Or, All the Boring Stuff Before We Actually Got to the Birth Center
[Author’s Note #1: Birth stories = gross. Be forewarned, or skip accordingly.]
[Author’s Note #2: I started this story the day Australis was born — and now, here we are, exactly nineteen months later. Good thing I put together a robust outline! Anyway, lots of things have changed since November 2019. Like, Bo was still a lactose-intolerant mute in diapers. I’ve done my best to keep things chronologically accurate and to highlight major changes in our lives.]
[Author’s Note #3: This story heavily alludes to the birth of Borealis, my firstborn. If you haven’t already, I recommend checking out the full story — or at least the executive summary — before reading this tale.]
[Author’s Note #4: As the subtitle suggests, this part of the story is incredibly skippable. The primary reason I have bothered to write all this stuff down is that I’m sure I’ll not remember it by the time Australis is old enough to ask questions about her journey earthside. So, if you don’t have a spare half hour, just wait until next month for the fun stuff.]
Act I: November 5th — morning till late afternoon
Australis’s due date dawned with no baby in sight — so, that is to say, it started off like any other day.
Taylor and I woke to our typical alarm: a toddler who doesn’t have a snooze button. As usual, Taylor grumbled for a minute, then rose to emancipate our son from his crib, while I remained in bed and silently said my morning prayers.
After concluding with a whispered “amen!”, I rolled over — an arduous task, given the girth of my belly — and grabbed my phone. The first thing I saw was a rather alarmist text from my mother.
[Note: Back in the day, my mother was still “Mommy” in my phone. Now, she’s “Amma” — which is what my kids call her.]
Mommy: I am jumping in the shower. Or do I need to drive up right now? Any contractions? I was thinking your sister and I might come up tomorrow afternoon and stay for a day or two? She’s got to come some time, right?
I checked the text’s arrival time — 7:08am. I hoped that my mother hadn’t been anxiously waiting the past hour for permission to bathe. In case she was, I sent an immediate response.
Holly: No contractions
Then, taking a bit more time, I typed out a slightly more informative text.
Holly: Haha! Let’s chat later. I don’t know that her arrival is imminent.
My mother responded almost immediately, which hopefully meant that she had already showered.
Mommy: Ok. Is there a 40 week appointment?
Holly: No, we scheduled out to 41 weeks.
Thankfully, my midwife had let me dodge the standard 40-week appointment. I was loath to go to the birth center for yet another baby-less check-up, not least because of my embarrassment at having so badly predicted my daughter’s arrival date. The previous week of eating my words had been bad enough. In fact, you can read all about it in Due Date Update: No Halloween Baby — a story which I posted about five minutes after sending that last text to my mother. (I had done final edits the previous night, so actually *posting* the story took all of thirty seconds.)
While I finished uploading the story, Taylor plopped Bo in his high chair for breakfast, which was a small bowl of Special K and lactose-free milk. [Note: This was back before Bo outgrew his lactose allergy.] As I watched, my husband put the finishing touch on the meal: a liberal drizzle of honey.
“We really shouldn’t give him honey,” I said for the hundredth time. “You know it’s the gateway carb.”
Taylor shrugged. “Special K is so bland without it.”
I sighed. “Yes, I know, Special K is 90% air and 10% styrofoam.” I never win this debate.
I mixed up a bowl of oatmeal and started it cooking in the microwave. After several minutes of silence, I prompted, “So… when do you think this baby’s gonna come?”
Taylor: <grunts noncommittally>
I sighed. I couldn’t predict the future either.
Soon after, Taylor headed off to work, and Bo and I were left alone.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked.
Bo silently glared at me. [Note: This was, of course, months before my firstborn would regularly employ language.] Then, he ran into his nursery and grabbed Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear?.
“Oh, man, again?” I moaned. This had been a favorite since I start attempting sounds for each animal. Some creatures — polar bear, lion, boa constrictor — have pretty straightforward interpretations; others — flamingo, walrus, zebra — are less obvious.
[Note: What would you guess a zebra says? If your answer isn’t, It yips like an asthmatic papillon, then you should listen to this clip.]
Boa constrictor, boa constrictor, what do you hear?
And so, I read for the next six hours — or maybe it was just twenty minutes. Time slows to a crawl when you’re reading children’s books.
Finally fed up with Eric Carle, I suggested, “Ok, let’s do something else. We could… cash in all our coins for a gift card?”
Bo didn’t object, so that was what we did. Fifteen minutes later, I was strapping my son into a shopping cart and pushing him into the grocery store.
