Fire Baby - Matthew's birth story

This is actually a two part post of my experiences during the Santa Rosa fires - for part 1 click here. In this part we learn of new fires and (if you couldn't guess from the title) have a baby.

October 14

A new fire starting up to the east of us

The kids playing (unironically) on a fire truck at a nearby park.

This day was odd. One the one hand, this new fire that popped up truly made us think about evacuating for real, but on the other hand we had some of the best air quality out of the whole week because of the direction of the wind. So we stayed on alert but also at home. We also decided to go to vigil mass at our cathedral instead of our home parish - which turned out to be slightly fortuitous (I guess) as the next day our parish was in a mandatory evacuation zone.

October 15

No church means more Lego time

With no church to go to on Sunday morning (because, again, we had gone the night before, not because it burned down!) we were all feeling a little bit "off". We received an invite from a friend to head down south again - but neither Paul nor I were feeling up to the travel. And again, this turned out to be fortuitous as at about 2pm I started having sensations that I thought were gas pains. When I was still having them at 4pm I realized they weren't gas pains, but I still wasn't willing to call them "contractions" though they were about 30-45 seconds long and coming every 7-10 minutes. In any case, I called my midwife to let her know what was up and she conceded that I could very well be in early labor. I did not like this news, so she gave me some things I could do try and slow the labor train down: drink water, put my feet up (i.e. rest), take a bath or shower, have a glass of wine. (Ooo! A glass of wine? Yes, please! Only problem: I had no wine in the house. Enter Big Sister to the rescue! She brought over a lovely bottle of pinot gris.) I tried all of these things to no avail. By 8pm things were definitely picking up the pace and I was emotionally a wreck - texting friends and even acquaintances asking for prayers that baby boy would stay put. In my mind there were so many good reasons to not have a baby just then - things like:

• we had no diapers yet (but thanks to Amazon Prime, I would have them in 2 days)
• we had no bassinet/crib (yet)
• there was no birth center, and only 1 hospital in Santa Rosa still open
• oh, and fire with all its accompanying smoke

But I needed to call the midwife again and let her know things were not slowing down - so I did, and received a welcome piece of news: they decided to open up the birth center early for us. I broke down crying at this news - I was so grateful. It was funny - this whole pregnancy, whenever anyone asked where we would go for the birth I always responded "Lord willing, we'll go to the Birth Center." I'm so glad the Lord was willing! But I knew it still wasn't time for us to head over to the center just yet. But at least when I hung up the phone a part of my heart and mind were at rest.

My sister, who was kind enough to supply the wine, went home but stayed on call and I went to bed. My previous labors have been 43 hours and 30ish hours, so I was sure I'd be in for a long night and wanted to get as much rest as I could. Rest wasn't in the cards though. As I laid there the contractions continued to come, but something was changing: I'd have 2 or 3 that I could handle just fine, but then I'd have a really big one where all I could do to cope was shake my leg (much like a dog's leg will spasm when it's dreaming - such an attractive picture, I know). After one such contraction, I received the words that would become my mantra for the rest of the labor, "Pass through". I don't know where these words came from, but they turned out to be a premonition of what I would really need to have happen, and I would repeat them over and over whenever a contraction came. This pattern of 2-3 "easy" contractions and 1 "big" contraction continued to build in intensity until I had one that knocked the wind out of me - and that's when I told Paul we needed to get to the Birth Center. This was about 10:30pm. So the midwife was called and the sister was called back and we got in the car.

Again, that 1 mile drive to the center was just the worst. I don't know how any laboring woman can stand to have a drive longer than 5 minutes to get to wherever they're birthing. Car rides are just the pits! We arrived at the same time as our midwife, who was fully decked out in scrubs and her N95. She checked me and I measured 5cm - which was both welcome and a bit disappointing. Welcome, because that meant I could be admitted, but disappointing because I thought for sure I'd be farther along. In any case, we made our way back to the birthing rooms, and because I had the choice, I chose to be in the same room where I had delivered both the wee girl and the little dude. Having that continuity was comforting and I needed all the comfort I could get.

When I labor, I like things to be dark, quiet and warm. Oh, and also new for this labor, I liked to have my barf bowl next to me at all times. So basically then, the things that I remember are the times when one of the "rules" were "violated". Like when I had to ask Paul 3 or 4 times for my bowl. I got so mad at him for taking it away, and then I got doubly mad at him for making me have to talk to him to get it back. I mean, after 2 labors with me he still can't read my mind?!? Sheesh, man.

