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I'm alive. Sore. In constant need of a plastic doughnut under toosh, but alive and getting better every day. I thought I would give a brief description of Jude's birth. You've been forwarned.
On Friday morning (June 26th) at about 2:00 AM, my water broke. I heard the pop. Like a balloon popping in another room. And then there was water everywhere. Contractions (that start as brutal menstral cramps and turn into leviathan waves of pressure and pain) began in earnest shortly thereafter. I woke Mike up and he promptly turned on rainbow relaxation (a self-hypnosis hypnobirthing cd) for me and began making us some eggs and raspberries so that we would have energy for the night ahead. I like to think about the sound of him cooking up a storm in the other room while I was imagining myself floating on a purple mist of relaxation. I called my mom and then my midwife, who said to wait until they were 2-3 minutes apart for 2-3 hours before heading to the hospital. For four hours I closed my eyes in bed and in the bathtub and tried to breathe through the contractions while Mike variously held my hand, did laundry, and prepared a hospital bag (we were expecting to have another week to get ready). At about 6:00 AM we decided to go into the hospital.
When we went out to the car, the small crack in our windshield had spread across the whole pane. In retrospect, we've wondered if the barometric pressure change that caused the crack to widen also caused my water to break.
Mike raced to the hospital, going over 90 mph, not because I was that close, but because this would be one of the few times in his life where he could justify speeding. We made it in one piece and checked into the hospital. They checked me when we got there and said that my water had not broken, that I was only dialated to 3 cm and that they might send us home. My heart sunk. I was so sure I would be at 7 cm at least. They decided to watch us and over two hours I dialated to 5 cm and they decided to keep me. They told me it would take about 1 hour per cm. This fact horrified me as the contrations were incredibly painful by this point and I couldn't imagine being at it for another 5 hours.
About one hour later my midwife showed up and after watching me, declared I was at least at a 9. The nurses had just checked me at a 6, but she was convinced. Perhaps it was her positive energy, but she checked me and, amazingly, blessedly, I was at a 9. The contractions were very painful at this point and I may or may not have been screaming. She helped me into some alternate birthing positions and she and Mike put some counter-pressure on my hips and back, which changed my world and made the pain such that I could breathe through it. Soon thereafter I started pushing. I pushed and pushed and he didn't seem to be making any progress. Every push I expected to see some results, but I was just told to push more. I was shaking and screaming. Apparently Jude had been posterior and was turning himself as he went through the birth canal. This explained the back labor. A few minutes into pushing, the midwife noticed that my water was bulging out and then it broke. Again. Apparently my water broke in stages. After an hour of pushing (Mike wiping the sweat from my forehead and telling me how proud he was of me, holding my hand), Jude finally came through. Surreal. At the last moments, I could see his little head full of dark brown hair coming through, and then he was there, naked and screaming on my belly. So small.
Although labor was harder and longer than I had anticipated, and recovery has been harder and longer than I had anticipated, holding our child, holding his downy hand, looking into his roving blue eyes, is beyond joy.
This morning he lay across my belly, nursing, his long, smooth arm draped across my body and it was a sweetness beyond compare.