I looked down at my little towhead. His hair was just starting to grow onto his forehead, and his striking resemblance to my father had finally faded. Instead, he now looks more like me, when I was his age:
(Except I had more hair)
I kissed my son’s forehead. “You know, this might be the last time we go to King Soopers, just the two of us,” I murmured.
But, I had given that warning at least a half dozen times over the previous three weeks. Bo probably thought that I was the boy who cried wolf — or, rather, the mom who cried baby. In fact, my constant warnings were probably a contributing factor in his sibling-related anxiety. [Note: This anxiety is discussed at greater length in A Firstborn Prepares for a Sibling.]
Inside King Soopers, we went straight to self-checkout, which was thankfully empty. (It was, after all, a Tuesday morning.) We posted up at one of the corner machines, and I started paying for a $20 gift card one penny at a time — since, you know, we all still had change back in 2019.
Just to clarify: yes, I was ridiculously conspicuous. At my most pregnant, I looked like I had just robbed a wishing well to pay for my groceries. It also didn’t help that Australis occasionally pushed her head deep into my pelvis, pinching nerves and causing one or both of my legs to buckle involuntarily. I felt like a marionette with a drunk puppeteer.
Then, about fifty cents in, Bo decided to “help” — and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He began handing me individual pennies, then eventually gestured that he wanted to insert the coins himself. After a cursory glance around, I lifted Bo onto the self-checkout counter, where he promptly clogged the coin slot with three pennies inserted simultaneously.
“Great,” I muttered. I had been hoping to avoid attention, but now I had to flag down the self-checkout attendant.
“Um, my kid crammed a bunch of pennies in at once, and now I can’t get them to go in,” I explained lamely.
With a smirk, the attendant handed me a thin popsicle stick. “Don’t worry… it’s not the first time.”
I wiggled the pennies free, but retained the popsicle stick in case we encountered another clog or two or twelve.
After pennies, we switched to nickels, then dimes, and finally quarters. Even so, we were still about two dollars short. I was glad I happened to have a couple bills on hand.
Our gift card thus purchased, we immediately stocked up on essentials: cheese, apples, and milk. Specifically, two-and-a-half gallons of milk, which caused the self-checkout attendant to give me an odd look.
I shrugged. “Today’s my due date. I’m hoping this is the last time I’ll be here in the next few weeks, and this kid—” <gesturing at Bo> “—burns through milk super fast.”
The attendant smiled. “Hey, good luck then! And don’t worry… it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve seen here.”
I laughed. “I bet! Ok, well, bye.”
The attendant nodded farewell to me, Bo, and the general vicinity of my belly.
I smothered a giggle. I couldn’t wait to get this baby earthside.
Soon after we arrived home, Taylor called to chat over his lunch break.
After briefly discussing our respective days, Taylor said, “Hey, the host of my guys’ Bible study can’t do it this evening, so I’ll actually be around tonight!”
For a number of months, Taylor had attended two Bible studies: our couples’ group on Thursday nights and “Party Night” on Tuesday nights. And if “Party Night” doesn’t make you think of intense theological discussions… well, you’re in good company.
Nevertheless, Taylor’s lifelong deficiency of male friendships meant that I was supportive of Taylor’s attending a men’s group — even despite the cheeky title.
[Note: Several months later, an increasingly complex work-life balance led Taylor to step out from his men’s Bible study.]
This day, I was feeling uncharacteristically generous. “You can invite them over to our house,” I suggested. “Just to hang out?”
“Ooh, that could be fun! I’ll text our GroupMe and let them know.”
I ended the call and looked around our house. Unfortunately, it was not ready for guests — and neither was I. The morning had worn me out, and I instantly regretted offering to host. I hoped Taylor’s friends would all bail so that I could snooze during Bo’s nap.
Alas, Taylor soon texted that we could expect up to three guys — one of whom I had never met. If there’s anything that galls me, it’s having strangers over to a dirty house, so after putting Bo down for his nap, I rolled up my sleeves and started to clean.
It was the usual stuff: clear away all the toys, stow any stray books, vacuum the floors, fold the laundry. (Really, my job as a maid didn’t change much with the addition of another child.)
Taylor texted that he was on his way home just as I finished folding towels on our bed. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 5:13pm. Bo’s nap had passed by in a blink, and to my chagrin, I was more exhausted than ever. The sun had already dipped below the foothills, and night was coming on fast.
