joel around the house.
When no baby arrived that weekend we all thought it best that Mum stick around because hey, it was going to happen sooner or later wasn't it? Wasn't it? I was booked in for a second strip and stretch on the Monday if nothing had happened but ended up cancelling my appointment because I woke up that morning feeling funny, as if things might be about to start. The midwives understood and told me to call again on Tuesday, if I wanted, if nothing had happened.
Sure enough, I called the hospital first thing Tuesday morning to book in.
I don't remember much from that day but one conversation I had with a midwife sticks in my mind. She asked me what I'd like to see happen as I was overdue by all dates now and talk of being induced after Christmas was starting. I told her: "I'd like to go home, have this baby tonight or tomorrow and head home Christmas Eve." She made it quite clear she thought I was setting myself up for disappointment.
When I woke up on Wednesday, still pregnant, I started to think she could be right. While I had tried (nearly) all the old wives tales to bring on labour with Leo, I wasn't interested this time around. Littlest would arrive, they had to, and if experience has taught me anything, it's that no amount of waiting can ever take away the joy of that first meeting.
While Mum was up we had been going for a morning walk, more for something to do than to 'walk the baby out,' and so we went again that Wednesday morning. About half way through though, my pace slowed and I told Mum I thought we should turn around. I just didn't feel like I could walk the whole way. The rest of the day passed slowly and was largely spent watching movies. We finished Jane Eyre, The Devil Wears Prada and had started 27 Dresses when I felt my first contraction. It was a little after 3pm.
I quietly kept timing my contractions as the movie continued. It wasn't until the credits rolled that I told Mum I'd been having them for about 50 minutes. We went upstairs and told Joel and I went and sat outside. The contractions were consistent and uncomfortable enough for me to believe labour was finally happening. While I sat outside there was a cool breeze and Leo played with his trucks nearby, completely oblivious to my discomfort. The next few hours are a blur of laying on the couch and my bed, heat pack pressed against me. This helped. We called the hospital in the early evening and told them to expect us later that night.
Because I wanted to labour at home for as long as possible it wasn't until about 8:30pm that Joel and I left for the hospital. Contractions were starting to really hurt by this stage. Sitting in the car, despite the short drive was unbearable. I had to stop on our walk up to the hospital because a contraction came. I was hunched over, hands on my knees as a car drove past. I can still see the blinding headlights. I've no doubt the driver knew exactly what I was in the middle of.
When we made our way to the labour ward, the midwife who had done my second strip and stretch was on duty. Her familiar face set me at ease although I had another contraction while we talking. She knew it was a big one. She had me lay on the bed for monitoring. I felt like I was in a horror film as with each contraction, I'd writhe around arching my back, desperate to get myself into a more comfortable position but completely powerless to do so because of the band around my belly and all the cords that were checking contractions and mine and baby's heart rate.
Soon I was free to labour as I pleased and I made my way into the shower. Hot water hit my lower back as I rocked back and forth on an exercise ball. Time passed slowly. I had been convinced my labour would be half the time second time round but I began to doubt and told Joel that we could be here for a while. He said exactly what I needed to hear: "You don't know that. We'll see. You're doing great."
We both noticed that not every contraction was a big one as I was able to talk through some of them. This was different to my labour with Leo. When I was in the shower labouring with him, every contraction wracked my body and all I could do was groan with them. Remembering this, Joel wondered if the hot water was taking the edge off my labour and (very) bravely suggested I come out. I knew what he was thinking; by letting the contractions come with no attempt to alleviate their intensity, I might just have the quicker labour I was hoping for. I agreed but certainly took my time getting out of the shower.
I found a comfortable position on the bed and the contractions kept coming. I thought my waters had broken while I was in the shower but I was wrong. Suddenly I felt an intense pressure and then, 'pop,' they broke. Immediately after I felt some crazy pain and not knowing if I was dilated enough to push, resisted doing anything while frantically asking my midwife if what I was describing to her was normal. "It's probably baby's head pushing down," she said.
In the seven minutes that followed my waters breaking I had what I can only describe as the three most painful contractions I have ever experienced (to date). I was screaming with the pain of it and was so desperate from the waist up to escape the pain I felt down there. The second contraction saw baby's head and the third, the last, the rest of him or her. Littlest was born! It was done! Because of my position I couldn't see Littlest and was desperate to know if it was, as I had always suspected, our baby girl. The midwives (there were three of them in the room by now) helped me lay back on the bed and one of them placed our little Phoebe Elwyn, all chubby and bright pink, on my chest.
Here she was. Worth every second I had to wait and as perfect and lovely as could be.
We took her home the following afternoon, on Christmas Eve.
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