Welcome to the world, Mary Elizabeth. The world met Crazy Miss Maisey on Thursday, July 28 at 3:05 p.m., 13 days before her due date.
After spending the weekend prior to July 28 working on her room and power shopping, collecting last minute baby supplies and labor and delivery gear, I felt as ready as I could for Baby Spurgeon's arrival, but truly didn’t think she’d come so soon. My go to phrase was “it could be tomorrow, it could be a month.” So, Will and I were going about life as usual. I was especially excited for the weekend. We both took Friday, July 29 off, had an 8 a.m. tee time, and were going to follow it with some serious baby shopping in Ann Arbor – stroller, travel crib, high chair and nursing gear. It was going to be a nice “outing day” for the two of us.
Wednesday was like any other. I went to work and we had a party at lunch, so I ate like crazy. Mostacolli, bread, salad, two helpings of dessert . . . I worked on a new project and continued wrapping up stuff for the fall. I left around 4:30 so I could make it home for dinner with pal Kerri.
Of course, I repeated my “could be tomorrow, could be a month” phrase to Kerri when asked how I felt. She asked about my bag being packed. I said no, since I was planning to do it over the weekend. And whether we had the car seat in, which Will did, but I took out because I felt like a dork driving around with a car seat with two weeks until my due date.
Kerri, Will and I had dinner at the Milford House - I ate heartily again – and we parted around 9:30 p.m. with plans to get together when “Baby Spurgeon” arrived.
At 11:42 p.m., I woke up with the crazy sensation that I was peeing. (I remember looking at the clock and thinking, phew – I still have time to sleep – since I had my gym bag packed and was bound and determined to make it to Maria’s 5:45 a.m. No Limits Circuit class.) I wasn’t shocked, given my not infrequent bathroom trips, and marginal bladder control, but was annoyed. I went to the bathroom, then went back into the bedroom and rooted around in a drawer for new pajama bottoms. Back to bed I went.
At 3:30 a.m. I woke up again, thrilled that I still had more time to sleep, but bummed that I had to go to the bathroom. Then I realized my pants were still wet. Being half-asleep it took me a few minutes to make the connection. But when I did, I crept back into the bedroom, fumbled around for yet another pair of pants and gently shook Will awake.
“Will…Will,” I whispered, “my water just broke.”
“What?” he groggily responded.
“My water. It broke.”
“Are you sure?” (Still groggy.)
“Ummm, yes. I think we’re gonna have a baby today.”
He slowly started coming around…
I described my initial 11:42 trip to the bathroom and most recent excursion. And told Will he better go put the carseat in the car.
So, at 4:11 a.m., Will installed the car seat, then took the dogs for a walk. I stayed inside with the hospital checklist and proceeded to pack the bag I’d been meaning to pack for weeks. Comfy clothes for the hospital. Toiletries. My homeopathic oils and aromatherapy stuff. Cups for water. At that time I was just experiencing some mild cramping. Nothing I could call a contraction or keep track of. So it was a good “early labor” activity. Kept me focused and busy.
Around 4:45, Will got back and fed the dogs, then told me that we needed to rest. All of our prep and books said that in early labor, both parents should rest as much as possible, to save energy for the difficult part of labor. (See below) Of course, I had to put a load of laundry in first, modify my labor playlist on my MP3 player – a yoga friendly soundtrack that included lots of elemental sounds - and send a vegetable lasagna recipe to my dad. But then I got in bed and whipped out The Paris Wife for some reading. This worked for about an hour but then I felt the need to nest.
So, around 6 a.m. we got up and I had some peanut butter toast and coffee and watched an episode of Teen Mom, as Will said, to “prep” us for parenthood. I was still just experiencing mild cramping.
After that, I folded the laundry and finished packing. Will started putting food bags together. The ABC encourages mothers (and fathers) to eat during labor so he put together some snacks – nuts, animal crackers, pretzels…
The directions from my midwife, if labor started, were to give the Midwife Answering Service a call and chat with the person on duty. Since I was clearly only in early labor, I waited until 7:45 to call. When I did, a nice woman answered, asked my name, what was happening and how far along I was, and told me that the midwife on duty, Rondi Anderson, would return my call within 10 minutes.