(It wasn't actually this dark, but you get the idea. Turn up the volume to hear baby's heartbeat!)

Anyway, once the midwife checked me in and took my vitals, she and the student midwife left us to "work". I wanted to lie down on the bed, so I did and worked on saying my mantra and breathing through the contractions. But at some point, I couldn't even say my mantra anymore and that was when the midwives came back into the room. The student midwife was truly wonderful, very professional, always explaining exactly what she was doing - but because she was breaking my "quiet" rule I started to get really irritated. At one point, when I thought they were gone, I asked Paul, "Could you please tell the midwives not to talk to me?" not knowing that they were actually in the room. When I found that out later, it made me really glad that I had said what I did and not what I was thinking which was, "Can you tell her to shut up?" (That would have been awkward!)

At midnight, the midwives checked me again and this time I was fully dialated; so they offered to break my bag of waters, in the hopes of moving the labor along. But I refused - not because I wanted a repeat performance of the waterworks at little dude's birth - but because having my bag of waters broken for the wee girl's birth was something that I had always kinda regretted. So I said no and continued to have really painful contractions that didn't seem to do much of anything to get the baby out. The midwives suggested I sit on a birthing ball (a big NOPE), and then go sit on the toilet (another NOPE but it was a bit better than the ball). The birthing stool was brought out and that was somewhat helpful - but the big problem this time around was that while I could feel a whole lotta pain, I couldn't actually feel when I was doing an effective push. So I would push 3 or 4 times and on that last push the midwife would finally say, "There! Yes! Do another one just like that!" Except I didn't know what I was doing any different than the way that I had been pushing before, plus, I was so tired from those pushes that I needed to rest and wait for the next contraction. At which point, the cycle of ineffective pushes would start again.

I started to pace back and forth in the room, almost like a caged animal, and more than once I wondered if I was going to be able do this. When the midwives offered to break my bag of waters again at sometime around 1:30am, I said yes enthusiastically and almost frantically. Get this baby out!!

The relief I felt as the bag broke was wonderful, but short-lived. Very quickly we were back to painful contractions and ineffective pushes. I threw up once... then twice. As my midwife shared, "Some women vomit their babies out". And that had definitely been my experience. After the second time, I remember feeling somewhat encouraged because with my other labors the baby was delivered shortly after the second spew. But it was not to be. I just couldn't figure out how to effectively push this baby who seemed very unwilling to budge. Finally the midwife and I hit on a strategy that worked - as long as she had two fingers pressing on my cervix I could focus on where I needed to direct my energy and my pushes would be effective. Of course, now her fingers were in the way of the baby's head creating a ridiculous Catch-22 situation. "Pass through" indeed! But I was finally making some progress - some very slow and hard-won progress.

With my previous 2 labors, the work up to the pushing stage was long and arduous, but the actual pushing was only 30-45 minutes - jubilation! Once again, this was different: I pushed for about 3 hours and it was (dare I say it?) horrible. The pain was just getting worse and worse, and even though they told me baby was coming, I didn't feel it. Plus I was getting frantic and I remember crying out, "Can you just reach in and pull him out?!" (Though I don't remember an answer to that request.) And forget "working noises". This was an all-out fight to get this baby earth-side complete with Wonder Woman-esque battle cries.

I prefer this image over what was probably the reality.

When I finally got baby's head out I expected to feel the slip and slide of the rest of his body - but again - this was not to be. One of the midwives (either the student or the attending, I can't remember) exclaimed, "Sunny side up!" and the other said, "Just a few more pushes..." All I could think was, "MORE?! He's supposed to just slide out now!" Turns out "sunny side-up" is just a poor euphemism for "hard as hell". (Ok, no, it isn't but whatever.) Finally - finally - at 4:30am, all of baby's 19 inches came out and we welcomed Matthew Francis with cries of relief and joy.

When I met Matthew I was surprised by his dark hair, red skin, and cries. They were strong and MAD! I couldn't blame him, and in fact I wanted to tell him "Dude, the feeling's mutual," but then he opened his eyes and I was stunned by the clarity and intensity in them already! All I could think was, "He is a smart one!" The rest of the morning was quiet and uneventful, so at 8:30 we were discharged and ready to go home. Stepping outside the smoke in the sky made a sun as red as my little one when I first laid eyes on him.

October 16

Anniversary cards, still in the plastic! We'll put heartfelt messages
in them next year.

We brought our little "fire baby" home on our 9th wedding anniversary - our Matthew - truly a "gift of God" to us.