But my yawn was cut short by an unmistakable feeling. I clapped a hand over my belly and swayed on my feet.
My first real contraction. For months, I’d been experiencing Braxton-Hicks (aka practice contractions). Some were quite intense, but none of them had that specific, indescribable quality of a true contraction.
However, this one did — or, at least, I thought so. It was less than a minute long, though, so I had no trouble breathing through the discomfort.
More concerning than the contraction itself was its timing. Why didn’t I nap!? I fumed uselessly. Here I was, potentially at the beginning of an hours-long marathon, and I was already dead on my feet.
But, maybe it’s just false labor? I speculated. Uterine irritability is sometimes caused by dehydration, rather than labor. I dashed to the kitchen and guzzled a glass of water — and then another.
I was determined not to freak out until absolutely necessary.
Act II: The balance of November 5th and the first three hours of November 6th
Taylor arrived home in the midst of my attempts to rouse our son. (Bo usually wakes up cranky. He almost always requires some love and some carbs, which are basically the same thing.)
My husband poked his head into the nursery and found me sitting in the rocker as Bo lay in his crib and drained his milk bottle.
Taylor: <grunts in greeting>
I looked up from my phone. “What’s the word with Party Night?”
“Well, everyone else bailed, so it’ll just be Ernie tonight.”
I straightened in my seat and glared at Taylor. “Are you kidding me!? I skipped a nap to clean the house for Ernie?”
[Note: If the name Ernie is familiar, it’s probably because you read about him in Process Control Class Goes to Coors Lab, Bo’s First Egg Hunt, or How to Save a Dog, Part I.]
Taylor shrugged. “Apparently so.”
“Ugh. What a waste of my time,” I seethed. “But I thought some of your other buddies were gonna join?”
Taylor: <grunts ambivalently> “I think they were scared off by the small group size. But you know Ernie — he’ll never pass up free beer or social time.”
“I know that. He was my friend first, remember?”
Taylor: <grunts in concession> “So why are you annoyed?”
“Because he and Nova were here yesterday! It’s not like I can fool him into thinking our house is always this clean!”
Taylor: <grunts in understanding> “Yeah, you’re right. He’s seen our house in its normal slovenly state.”
“You don’t even know what ‘slovenly’ means!” I shouted as he left.
“I heard you say it once,” he called back with a laugh.
I heaved out of the chair and swatted beside Bo’s crib. “Ok buddy, it’s time to get up now.” I reached through the bars to feel his bottom. “Your diaper is ok for now. Do you want to go say hi to Daddy?”
In response, Bo staggered to his feet and waited for me to lift him from his crib. [Note: I wish all of my kids were so respectful of the bedroom rules.] He trotted into our “master” bedroom, where Taylor was changing out of his work clothes. I slowly followed.
Taylor glanced up and noticed my worried expression. “What’s up?”
I shifted and shrugged. “Probably nothing.”
Taylor’s eyebrows shot up. “You had a contraction?”
“Wow. I’m that easy to read?”
Taylor grinned. “Yep.” After a pause, he added, “And, it is our due date. It’s hard to think of anything else.”
I snorted. “Yeah. I feel that.”
“So how many contractions have you had?”
“Only one, about…” I glanced at the time. “About twenty minutes ago. I’ve been waiting to see if I’ll have another — you know, before I start sounding the alarm, or whatever.”
“And you drank some water?”
“Yeah. I’ll drink some more, though.” — which I did.
But, hydration doesn’t stop true labor. So, about ten minutes later, I had another contraction — and then another, fifteen minutes after that.
Oh my gosh, this is it! I thought.
Accordingly, I called the most important member of my birth team: my mother.
It was about 6pm, so my parents had already finished dinner. My mother picked up on the first ring and blurted, “Are you in labor!?”
“I’m — um, yeah, what you said. At least, I think so. Although, I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted.
“Ok. Do you need us to come up right now?”
I paused to think and eventually decided, “No. I don’t want to disrupt Susan’s bedtime if this isn’t the real thing.” My sister, who has autism, is incredibly particular about her routines. She especially hates being dragged up to Denver when she ought to be in bed.
“Susan will be fine,” my mom assured. “We’ll be there when you need us.”
“Well, I would say not to leave yet. So far, I’ve had three contractions over the course of forty-five minutes, and that hardly meets the normal criteria for labor.”
“But you think this is it?”
I sighed. “Yeah, I do. It’s not like my labor with Bo met the criteria, either.”
