So, birth. It’s an
amazing, wonderful, miraculous thing.
When I was pregnant with Silas, I had no idea what to expect. I didn't plan or think about it much, to be
honest, and though things didn't go as I had thought they probably should, he
was born healthy and safe. With Oliver,
however, I educated myself and prepped and planned to the last minute tiny
detail. I WAS GOING TO HAVE A VBAC, and
Lord help anyone who got in my way. And
praise God, Oliver also was born safe and healthy, and I literally got
everything I prayed for (you can read Oliver’s birth story here; please know
Jamie says the long and horrendous labor is my fault because I prayed for an “experience.” It’s true.)
As I approached the end of pregnancy with our third son, to be honest, I really wasn't thinking about birth. I was still visiting my chiropractor, I had contacted my doula, and I had written my birth plan (aka changed the date on Oliver’s plan) but I really just wasn't thinking about it. I had a lot going on; lots of MOPS meetings, homeschooling my kindergartner, starting up a homeschool co-op with a friend, and potty-training a 2 ½ year old. Basically anything I could do to stay busy and keep my mind off of pushing a human through my lady bits. So when I woke up on Saturday, October 25th, about two and a half weeks before my alleged due date (by the doctor’s dates, my due date was November 11th; by my dates, anywhere from November 3rd- 5th), the last thing on my mind was labor.
As I approached the end of pregnancy with our third son, to be honest, I really wasn't thinking about birth. I was still visiting my chiropractor, I had contacted my doula, and I had written my birth plan (aka changed the date on Oliver’s plan) but I really just wasn't thinking about it. I had a lot going on; lots of MOPS meetings, homeschooling my kindergartner, starting up a homeschool co-op with a friend, and potty-training a 2 ½ year old. Basically anything I could do to stay busy and keep my mind off of pushing a human through my lady bits. So when I woke up on Saturday, October 25th, about two and a half weeks before my alleged due date (by the doctor’s dates, my due date was November 11th; by my dates, anywhere from November 3rd- 5th), the last thing on my mind was labor.
I remember telling Jamie around 7:30, as he left to go work
for his dad, that I was feeling a little crampy. I was still planning on running (I had the
day before!), as well as doing several loads of laundry and lesson plans for
the next few school units. At about 9:00
I texted Bethany, my doula, to let her know that the remainder of her fee was
in the mail. As an afterthought I added
that I was feeling crampy, but it was really not painful at all so I was sure
it was nothing. She asked me a couple of
questions, and as I wrote her back I realized that hey, these cramps are coming
in regular intervals. Hmmm. But seriously, the pain was so minimal I
dismissed it. At her urging I called
Jamie and told him I might need him
to come home today. It was now about
10am, and the cramps/contractions were probably 5-6 minutes apart. I did throw some laundry in, and made sure my
boys had pants on (more often than not, they don’t), and after a couple more
contractions I called my parents. I told
my dad I wasn't absolutely sure that today was the day, but just in case—could they
please come get Silas and Oliver? My mom was there in 20 minutes. Apparently SHE was ready. Me, not so much.
Jamie got home around 11, and I was still communicating with
Bethany. By this time everyone was sure
I was in labor except me. It just really
seriously didn't hurt. I mean, there was
pressure and it was kind of intense… but NOTHING like last time,
when I wanted to lay down and die for roughly 18 hours. And in-between the contractions I felt
FINE. Like, great. I chatted with my friend Trisha on the phone
for a while; I had to breathe a bit through some contractions but it was
nothing. A little while later I made
Jamie take a walk with me (just a couple of miles). As the contractions hit when I was walking, I
started to slow down and breathe. I
remembered Bethany telling me things were getting serious if a contraction hit
and I couldn't move, even if I were about to get hit by a truck. I kept this in mind and *never actually
stopped moving* through each contraction—I would walk super, super slowly
instead :) In my mind, this meant things weren't that
serious because hey, I was moving! By this time and when we got home it was
about 1. I realized the 2-mile walk had taken
well over an hour- guess I was moving a lot more slowly than I thought! Still,
I wasn't convinced I was in labor.
I made
myself some lunch and argued with Jamie about mowing the lawn. I wanted him to get it done. We had plenty of time! Seriously, I said, I’m
not even sure this is real. Right about
then I had my first contraction where I had to vocalize a bit. Jamie rolled his eyes and said he was NOT
mowing the lawn, we were going to the hospital! No, seriously, the lawn looks
terrible. You should go do it, it’ll
only take an hour or so… Jamie stomped upstairs to get the hospital bag. I moaned through another contraction. I then decided I would humor Jamie and go to
the hospital… they’ll just send us home, and then he’ll feel so stupid, I
thought. It was now 2:00.
I texted Bethany and told her we’d head for the hospital
around 3. Or later, if I could drag my
feet some more… and of course, at 2:30 Jamie was ushering me into the car. Each town we drove through was an opportunity
for me to try to convince him to stop.
In Mt. Vernon I tried to get him to stop at Casey’s for some water and
gum (apparently we already had that). In
Solon I tried to get him to stop at Dairy Queen (just a snack—for him, not me,
because at that point I was feeling like vomiting every now and then. SO obviously NOT in labor.) In the outskirts of Iowa City I desperately
tried to get him to go to Jimmy John’s: “But Jamie, you LOVE Jimmy John’s
UUUHHHHH! Go get a Turkey Tom, I’ll wait here UUUHHHHH and be fine UHHHHHH!”
