Oh, Mr. Donovan. The adventure of bringing you into the world.
After a glorious but painful natural birth with Juliette, I knew I wanted to have another natural birth, but did not want to go through some of those moments of agony and terror I felt while pushing her out and wondering how I was going to make it through.
Holding her afterward made it all worth it, but I definitely thought to myself, ‘It’s going to take me a while to get up the courage to do this again.’
I knew successive children can have easier – or at least shorter – labors, and I hoped that would help, but still found myself praying for ‘as pain-free a birth as possible, please Lord!’
And so, I had a second natural birth that was almost nothing like my first.
Ultimately, it turned into the birth of my dreams, and may well have gotten me excited to have more children in the future, assuming things could go as well!
But the lead up was a pretty crazy and even downright stressful mind game, as we navigated an impending military move, an unsympathetic landlord, and a lot of prodromal labor.
David had already been moved out to 29Palms for the Marine Corps, and we had picked August 25 as his return date to await baby boy here in DC, as his due date was August 31 and we figured that would give us a good window to make sure David was present for the birth.
I had been having contractions, probably from the stress of the move and being a solo pregnant parent with a toddler, so I was panicked that I might suddenly go into labor, have a fast birth, and David would miss it in the day-long journey getting to DC from Palm Springs.
None of them went anywhere, and David arrived a full week before the due date of August 31 – which turned out to be more than fine!
Twice I was sure that regular long contractions, some of which were painful, were the real deal.
Once we called over my family to take Juliette, and then they went home when the contractions stopped. False alarm #1.
A few days later, they were consistent again and didn’t stop with a bath – we called over my family again, the babysitter to bridge until they got there, and my mother in law had already flown in for the first false alarm.
We decided to drive up to DC toward the hospital just in case things continued, and by the time we got there they had faded and we ended up at my sister-in-laws apartment for an impromptu sleepover!
We stayed in DC until Monday evening, since I had a check-up there anyway and it didn’t make sense to drive back down to Belmont Bay only to turn around and come back.
At my appointment they said I was 5cm dilated at 80% effaced! And that if the contractions would just continue, baby would come!
SO I went on a mission, determined to have this baby come as far ahead of our military move as possible!
I booked an ‘induction massage’ which did indeed get regular contractions started again, and decided to follow it up with a walk all the way across DC, massaging the induction pressure points on my hands as I walked, and lunging and squatting while I waited to cross at intersections!
By the time I’d walked from Eastern Market to Foggy Bottom, I was confident that I could march right into the George Washington University Hospital and be admitted.
My MIL and husband met me there, and we waited in the lobby for a bit until I felt ready to call the midwives and ask to come up.
I texted our birth photographer Emily Gerald of Emily Gerald Photography, and Jenn Monaghan our doula, to head up to the city.
We checked in, got a great empty room, and were checked out by the midwife on duty – still 5cm and 80%. No progress, despite that long walk and all of those contractions!
I was (over)confident that I could pester these contractions into active labor, so I sat on the birth ball, walked the halls, did all kinds of odd lunges and kept eating dates.
After a few hours the excitement that ‘it was happening’ died down, and by 3am we were all asleep on the chairs and couches. At 6am the midwife came back in – my contractions had stopped and she lovingly recommended that I either commit then to pitocin to get the contractions into higher gear, or head home and wait for it to start again.
I felt totally torn and utterly defeated.
I chose to go home, which meant I had kept my whole birth team there overnight – away from their homes, their little ones, and a decent night of sleep – for no reason.
As we walked out of the hospital an hour later, bleary eyed and defeated, my husband bought me a bouquet of roses from a street vendor nearby, as if to say, even though we came out of the hospital without the baby, I had still done a good job and it was still worth celebrating.
We headed out to find a decent breakfast and I got a call from the head of the midwives department – she felt I should come back in that day and have the baby, and that since I was so far along, it was unwise to go back home and be so far from the hospital, since when this baby decided to come, he was coming fast!
I second guessed myself. Should I have stayed and gone on pitocin? I was already short a night of sleep, something I was determined to avoid after being up for 72 hours with Juliette.
We looped around the city and decided to stay in the area, using up free hotel nights and the hospitality of my sister-in-law who lived just a few blocks from the hospital.
It became a week of walk-heavy sightseeing, as we determined both to enjoy ourselves while we were waiting, and to make this baby come.
We walked the monuments, the museums, the waterfront.
No baby.
On Wednesday I got some decent contractions going again and convinced myself and everyone else that I should check into the hospital again. Just to solidify the contractions, I walked there again.
This time the maternity ward was packed, and even if my contractions continued, I would be looking at giving birth in a small corner in triage.
I went home, and the contractions died off again.
Thursday I had just about had it. Our packers had confirmed they could only come Monday, which meant we were four days from a military move, and the baby showed no sign of coming. Friday I was to be induced. I just about lost it, and walked around the city in the rain wondering what this all meant and what I had done wrong.
By that evening, I had given up – and went for a comforting massage (rather than induction) and a big dinner with my husband and in-laws. It had been a week since we’d seen Juliette, and for no apparent reason since I was just hanging out in DC, essentially.
Friday morning arrived. Not a contraction in sight.
I checked into the hospital in total calm physically, totally apprehensive and defeated mentally.
Within an hour, in spite of a few lame attempts at delay tactics, I was hooked up to pictocin.
Everything I’d wanted to avoid.
Read Part 2 –>