There was a silence on the other end as my mother considered. Finally, she said, “Well, it would be worse if we had to leave later tonight, when Susan’s already getting settled. If we left now, we’d get to your house in time for bed, but any later and we’d be running up on her normal schedule.”
I couldn’t dispute her reasoning, but I still didn’t like it. “Ughhhhhhh. I just can’t make that call right now. Can we decide in like an hour?”
“Well, here’s another consideration. I would really prefer to avoid driving at night. If you’re not going to leave for the birth center until after Bo’s already asleep, then it’d be way better for us to get some sleep first and then drive up early tomorrow morning, before your roommates leave for work. Have you told them that you’re in labor?”
Our downstairs housemates, Pollyanna and Dennis, are very generous in providing childcare for Borealis — so long as he’s asleep. Basically, they’re there to get him out in case of fire. (You might remember that we employed their help during the events of The Dumpsters Are Calling, and I Must Go.)
I had already discussed our birth situation with Pollyanna — and, in fact, when she and her husband had moved into the basement several months previously, it was with the knowledge that another home birth might shortly transpire, just feet above them. (We had originally contracted with a home birth midwife, but then I decided I didn’t like her and chickened out hard. We ended up signing instead with the birth center I visited in Due Date Update.)
However, I hadn’t yet told Pollyanna that we would require their responsible presence… tonight. Accordingly, I answered my mother’s question with, “Well, no, I haven’t told them anything yet. I didn’t want to impose on them if it wasn’t real labor, and then just now after this last contraction, I wanted to called you first.”
“Hmm. Well, I would say that you should make sure that they’re not un-available, for whatever reason.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Although I don’t get why you’re so eager to drive up at zero-dark-thirty. Wouldn’t it be easier for y’all to drive up right now and get settled in? And that way you’re already here, no matter how soon we have to leave?”
My mother scoffed. “Nuh uh. You know I don’t drive at night.”
“But 4am is the same dark as 8pm?” [At least, in November.]
“Yes, but 4am has emptier roads than 8pm, and I’ll also be better rested.”
“Uh, ok, I guess that makes sense. But—”
“Yes. If Pollyanna can’t listen for the kids, we’ll come up tonight. Otherwise, I’ll plan to get there by the time they leave in the morning.”
I relented. “Ok. That’s usually, like, 6am. Or maybe 6:30.”
“We’ll leave here by 4:30.”
After we said our farewells and hung up, I looked in on Bo and Taylor, who were playing with mega Legos in the living room. “Are you guys good?”
Taylor looked up. “Yeah. When do you want me to get dinner ready?”
I glanced at the clock. “I guess soon? Can I run downstairs to check in with Pollyanna first?”
Taylor: <grunts in approval>
I waddled my way down the steps and knocked on my housemates’ door. Pollyanna called, “Be right there!” then appeared in the doorway a few seconds later. Dennis waved from within their studio-ish apartment.
“Hi!” I greeted. “I think I’m in labor. Are y’all still up for Bo listening?”
“Yes, for sure!” she answered, then quickly clarified, “Wait — when are you leaving? Isn’t Bo still awake?”
I laughed. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t seem like we’ll be leaving before he’s asleep. I just wanted to make sure we’ll have coverage until my mom gets here tomorrow morning.”
Pollyanna nodded. “Yeah, that’s no problem. She’ll be here by 6:30?”
“Presumably so!”
I ran [read: crawled] back up the stairs and into the living room. “Ok, now you can prep dinner.”
Ernie showed up about an hour later, and his arrival briefly diverted my attention from my labor anxieties.
“Wow, you guys cleaned up since yesterday!” he commented.
“Ugh. You are infuriating,” I huffed.
“What?” Ernie appeared quite miffed. “I was trying to be nice!”
“Yes, well, you’re merely pointing out that I wasted my time cleaning up for only you!”
“How is that a waste? It seems that my presence has spurred you on to piety. Cleanliness is next to godliness, I’ve heard.”
“That’s not the point! The point is, you know what our house normally looks like. I had thought that we’d be entertaining more than just you, but now it’s clear that my efforts at subterfuge were poorly directly!”
Ernie gave an elaborate mock bow. “Ah, yes. Well, anything to be of service.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks. Nova is lucky to have such a chivalrous husband.”
Ernie waggled his eyebrows. “Not as lucky as I am to have such a hot wife!”
I reluctantly chuckled. Ernie rarely passes up a chance to compliment his wife — who, admittedly, is pretty great.
