A Birth Story, Part 2 of 2.

My teaser from yesterday.

Okay, so yesterday's post was written within a month of Blake's birth.  Today's is written about 20 months later, so there's a decent chance that a) the descriptions below will properly convey only the gist, and b) some of the critical details will either be missing or incorrect.  For those, Jen, I'm sorry.

Here goes.  Yesterday we left off around 4:30 am, when Jen's sound sleep was interrupted.  She wasn't even contracting.  As she readjusted amid her pile of pillows, pop, gush, "Joe, I think my water just broke." Not to worry!  I've trained for this!  I went and laid a towel down and encouraged Jen to rest some more if she could.  Well, she couldn't.  At any rate, I remember asking her if she had any active contractions, and she said, "No, but from what I've read, they'll start within about 30 minutes."  So up I got and started to enact THE PLAN.

My morning jobs:

1. Remake the bed with plastic under the sheets for later in the day (had set aside an old shower curtain).
2. Inflate the birthing tub (thanks Florence for the loaner!  we bought her a new liner as a courtesy).
3. Run the [brand new!] garden hose from the washing machine's hot water tap in the basement upstairs, then fill tub.  That water was piping hot when it went into the tub.  
4. Set out our supplies, including a stock pot available to pour off colder water throughout the day to make room for more hot water.
5. Take Ian to Ginger's house, by pre-arrangement.

I don't remember really what happened when so the timeline here is reconstructed from photo time-stamps.  Contractions started happening not too long after waking up.  We called Deborah around 6am (rather than 4:30) out of courtesy to her to let her know the day had arrived.  For some reason, we felt bad for calling her so early, even though we were paying her for her services.  The frequency and magnitude of the contractions were tough, but not enough for Jen to call in the recruits.

I must have taken Ian to Ginger's around 8am, because it was wake up>eat breakfast>pack a bag and go type of morning.  Perhaps Jen didn't want to traumatize him with groans.  Maybe she just wanted me all to herself without having to occupy Ian.  At any rate, Ian was taken care of for the day, and had a great day of it.  There's a mysterious gap between 7:45 and 11:30 in our photographs, so that must have been the period of time when I was giving labor support, inflating the tub, and filling it.

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caption: Note: In pretty much all of the pictures from the day, I am smiling.  And Jen is groaning. 

People celebrate Birthdays in different ways, I guess.

Our assistant doula had arrived around 10am, and I thought she had some great ideas to keep Jen moving.  For example, "I see that you have a great forest out back, and it's a beautiful day... maybe you'd like to go walking back there and work through a few contractions."  Poor Lizzie.  If she only knew.  Even IF Jen were wearing more than a tank top and a sarong, she still isn't one to absorb the beauty of the ferns and sunny woodland around in our beautiful backyard!  Furthermore, I think some degree of self-consciousness prevailed, and Jen wouldn't want to risk neighbors three streets over hearing her moaning.  Thus, much of early labor was either upstairs in our bedroom or downstairs on the overstuffed chair or standing/leaning on my shoulders.

Around noon, Jen made her way into the tub for the first time.  She says it didn't much help ease the contractions, but helped give a restful place for between the contractions.   Now, if I can pause here and consider the purpose of contractions.  I know I am grossly underqualified to speak on the matter, but I have it from Jen's very mouth that she wishes she would have "fought it less" and moved around more, because holding back on the contractions isn't helping anybody.  And yet, my job was strictly to say, "You're doing great, deep breath, you can do this, you ARE doing this, look how far you've come, I'm so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, just a few more seconds then you'll get a break, you are fantastic, You are Perfect."  I stuck to my script.

Deborah the Midwife came about 1:30pm, and we were happy to have her.  She helped bolster confidence, since she had the rest of the birthing kit and emergency supplies.  We were ready to get down to business.  Deborah encouraged several variations of posture upstairs (edge of bed, perched on bed, leaning on banister, hanging on husband).  It was sometime here in early afternoon that Jen went from chatty between contractions to more placid.  During this interval, I took a short break to eat something, then I stepped outside to stretch my legs.  Interestingly, in mid-March, we were having one of those unusual 71 degree days and sunny.  Several of the neighbors were celebrating the end of winter and playing with their kids out in the street.  The snow was melted off the grass and the haze of being house-bound for the previous 4 months was wearing off.   I sat on the front porch for a few minutes and chatted about how great the day was, and nonchalantly offered up that my wife was in the living room having a baby as we spoke.  Yeah, I like that kind of shock value.  After enjoying 15 minutes or so of rejuvenating sun, I went back inside to offer my support.

 About 4pm we came back downstairs for some other variety.  She was getting tired from all the work.  She was no longer distinguishing who her support worker was, and honestly, she was kind of a zombie.  During the breaks, her eyes would be closed.  We didn't have any music/radio/tv going and barely any conversation  going on in the house.  It was mostly a whisper, and then pretty much just words of encouragement.   We closed the front curtains, mulled the lamp light, and Jen started more intently resting.  Around 5pm, Jen had begged for more time in the tub.  After all, the tub was supposed to be magical and spring forth with babies.  At least, that's what it looked like in those dozens of YouTube videos we had been watching.

Back out of the tub at 6 then around 8pm I disappeared again to get Ian from Ginger's and got him tucked in bed next door at the neighbors.  That would be the last time I would put just one boy to bed!
When all was settled, we took a trip upstairs at 8:30pm.  It was a bribe.  Somehow we told Jen that if she went upstairs to use the bathroom that she could get back in the tub.  She just wanted some rest!  The unspoken collusion was that if Jen took the stairs, that would accelerate things and bada-bing, bada-boom, we'd have Blake.

Alright.  Around 9, I was invited into the tub.  I kind of understand why.  Not really though.  In many cases the husband gives irreplaceable moral support, shoulder rubs, gentle, reaffirming touch.   Mostly because it was Jen's day, and my job when she said "Jump" was to say "how high?"  I donned my swim trunks and was in.  She still seemed to not acknowledge who I was, and basically said, "don't touch me."  Okay.  Be in the tub, but keep my distance.  So there I chilled.  I was obedient.  Lizzie and Florence kept offering me snacks and water.  It was almost as good as that trip to the Bahamas a few years back.

At 11, Jen's angry voice came.  Well, perhaps not angry, but intense.  Something was happening.  She meant business.  Our midwife, assistant midwife, doula, and friend/photographer and I all started looking at each other with smiles as if to indicate, "It's Go Time!"  30 minutes later, we have a Blake in our arms.

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imagine: Happy Mama and Proud Dad in tub holding

 brand new baby

After about 20 minutes oohing/ahhing, we transition out of the tub.  

My job: hold the Blake during the afterbirth delivery!  So cute!  Paper fingernails and everything.

Afterwards, we went upstairs, Jen had her exam and was put back together and Blake had his first physical from about 2:20am- 2:40am.  3am and everyone left.  We were zonk tired, but had that Christmas Day feeling where you have a new toy but don't want to put it down for the night, but would rather play and play and play.  Jen was on a hormone rush that brought her into full alertness and a return of energy.  BUT:  I remembered that sleep is critical.  The baby would still be there in the morning for us to cuddle and coo at.  And both Blake AND Ian would be clamoring for some attention.  And we were approaching 24 hours awake.  So we went to bed, and Blake slept all night.  (Well, from 3am to 7am, Ha!)

He would continue sleeping every night from 3am-7am for the first 10 months of his life.