True to the answering service’s word, Rondi rang at 8:01 a.m. I told her that I was 38 weeks, that my water broke around 11:30 and that I was experiencing mild cramping. Rather than tell me to rest and relax, she matter-of-factly explained that given my pre-40 week status and the my water breaking 8 hours prior, we really needed to be in active labor by noon.
To do that, she explained, I was going to have to help it along. She and I discussed whether I should go into the ABC – she said that I might want to, because in her experience most people don’t follow her directions as vigorously as she needs them to, thereby increasing the probability that I’d need pitocin. If I was at the ABC, they could make sure I was doing everything correctly.
She was blunt and I felt challenged.
“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it here.” I responded. I wanted to stay home as long as possible, and really really wanted to avoid pitocin. I think she heard the conviction in my voice and trusted me.
“Okay, I want you to drink a shot of castor oil. You’ll have to have your husband go get some from the store, which he should be able to do now. Pour it in a shot glass and toss it back. Chase it with your favorite sweet beverage. Then, I want you to walk like you’re late for the bus. Briskly. And when a contraction comes, squat down with your bottom between your knees. It would also be good if you could do some nipple stimulation while walking. I want you to do this for 2 hours and then call me. Oh, and if you have any homeopathics, take them. Raspberry tea, blue cohash, primrose, whatever. And drink lots of water. That oil is going to make you go to the bathroom so you need to stay hydrated.”
“I thought I was supposed to rest during early labor.” I responded.
“No dear. I need you to MOVE.”
Oh Jeez.
I repeated her directions aloud and Will wrote them down. We hung up.
Off he went to purchase the castor oil and drop the dogs at Club Pet, while I did some last minute prep, changed my clothes, called Brenna and Betsy and told them I wouldn’t be to work today, penned an email regarding some projects I was still working on and called doula Deb.
I felt a little anxious about what lay ahead but was ready for the challenge.
Will got back around 9 and I unhappily shot back, from a UM shot glass, a serving of nasty-ass castor oil, chasing it with a fat Coke. Then, I put on my running shoes and headed out with Will for a brisk walk around the neighborhood. It was muggy and sort of drizzling so I had my rain coat tied around my waist and my “labor clothes” on. I omitted the nip stim and squatting – felt that was a tad much for the streets of Milford, but walked as fast as I could. I wasn’t really feeling any contractions, but I think I might have just walked right through them. My cramps were stronger but just steady, again, nothing trackable.
So when we got home, I got set up to follow Rondi’s instructions explicitly. I got a glass of water, brought out the exercise ball and started doing fast laps around the first floor: living room, dining room, bathroom, office, living room, dining room, bathroom, office… The castor oil was starting to work and yes, I was “stimulating” my nipples. Much to my surprise, after 5 minutes, I had my first real contraction, at 9:47 a.m.
My next contraction came on 10 minutes after that and then, two minutes after that, and two minutes after that… each one lasting about 45-55 seconds.
I took a break to check my email – bored of doing laps – and had zero contractions. So clearly, what I was doing was working. It was pretty amazing.
In the meantime, I was drinking raspberry tea and slipping the homeopathics under my tongue.
By 10:45, the contractions were strong and predictable. Will phoned both Deb and Rondi, detailing my progress. They decided that I should head to the ABC when my contractions were 1:30-2 minutes in duration, or before if I felt ready.
Like I said, I was determined to labor at home as long as possible. So, I continued my laps, but the intensity of the contractions no longer allowed me to talk or squat. I cycled through a couple visualizations, did a lot of rocking and swaying, and some crying, and around noon, after a particularly scary contraction (during which I felt the need to push) I told Will, “We need to go. Now.”
During my lapping, he’d packed the car so all we had to do was grab my purse and head out the door. As we were leaving, I calmly instructed Will to “grab the marshmallows.”
He looked at me. “The marshmallows?”
“Yes. I think they’ll be good.”
And out we went to the car, at 12:15 p.m., armed with a bag of marshmallows.
After testing out the front and back seats – and being totally uncomfortable in both – I opted for the front, reclining my seat and cranking the elemental soundtrack on the stereo. Will called my mom and dad – who were totally shocked.