Bo, who was sucking down yet another bottle of milk, scowled at Ernie. “Sorry,” I apologized. “My son has good taste in people, but hasn’t learned to hide it yet.”
[Note: Nowadays, Bo always gives Ernie a big goodnight kiss whenever he and Nova visit.]
Ernie laughed at my dig, but Taylor grunted reprovingly. He handed our friend a beer, and the two of them sat on the couch to discuss, you know, guy stuff. — Sigh. — No one has quite the same capacity to coerce Taylor into being lazy and watching me work.
Although, admittedly, few tasks begged for immediate attention that night. My earlier hours of frenetic cleaning had been remarkably effective — considering my poor maid skills. For once, it seemed that there was nothing to do but spend time with my people.
I went to grab a few books from the nursery, then returned to the living room and pulled Borealis onto my lap. He shifted uncomfortably against my swollen belly, which, admittedly, made for a poor cushion. From within the womb, Australis kicked him in a show of sisterly love.
After a few minutes, Eric Carle could no longer hold Bo’s attention. I remained on the ground while he went to dump out the bucket in which his favorite toys used to live. Well, the tidiness was great while it lasted.
I glanced at the clock. It was about 7:30pm, and I had experienced only one contraction in the past hour. I decided that I had been mistaken about being in labor, and had even texted my mother accordingly.
Holly: Ok, I think it might have just been a dehydration false alarm…
Mommy: Ok. No worries. There will be lots of uncertainty in the next few days. But I do think I’d like to come up tomorrow afternoon if that’s ok and stay overnight.
Holly: Ok, that will be fine. We have nothing going on tomorrow night.
Mommy: We can even stay at a hotel nearby if that’s what Susan wants. It’ll just be better to be close.
Holly: That’s fair. I chatted with Pollyanna and Dennis already, so if we have to leave, I will call them to let them know that they have responsibility for Bo until you arrive.
Mommy: Ok. Sounds good. We will try to be in bed early.
Holly: 👍🏻
Bo was still contently spreading his toys around, so I left him thus occupied. I stepped into the kitchen to flick on the kettle. “Do you guys want any tea?” I called.
“No thanks!” came the twin replies, and the men immediately returned to their previous discussion. A mutual friend of theirs was in the process of losing his father to cancer, and the loss also affected all the other members of Party Night — but especially Taylor, who had lost his mother to the same affliction.
As my tea steeped, I silently observed the two men — both so important to me, but both so very different. It warmed my heart to see the friendship that had finally developed between them.
And that was when another contraction hit.
This one was undeniable, though still manageable. I gasped and grabbed the wall for support.
Ernie looked up. “You ok?” he asked. “Wait, let me guess — the tea’s still too hot?”
I puffed out another breath and grumbled, “No — contraction. I think I’m in labor.”
“What!” Ernie sounded thrilled, which was not exactly how I felt at the moment. He looked to Taylor for confirmation, and my husband nodded smugly. I’m so dad right now, his expression silently conveyed.
“Nova’s going to be so excited,” Ernie enthused. “Ah, I should have brought her tonight.”
“Indeed,” I agreed through gritted teeth. “Doula Nova. She would have been better than Doulas Taylor and Ernie.”
Up until that point, I had delayed in contacting the birth center. No need to make much ado about nothing, I figured. Now, however, I realized that any additional delay would serve only to inconvenience my midwife, Willa.
I called her at 7:50pm, and was mildly surprised to hear that she was already on her way to bed.
“We’ve had two births in the last three nights,” she explained. “So I need to get to bed early.”
“Oh, shoot! Are you going to be ok? Like, for us to have a baby tonight?”
Willa laughed. “Well, the baby will come when she’s going to come! I’ll be fine. I’ll go to sleep now, and I’ll be plenty rested when you’re ready to come in. What has your labor been like so far?”
“Not bad. I’ve only had —” I glanced at the clock, “— five? No, I think only four — contractions in the past, like, two-and-a-half hours.”
“But you have a history of irregular labor.”
I sighed and agreed. “But, I have a history of irregular labor. Although, this still might just be dehydration!”
“Are you drinking lots of water?”
I snorted. “Indeed, I am.”
Willa cleared her throat. “Well, we’ll be ready for you, if Baby does decide to make an appearance tonight. Remind me how long your drive is?”
“With no traffic, maybe thirty minutes?”
“Alright. Call me a little before you leave your house.”
“Ok, will do! Thanks Willa!”