Those UUUHHHs were the sound of me moaning every 30 seconds
or so. Nope, everything’s fine here.
When we got to the hospital I, of course, refused the
wheelchair (stupid volunteer, I’m not in labor BUT DON’T TOUCH ME EVERYTHING
HURTS I CAN WALK I’M FINE) and waddled up to labor and delivery. When we got there the nurse ushered me into
that room where they check and make sure you’re in labor before they admit you—as
we stepped over the threshold I had a contraction and moaned, and Amanda my
sweet nurse said, “I think we can skip this… let’s get you in a gown…” Now THIS I was fine with, because the fewer
people who see my cervix the better, in my book (once again, refer to my last
birth experience where roughly 37 people viewed it. TEACHABLE MOMENT PEOPLE.) I got changed and
hooked up to antibiotics because I was group b strep positive. As I was stuck in the bed, I consented to ONE
check. Seriously, I was convinced the
nurse was going to say I was a 2. Maybe a 3.
When she said 6-7 I was stunned.
Whaaaaat? Are you telling me I’m
having a baby today? Although, if things went like last time (as I was sure
they would), “today” probably really meant “tomorrow,” because it was now 4:15
and my last labor was about a gazillion hours long. So, plenty of time. Jamie, go home and mow, you can make it back
in time no problem. He did not obey.
My doula arrived at the hospital right about then. We chatted—she is in her third trimester of
pregnancy as we speak, so we had lots to talk about. As I labored (unhooked from the antibiotics,
and also monitored intermittently which was FANTASTIC) I spent most of my time
on the birth ball. I got in the tub for
a while, but the water was a little cold and who wants to take a lukewarm bath
The staff at the hospital was great—everyone took the time to read my birth
plan. No one offered drugs, they were
all fine with all my crunchiness and even offered to save the placenta (there
it is! Placenta! Which we declined, BTW). Time passed quickly; though I was
having some pretty intense contractions pretty close together, and though they
were telling me I was definitely in labor, I still somehow was having a hard
time believing that I was giving birth very soon. As each contraction hit, I prayed and moaned
and leaned on Jamie. I just kept
flashing back to Oliver’s labor; his was SO painful and SO long, I had just
assumed it would be the same this time around.
When Dr. Smollen checked me at about 6:30 and declared me fully dilated
and 100% effaced, I thought she was joking.
I really just figured out I was in labor a couple of hours ago! Where
were the other 14 hours of pain and suffering? At about that moment my water
broke (probably another reason I was in denial; in both of my other labors, my
water broke at the very start) and I laid on my right side to get baby boy in
the best position for pushing (still in my head thinking “but I won’t be
pushing for at least 10 more hours!”)
Laying on my side I had one SUPER AWFUL HORRIBLE CONTRACTION—the
ONLY contraction I actually yelled through (with Oliver, I yelled for a solid
12 hours). I turned over and yelled
something like “I NEED TO PUSH!” and Dr. Smollen came running back in. It was now about 6:38. With the next wave of contraction I pushed…. And
pushed…. And pushed… and then, at 6:42pm, my wonderfully sticky and gooey boy
made his way into the world. A head FULL
of gorgeous long black hair and a face full of vernix that made it hard for him
to open his left eye (maybe they were
right about his due date), Jonas Charles Johnson was 6 pounds, 13 ounces and
19.5 inches of beautiful baby boy—my largest baby to date.
I couldn't believe the contrast in labors—while in total I
was probably “in labor” for 9 hours or so, I only actually felt like I was in
labor for 3 (I only actually acknowledged
I was in labor for maybe 20 minutes).
With Oliver, I pushed for FOUR HOURS.
Literally. With Jonas, I pushed
for FOUR MINUTES. It was glorious. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it sucked. It hurt.
But it was SO much less painful than Oliver’s birth I was astounded (if
you didn’t read his birth story, basically he was posterior which meant 18ish hours of back
labor and stuck on pubic bone and lot of pain and yelling and weeping and
gnashing of teeth. Unmedicated, of
course, because I forgot to ask for pain meds.
Basically.)
I got to hold and kiss my baby boy and snuggle him right
away, which I've never gotten to do before.
Jamie got to cut the cord when it was done pulsing. The placenta (there it is again! Placenta!)
came out three minutes after Jonas, which was a miracle all by itself. Literally, absolutely everything we
specifically prayed for concerning Jonas’s birth happened. It was so graceful, so comparatively easy, so
beautiful. I am so thankful for my
husband, who supports me on my natural birth journeys, no matter what issues
arise. He loves me and our boys and is
truly the best partner, in birth but especially in life, I could ever hope
for. I am also thankful for my birth
team—this time, only Bethany the Best Doula in the Land, as well as Dr. Smollen—who
I really only saw for a cervix check and pushing, but really that’s fine with
me—it made Jonas’s birth such an intimate experience, much more private and
peaceful than I have experienced before.
Life with three boys has been pretty crazy the last three
weeks. I’m sure I’ll share at a later
time about the trials and struggles we've already been dealing with (can anyone
say “2 year old regression”??), but for now, I am just so thankful to Got for
every blessing we've been given—especially, right now, these three boys with
three very different entries into the world.
Jonas, we are so grateful for you—get ready for a wild and crazy
experience in this wild and crazy world!