“Are you ready to meet your granddaughter?” said Will.
“Noooo…?” answered Bob.
“You think your daughter’s daughter would be patient?” laughed Will.
Then he called his mom and dad, and my brother. By now we were on 696. As he started to dial his sister I squeaked out a request that he PLEASE not make any more calls. My contractions were almost constant and I really needed to focus.
The volume on the music went up. Around Telegraph Road, he asked me where exactly we were supposed to park.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I rasped. “Just call them. Now.”
After receiving directions on parking (main entrance, go to the third floor), we got on M10 and I sternly told Will to watch his speed. Brenna’d been pulled over the day before.
We exited at 9 mile and headed toward the hospital. Will followed the nurses instructions and pulled up to the main entrance. The valet came out and started writing us a ticket. I was in a lot of pain and told Will to just leave the damn bags, but I don’t think he wanted to leave me. So while I waited in the lobby, rocking and swaying and sweating and wondering “where the fuck” he was, he was commandeering a double wide wheelchair and loading it with our gear. I finally went out and found him struggling with the chair and my wheely suitcase.
“What the hell are you doing? We need to go NOW.”
“Okay, okay… Come on then…” He answered.
So, I walked next to the double wide, the contents which included a Bose stereo and a cooler.
We got on the elevator with two other women who proceeded to try to have a chatty conversation with me. (And who were riding the elevator to the second floor. Who does that?!)
“First baby?”
“Yes.” I tried to smile but am sure it was a grimace.
“Good luck! I threw up during my first one.”
“Um, thanks?”
They vacated and I pushed that “door close” button like it would save the world.
We arrived at the third floor and after maneuvering the damn double wide past a bunch of equipment, made it to the end of the hall and the three bedroom unit known as the ABC.
Immediately, we ran into Rondi.
“Hi.” She said.
“Hi.” I said.
She is an amazing midwife but has a personality drier than the Sahara.
“So what’s happening?” (deadpan)
“Um, I’m in labor.” (edged voice)
(Bear in mind this had been a 15 minute arrival process and I was experiencing near constant contractions and really didn’t feel the desire to chat. I wanted to lay down on a fucking bed and have this baby.)
“Okay then. Pick a room.”
I glanced into both, choose the darkest, and said, “this one.”
I was admitted at 1:36 p.m.
Rondi came in and asked again, “So, what’s happening?”
“I’m having contractions. Constantly.”
Now Will thinks she interpreted this to mean, “I’m having constant cramping” not “constant contractions.”
I don’t know what she thought, but the look on her face was clear – she didn’t think I was in active labor.
“I did what you said and have been having pretty much constant contractions… Now please excuse me.”
I then proceeded to have two contractions back to back, walking, swaying and rocking around the room.
I could hear Rondi and the nurse, Maureen, talking. “Oooo – that’s what we like to see. Yeah. I like the movement.”
In my head, I was like, “Um – don’t have a choice, but glad you like it.”
When I was done, Rondi finally believing me, said she wanted to check my dilation.
I made my way over to the bed and got undressed, donning a hospital gown. Before I could lay down, I had another contraction.
“Okay, these are coming good now,” said Rondi.
I wanted to scream, “NO SHIT LADY!”
She measured me, and sounding pretty impressed, declared me to be six centimeters. Which apparently is very far along for having just arrived at the hospital.
“Okay, what now?” I asked.
They suggested I try the shower and despite my pronunciations during pregnancy about not wanted to be naked for the delivery, promptly shed the hospital gown and hobbled over to the shower. They brought me an exercise ball covered with a towel and I sat under the stream of water, with the spray hitting my back. During contractions, I’d stand and let it hit my belly.
Deb arrived right after I got under the stream of water and between contractions we chatted about my early labor and her other client whose water’d also broke. While I sat buck-naked, on an exercise ball, she explained that the big storm we had during the night, and the subsequent drop in pressure, might have had something to do with my water breaking. I guess it’s a common phenomenon. Just a normal ol’ conversation.