Even despite my poor hosting skills, Ernie stuck around for another hour. During that time, my suspicions that I was “actually in labor” rallied and threatened to overwhelm any lingering doubts. So, while Ernie and Taylor continued to chat, I underwent a brief text exchange with Pollyanna.
Holly: Ok, so we may or may not be leaving in the middle of the night. Would you prefer that I call you to let you know that we’re leaving, or will you make sure to check your phone for an informative text in the event of a fire? (Genuine question)
Pollyanna: I feel like the only bad thing that will happen in this house is fire lol I think informative text will do well, as in the event of a fire I would also be rescuing the bunnies… don’t worry child first 😉
Holly: Well… I’m glad that you have your priorities straight, at least. 😂 Just make sure to check your texts upon waking up — whether middle of the night or regular morning wake-up. No text means no baby.
[Note: I didn’t believe Pollyanna about the order of rescue. I’m fairly certain that, in the event of a fire, she would have sent Dennis up to save Bo, and then she would have rescued their bunnies at the same time.]
I ought to have updated my mother as well, but I was distracted by Ernie and Taylor’s discussion, which had moved on to another mutual friend, for whom Ernie and I had submitted an application to be on ABC’s The Bachelorette. (Alas, he wasn’t selected.) I had written for him a humorous — though condescending — profile, and I was surprised to hear that the erstwhile contestant had actually liked the bio so much, he had read it to the assembled Party Night.
“Why did you share it with him!?” I berated Ernie. “He’s gonna know that it was my writing!”
Ernie, as usual, took an overly flattering approach. “How could I keep it back? Your writing is a gift to be shared with the world!”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t keep from smiling.
When we finally shooed our guest out, it was just past Bo’s bedtime. Both Taylor and I were acutely aware that this was likely the last bedtime he’d experience as an only child. Unusual for the times, we both participated in putting our son to sleep — reading with him, cuddling him, and praying for him.
When we finally laid Bo down in his crib, Taylor leaned over to give our son one last kiss. “You’re going to meet your new sister tomorrow!” he whispered.
Bo, of course, said nothing.
I blew him a kiss — since my belly prevented my leaning over for a real kiss — and left my son to his quiet, dark room.
Taylor and I retreated to a different quiet, dark room, where we sat on the couch with our respective laptops. Taylor, alas, was in the midst of an especially time- and energy-intensive segment of his project at work. (It was, in fact, merely a different segment of the same project that still has him working overtime.)
So, as I customized a Walgreens birth announcement (that I ended up ditching for a prettier option from Minted), Taylor sat there working on “work stuff” for, like, way too long. Every time I prompted, “Almost done?”, he would reply with an ambiguous, “Almost.”
Now, to be fair, my late bedtime was not entirely his fault. I could have gone to bed on my own — although, I suspected that, even as exhausted as I was, sleep would likely elude me. [Spoiler Alert: I was right.]
Finally, around 11pm, Taylor sighed and shut his laptop. “The rest of that will just have to wait until after we have a baby.”
“You mean after you’re done with paternity leave?”
Taylor glanced away. “Yeah, probably.”
“Taylorrrrr!”
“Most of it will wait, but I can’t just close my laptop for two weeks. That would set the project back two weeks, which would—”
“Cost the company millions of dollars. Yes, yes, I remember.”
Unfortunately, we’ve had this same conversation about a hundred times. I can’t wait until this medical device launches in [Lord willing] 2022. While I often want to push for Taylor to ditch his work responsibilities and just hang out with us, I can’t knowingly subject his coworkers to more stress than they’re already under.
Taylor rubbed my back. “I’m sorry, babe. I hope it won’t always be like this. Come on, let’s go do your exercises one more time before bed. Do you want to take a warm, relaxing bath first?”
I grimaced. “Not really.”
Taylor rose and helped me up. “Come on. I think you should.”
I glanced at the clock. “It’s so late though!”
“It can be a quick bath.”
And, indeed, it was. We were low on epson salt, so Taylor sprinkled just a handful into the water. I missed having an upstairs housemate from whom I could steal bath supplies. I soaked for barely fifteen minutes, then announced, “Alright, I’m done.”
We brushed our teeth and prepped for bed — but before I could lay down, Taylor reminded me, “Babe. Forward body thing.”
I groaned, but allowed him to help me into the forward-leaning inversion — as described on this page, which I swear used to also list the rebozo-sifting technique. We followed it up with side-lying release and rebozo-sifting, then finally collapsed into bed.
The end of a long, long day.
Just kidding! It totally wasn’t the end.
