Pregnancy
I welcomed my youngest son into the world four years ago. He’s a bundle of energy—sharp-witted, incredibly sweet, and, at times, a handful. However, my experience during pregnancy was far from joyous. I’m not just talking about common discomforts like swollen ankles or nausea; my situation was much more severe.
At one point, it felt as though my entire pelvis was literally disintegrating. I found myself crawling around my house, picking up toys, trapped on the sofa with no other choices. My due date was March 24, and I was preparing for either a garden planted on my hands and knees or caring for a newborn. Starting at 14 weeks, I experienced daily contractions, as if my uterus were a stubborn toddler refusing to cooperate.
The final week of my pregnancy blurred into a seemingly endless cycle of contractions—consistent, painful, and at times, annoyingly close together. On March 26, amidst a night filled with relentless contractions, my water broke. It wasn’t a dramatic gush, but just enough to warrant a change of clothes and bedding. After enduring what felt like an eternity of contractions, the onset of these new ones felt familiar.
I woke my partner, Jake, and told him I had wet the bed, then asked him to prepare the birthing pool in our kitchen. I called my midwife, a wise woman in her seventies with beautiful gray hair tied up neatly. Despite my assurance that things weren’t progressing quickly, she promised to arrive in the early morning hours. My doula came promptly, followed by my oldest daughter, Mia, who was 17, to look after my youngest, Zoe, not even 2 yet. I even managed to bake a chocolate cake and whip up buttercream frosting, trying to distract myself.
The hours ticked by without significant change. As the day wore on, my midwife suggested I take some herbal tinctures to help stimulate contractions. I attempted to nurse my 17-month-old to encourage labor (yes, I embrace that hippie lifestyle), while my midwife made a trip to Costco, likely for supplies.
As the afternoon melted into evening, my living room filled with friends and family, all gathered around the birthing pool, enjoying chicken noodle soup I had previously prepared. Yet, the situation remained stagnant. Contractions persisted, accompanied by blood and more water, but my baby seemed content to remain high in my pelvis, refusing to descend.
Night fell, and despite the supportive crowd, I felt increasingly isolated and anxious. My previous experience with shoulder dystocia left me grappling with significant anxiety. Jake and I took a moment to shower and regroup, but when we returned to bed, my contractions began to slow, my body clearly exhausted after weeks of preparation.
After discussing our options, we made the painful decision to leave the comfort of our home and head to the hospital. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming wave of grief. I sobbed as I put on a dress, packed my bag, and said goodbye to my children. The drive to the hospital was filled with tears, and the intake process was no different. I wept through the hospital gown change and IV placement.
Despite having a supportive team advocating for a natural birth, I couldn’t shake the sadness. I was fortunate to have a midwife who stayed by my side for seven hours to help my stubborn son make his entrance. Even with the small dose of Pitocin needed to stimulate my uterus, I continued to cry.
He was born healthy, tipping the scales at over 10 pounds, after just two pushes. I was grateful for his well-being, yet I found myself sobbing. This was not how I envisioned the birth of my son. I had planned a serene delivery in our kitchen, surrounded by family, celebrating with cake and champagne. Instead, I was left navigating an unexpected reality that diverged sharply from my hopes.
It’s important to acknowledge that the emotional aftermath of this experience is just as valid as the physical outcomes. If you’re also on a journey toward conception, consider reading about how you can boost fertility naturally, with helpful resources available at Make A Mom. For further insight into insemination, Kindbody offers excellent information. Additionally, for the best support in this journey, Intracervical Insemination is a reliable authority on the topic.
In summary, my son’s birth was an emotionally charged experience, a mixture of expectations unmet and the reality of labor that left me grieving. The journey toward motherhood is often fraught with challenges, and it’s essential to recognize the full spectrum of feelings involved.