I was in the shower for about 45 minutes and then had a real strong contraction. Deb watched my reaction and asked if I need to push. I nodded my head and she went and got Rondi. They shuffled me back to the bed and Rondi did another measurement, this time declaring me fully dilated and ready to go.
So, at around 2:15 I started pushing. I tried lying on the bed, using a squatting stool, holding onto Will, and standing and leaning on the exercise ball, ultimately choosing the bed. (Which I found surprising – I always thought I would be a stander-upper.) During each contraction, I’d say “Okay” and Deb and Will would hold my feet up while I pushed. Maureen, the best nurse ever, would wipe my head and chest with a cold washcloth and Rondi was sitting cross legged on the bed, between my legs, calmly encouraging me. And, fortunately, Little Miss S listened to Will's singing and was in perfect position.
Between contractions, I rested. (My favorite part.) I was surprised by how difficult the pushing was. Not necessarily painful – at least not until the end – just strenuous. It felt good to contribute to the process, but I was spent between efforts.
Everybody was so encouraging. Though I had my eyes closed, I could hear Deb telling me I was doing great. Rondi telling me to just push “slow and easy” and Will telling me that he loved me.
Then, a burning sensation started building and I heard Deb say, “We can see her head, Maggie. See it Will? Your baby’s crowning. You’re doing great.”
After 3 or four pushes in the “crowning” stage, at 3:03 p.m., I felt I’d had enough, took a deep breath and slowly, deeply, from my core, pushed. I cannot even imagine the animalistic grunts I was making. Tears streaming down my face.
“You’re doing it Maggie!” encouraged Deb.
“I can see her!” urged Will.
“Reach down and grab your daughter,” said Rondi.
The burning ebbed as I opened my eyes and reached forward, at 3:05 p.m., grasping my wriggly, slimy, bloody daughter under her armpits and pulling her onto my chest.
Tears flowed.
“Hello baby.” I greeted her. And to everybody else, laughing through tears, “She’s so ugly.”
They lightly toweled her off while she was on my chest and suctioned out her mouth, after which she gave a feeble cry, and Will and I stared in wonder.
Because she was early, she had an extra lot of vernix, the white coating that protects a baby’s skin in the womb, which I think had a lot to do with my comment. (That, as well as the fact that her head had such a funny shape from having just been squeezed down the birth canal.)
She spent two hours on my chest, during which I received one stitch for a small tear, and Will ordered us dinner. She ate her first meal, after a lot of coaxing from Maureen and me, and while I showered, Will held his brand new baby girl.
Besides having an extremely sore tailbone – as in I could barely walk for an hour sore – I felt pretty good. By 7, when Colleen brought us a Blizzard and Panera, I was feeling great and met her in the hall.
Apparently, the duration of my labor and my demeanor during it was quite the topic of conversation. There was a couple that arrived to the ABC before us, and their baby wasn’t born until 10 p.m. When one of the night nurses came to check my vitals she commented, “So you’re the one who just sauntered in and had a baby.” Saunter, no. But had a baby, yes.
So, to summarize the details… my water broke at 11:45 p.m. but I didn’t realize it until 3:30 a.m., which is when I woke Will up. I had minor cramping for about 4 hours but was then given the directive to employ a slew of holistic methods to get labor going. Active labor kicked in around 10 a.m. and we left for the hospital at 12:15 p.m. I was admitted at 1:36 p.m. and started pushing around 2:15 p.m. Maisey was born at 3:05 p.m.
It was an unbelievable experience. Painful, powerful and amazing. Not something that I want to do again anytime soon, but I feel so strong. I believe that the preparation we did before labor and delivery, from hiring Deb, to my chiropractic visits, to drinking copious amounts of raspberry tea, all contributed to my extraordinary experience. And would encourage all women whose labor has stalled to employ the “natural” methods I used to spur on active labor.
I would also encourage anybody interested in natural childbirth to investigate the Alternative Birth Center and their midwives. Will and I had such a positive experience. We were surrounded by people who supported us and believed birth to be a natural, non-medical procedure. The focus was on making me comfortable and helping me bring Miss Maisey into a calm, surreal world.
That is our birth story.
p.s. And no, I never ate a marshmallow. :)