Alas, my earlier suspicions proved correct. I simply could not get comfortable, and my restlessness served only to impede Taylor’s sleep. I moved as far as possible to my side of the bed, where I alternately pretended to sleep or tensed for each increasingly uncomfortable contraction. Eventually, the intensity of the contractions rose to the point where I felt it necessary to roll onto my hands and knees for each wave.
Taylor kept checking in with me — since, you know, he was awake too. I typically just grumbled, “I’m fine,” then returned to counting breaths until the end of that contraction. With each successive one, the number of breaths grew — twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five — which suggested that my contractions were lengthening, or I was breathing more rapidly, or both. Even so, I was unwilling to enlist my husband’s aid so early in labor. I was sure that I’d need his support later on in the night, and I didn’t want to prematurely tucker out Doula Taylor.
Around midnight, I started to deal with more than just contractions. Suddenly, every break or two, I had to roll out of bed and rush to the bathroom, where I evacuated everything in my bladder and bowels. At one point, as I sat there, I thought to myself, Wow, it’s gonna be pretty awkward to write about this situation for Australis’s birth story. And then I realized, Wait, I wrote about pooping out a baby on this very toilet. Actual poop is nothing.
I considered just moving to the bathroom for ease of access, but the brisk November night had rendered the tile less-than-hospitable — not that kneeling on tile is ever very comfortable. Instead, I trekked back and forth between the bed and the toilet, resting under the covers for mere minutes before I was plagued once again by either a contraction or a bowel movement.
As the hours ticked by, I was increasingly angry with myself for having skipped that all-important nap. Furthermore, I was frustrated that I hadn’t adequately prepared any Bible verses on which to meditate. It’s not that I don’t know them — it’s just that, in the heart of my contractions, I couldn’t remember *any* that might have brought me comfort.
Psalm 139? Nope. Psalm 73? Hadn’t memorized it yet. John 15? Nothing.
Instead, the only verses I could recall were — for lack of a better term — depressing ones! I am not making this up: these verses are *actually* what came to mind as I labored that night:
“Therefore you are greatly mistaken.” (Mark 12:27)
“Woe to those who are pregnant and nursing in those days!” (Mark 13:17)
“My sin is always before me.” (Psalm 51:3)
So, needless to say, I eventually gave up on scriptural meditation and just went back to counting my breaths.
At 1:35am, I addressed Taylor wearily. “Are you asleep?”
“No.”
“Ok. Go out to the living room and sleep on the couch.”
“What? No, I don’t want to leave you alone in here!”
“Ha! You’re funny. The best thing you can do for me is go nap a little so that you’ll be able to drive us safely.”
“I’ll be fine.”
At that point, I got a bit sassy. “Oh really? You magically don’t need sleep? That’s incredible. I didn’t realize that my husband could defy the laws of biology.”
Taylor laughed, then relented. “Ok. And you’ll call for me if you need me?”
“Yes! Obviously! I’m not going to drive myself!”
“Ok, babe. I’ll see you soon.”
If you’re thinking, Wow, she should have made Taylor go to the living room sooner! — I wholeheartedly agree. I’m not sure why I *ever* let him in bed that night. I ought to have to sent him to the couch just after our rebozo-sifting. Then, at least one of us might have been well-rested.
Instead, my husband moved to the living room just as my contractions started to kick into higher gear. I immediately regretted dismissing Doula Taylor just when I needed some firm hip compressions. I was left to battle through the pain alone — although, of course, that had been my own choice.
About a half hour later, I could sense that things were really heating up. I finally started to track the timing of my contractions — not their duration, just the gap between them. The first gap was seven minutes; the second, six minutes; and the third, only five.
At the start of that last contraction, I immediately called out for Taylor. When he didn’t arrive within the next ten breaths, I yelled again, louder. He appeared and rushed to my side. “What’s going on? Is this contraction really bad?”
I nodded, then shook my head. Yes, the contraction was bad; no, that’s not why I yelled for you. When the pain subsided, I gasped a few breaths, then explained, “They dropped to five minutes apart. We have to go now.”
Taylor looked uncertain. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Do you want another home birth?”
“Not really.”
“Then let’s go.” I rolled onto my side. “Will you help me up?”
Taylor took hold of my arm, and I shrieked involuntarily. “Oh my gosh, you’re like ice!”
He shivered in reply.
“Didn’t you grab a blanket when you went to the couch?”
“No, I left it in here with you. Duh.”
“What about the half dozen blankets in our hall closet?”
