In the first week of august:
My belly hinders my view just slightly as I stand over the cradle that is prepared with blankets, booties, and a bambi stuffy. I am 36 weeks pregnant and positively massive. My hospital bag is packed. I’ve remembered things I forgot last time and left behind superfluous items I didn’t use. This is round two of birth for me. Round one was almost perfectly textbook and drug-free. I didn’t even use laughing gas. Round two would be the same, perhaps shorter, but natural and easy just like last time. My due date was set for august 16th, but my first had come early, so I was ready this time. The second week of august: My family has arrived. I am a little sad that there isn’t already a baby here for them to cuddle, but no matter, there will be a baby soon enough. As they are staying for two weeks, they should get to meet this baby. They watch my firstborn while I go to doctors’ appointments. We walk around town and anticipate labour starting at any moment. On My due date: I have a doctor’s appointment. The nurses comment hopefully that something will happen soon! My doctor tells me that it will probably be a few days yet, so stay hydrated and active and have lots of sex to help get things going. I just smile and nod. Later we go to a lake where my parents have rented a boat for us to take out on the water. I enjoy myself watching everyone wakeboard and hope the agitation of the choppy water kickstarts labour. There is a hollowness at my breast and I can’t help feeling that I should be nursing a baby today. But it’s ok! I can just tell the baby will come in the next couple of days. In The third week: My friend who was due the day after me gives birth to a beautiful baby girl. As I hold her little one close, I can’t help but hope it will five me a shot of oxytocin, the hormone I need to get me into labour. My sense of hope begins to swell and even though I am envious that our friends have met their baby, I know we will meet ours in the next day or two. On the Thursday I have multiple appointments. At the first appointment, wires are taped to my belly as they monitor how the baby is doing. While the kind women performs the test, she shares that I have an induction booked 4 days from now. At her words my heart palpitates slightly. I hadn’t heard anything about this till now, and I do not want to be induced. It means I’ve failed somehow. Continuing with the test she shares that there is nothing wrong with going past your due date and that many women are induced, I settle somewhat, but I know her advice won’t be necessary. I will have this baby before the 4 days are up. My second appointment starts with my doctor asking if there have been any tears yet. I shake my head as he explains that sometimes women who are past their due date can get a bit emotional. I respond that so far, I seem to be fine. Our appointment continues, and my doctor explains that my body still has a way to go in preparing for birth. I’m not even to the car before my eyes are welling up with tears. I woke that morning, with hope for good news swollen in my chest, only to find it dashed against the jagged facts of my appointments. My already compressed organs seemed to press upon my throat as the tears flow free and wild during my drive home. When I arrive at home, I put a collar on my sadness, doing my best to stop it from manifesting itself in front of my family. Entering the house my footfalls are heavy, it’s hard for them not to be after over 40 lbs of pregnancy weight gain, and I give a succinct summary of the appointments to my family. Even such a simple task causes the collar on my tears to break and I can no longer restrain my cheerlessness. I waddle to our bedroom and collapse onto the bed. My family is in the living room, playing with my toddler. The door to our room is open. I don’t care anymore. In gulping, ugly cry breaths, I try to share my concerns with my husband who joins me in our room. What might have I done wrong? Did I need to be more active? What if my family leaves before the baby comes? What was I doing that was keeping this baby inside? Could it be the coffee? Does being induced mean I’m broken? I am so sick of feeling like I have not one, but two watermelons strapped to my front. I need this baby to come out. I am not good enough for this baby to come on time. And my body won’t perform well enough to go into labour naturally. Trying to calm myself with every breath only brings a resurgence of my frustration. Each inhalation pulls me deeper into the depths of my pity, as each exhale brings a new complaint forth from the void. Breathing as deeply as possible, hoping to purge the frustration at the bottom of my breath, I found this question: why wasn’t God letting me have this baby? Interlude: What the lady performing the stress test said was true, many women do get induced, some even prefer it that way. Induction or c-section does not make you less of a mother. I truly believe this, but pity easily clouds the mind, and at this point I had been drowning in self-pity. During The final days of pregnancy: My parents begin to prepare for their trip home. I am still pregnant and ginormous, or at least I feel that way. I know this baby will come out somehow, but I’ve begun to worry about exactly how that is. When pity and hopelessness threaten to tumble out of control, I remind myself that this baby will come, and God has the whole world in his hands, so that must include me. However, my success rate for this, is lower than I’d like to admit. On the day I am scheduled for induction: My water breaks at 4 am. I am intensely cheerful, even through the light contractions. At the hospital I even dance through them. We all have a feeling it will be a quick and easy birth. It is not. At 12 hours of labour I am given oxytocin. After 18 hours laughing gas. At 20 hours an epidural. Finally, after 22 hours our baby boy arrived at 9 lbs and 14 oz. Almost 10 lbs. That explains a lot. His pink and purple tinged body is lain on my chest and he wriggles himself to get settled. I look at his face and feel… tired. I feel relieved. He is here. He is healthy. We survived being past the due date. I survived not being in control. I bring him to my chest to nurse, and it is almost as if this babe is suckling out my anger at God and turning it to thankfulness. Like stepping into sunlight after being in the shade, realization of our blessing washes over me. I was at war with my body until Asher was delivered, but now that he is here, I forgive myself, close my eyes and let my body rest in the grace that it was out of my control.
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Jordan is...A mother, artist, designer and loyal friend. May this blog bring you hope and a normalization of both emotion and logic. Archives
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