“Oh. Yeah, I forgot about those.”
I rolled my eyes. “Great. You’ll have pneumonia just in time for our daughter’s birth.”
Taylor: <grunts in defeat>
We each got dressed — Taylor, in sweats, and me, in a swing dress — and I called Willa. She sounded awfully bright and chipper for 2:35am.
“Ok! I’ll go get everything set up in the center. See you soon!”
I blew a kiss at Bo’s closed door. The next time we saw him, it would be with his new baby sister in our arms.
A few minutes later, we were in the car.
“Drive safely!” I commanded unnecessarily.
Unlike the analogous car ride associated with Borealis’s arrival, this one was well-planned — we knew where we were going, and who would greet us when we arrived. Plus, the weather was good, and Taylor had even remembered the labor bag. (I reminded him — many times.) And, most importantly, our baby was still inside my body — not wrapped in a towel and tethered to a Ziplocked placenta.
My contractions slowed as soon as we got in the car — a phenomenon which I’ve heard is fairly common. In our case, it was definitely a good thing. Had they continued to intensify, we might have had a car baby to match our home birth baby.
On the way out of Golden, I texted three people:
Holly (to Mommy): We are going to the birth center now.
Holly (to Pollyanna): We are on our way to the birth center. My mother should be there before you leave in the morning. I gave her your number so that she could keep in touch.
Holly (to Nova): Hopefully this doesn’t wake you up… we are on our way to the birth center now.
For a few minutes, I tried knitting a blanket for my maid-of-honor’s baby, who actually just this past week turned a year old. (My MOH appears as “Samara” in The Birth of Borealis.) However, it was too challenging to keep track of the blanket’s pattern, in the dark, while also pausing intermittently for contractions. I quickly gave up. [Note: I did eventually finish that blanket — although, unfortunately, it came out rather lopsided.]
The very-early-morning drive through Denver was, surprisingly, one of the best memories from that night. We had traveled to the birth center numerous times, but none of those trips was as tranquil and beautiful as was that trafficless journey. (And remember — I was still in labor. So that should tell you how stressful I find “normal” Denver driving.)
I passed the time by chattering away at a nearly-silent Taylor, and by playing Wizards Unite — a phone game with which, I am embarrassed to admit, I used to waste *a lot* of time.
We parked outside the birth center around 3:10am. Our journey inside was glacial. My waddle was further slowed by Taylor’s thoroughness (“I don’t want to forget the labor bag again!”) and by an ill-timed contraction. At least there was no one else in the parking lot. I couldn’t wait to get inside and get warm.
However, when we reached the glass double doors, they didn’t open. And, of course, I immediately got another contraction.
“Call Willa!” I bellowed through clenched teeth. I thrust my phone at Taylor, who fumbled to do just that. Meanwhile, I sank to the ground and rested my head on the cold, rough sidewalk.
“Are you here?” came Willa’s tinny voice from my phone’s speaker.
“Yes!” I screamed. “Let me in!”
“Ok, I’ll be right there. I forgot that the doors lock automatically outside of business hours.”
Thankfully, my contraction had passed by the time Willa ran down the stairs and opened the doors for us.
“You made me have a contraction on the ground!” I accused.
“No, your body made you have a contraction, and it just happened to be on the ground. Even had I been waiting inside for you, your contraction still would have been on the ground — just, inside.”
“The inside ground is nicer,” I grumbled.
“Well, if you’d like your next contraction to be not on the ground, then we’d better get up to the birth center.”
Fine. I thought. I’ll show you how tough I am by taking the stairs.
But, then Willa took the stairs without even suggesting the elevator. I followed sheepishly behind, reaching the second floor just in time for another contraction. (For the record, the inside ground was nicer than the outside ground.)
We followed Willa into the birth center, and into my chosen room — a windowless den with fire-inspired decor. I immediately walked over and collapsed onto the bed.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” Willa murmured, leaving Taylor and me with a bit of privacy.
My husband rubbed my back as we waited for the next contraction. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“No,” I moaned. “I can’t do it. I’m so tired.”
Taylor disagreed. “No. You totally can. You have before, and you will again. Let’s do this thing.”
Spoiler Alert: Taylor was right.
This story is continued in The Birth of Australis: Part II, which takes about ten thousand words to get through three hours of labor and delivery.
Oh, I could see it all. So glad you made it to the birth center and I could totally imagine your Mom’s voice. Looking forward to hearing what happened next.
Yes, definitely an improvement on our first birth! 😉