A Week in Pictures - October 9th - 16th (Part 1)

This ol' blog has been quiet as of late, I know. I seem to remember back at the beginning of this latest pregnancy making a statement about "getting back to writing" more often - and wow, that didn't happen! This pregnancy was definitely the most difficult of the 3 so far: the worst "morning" sickness, odd and transient food aversions, and the most uncomfortable.  That last one, by the way, is what I blame the lack of writing on: I couldn't sit at a desk or table for more than 15 minutes without inducing really bad "tightness" (for lack of a better word).  And then October came.

So much has happened this month, with the majority of that stuff happening in the one-week span from the 9th to the 16th. I've tried to be vague on this blog about where I live - being on the internet and all - but I can't talk about this particular week and remain vague since our town was all over the news that week. (Look at me still trying to remain non-descript!) So while I could factually tell you all the things, what I really want to do is share how they affected me. Because it both was and wasn't like how it was shared on CNN or BBC - at least not for us - and the last thing I want to do is participate in sensationalism.

To be sure, we were scared. So scared, that it took us nearly 4 days before we realized that we lived *across the street* from the emergency responders' Headquarters. They would not have made that place their headquarters if they were worried about it being burned down. Or at the very least, as my sister observed, if we see them packing up and heading out then that would be a very good sign that we should do the same. No need to frantically look at our phones every time a text message came in.

Which again, to be honest, I wasn't doing anyway. We all deal with crisis differently: some folks want to tune in to the local news source and be in the know at all times, and some want the tv/radio/phone to be off unless absolutely needed. Fortunately, in our home Paul landed in the former camp and I was part of the latter group. It was a good division of responsibilities. I was able to stay responsive to the family's needs and Paul was able to keep us informed/educated as needed.

I regret that maybe in some ways this made me make light of a situation that was truly dire for some. I hope those hurt will accept my apology for attempting to bring levity when a shoulder, tears and kleenex would have been more appropriate.

So, until I can pull my thoughts together, I thought I would rely on the "picture is worth a thousand words" addage... and hope that it doesn't communicate more than intended.

October 9

The view from our front door at 6am

We stayed home that day.

October 10

Photo: KITV news

I chose this picture for 2 reasons: first, this was the only picture I could find that showed the color of the sky all day on the 10th. Obviously, we stayed home. But the cooped up animals in the picture were much like our children on day 2 of staying inside. Both were clamoring to get out (of the smoke/house). What I liked to say was that on day 1 of being inside all day, my children played constructively, but on day 2 they played destructively. So by day 3 both animals and children got their wish (in case you were wondering).

October 11

Reminding ourselves of truth... one of the ways that I was grateful for a homeschool routine that we could keep while everything else was uncertain.

The park we escaped to on day 3

Not perfect air quality to the south, but certainly a lot better than where we were.

October 12

From our front door again. Escaped south for the day again.

Can I just say I love my neighbors? It's been a stressful week, and no, we're still not out of this, but if you can't laugh at yourself... Well, then it'll really be a long haul. Grateful for this community and how we're looking out for each other. ❤ #santarosastrong

A post shared by Sara Rooney (@rooney.sara) on Oct 12, 2017 at 8:50pm PDT

October 13

Who's got 4 thumbs and a face mask? This gal!

While at this appointment we discussed what would happen in the event I should go into labor while the Birth Center was closed - we all thought that would be extremely unlikely, as I was only at 37 weeks - but I thought it would still be prudent to ask. Bottom line: if I went into labor I would have to go to the only hospital that was still open, and only maybe would I get to have a midwife with me. Needless to say, this was not what I wanted to hear... but no worries, right? 37 weeks! We're fine...

It's not "participating in sensationalism" to split this into 2 posts, right? Hope so. Part 2 to come soon!

Little Dude's Birth Story

The dude abides

I'm sitting at my mother's computer. The little dude went to sleep an hour ago and the husband just finished reading stories to the Spitfire. I can hear my niece watching Cars on our tablet and the dishwasher whirring in the background. My teacup is empty and I finished reading another blogger's latest post about her birth story, when I realize: my little dude is almost 11 months old and I've not written down his birth story yet! (Not surprising, as I also forgot to take his 9 month and 10 month old pictures with those cute little stickers I bought off of Etsy...)

Clearly, I'm not winning any blogging mom awards over here tonight. ;)

So, 11 months down the line, what do I remember? Let's see...

Little John was due February 6th - a date that I was happy for him to have as his birthday... a date that I was fully expecting him to have as his birthday. So much so, that at his baby shower - the weekend before he was born - I was still half-joking/half-fretting about how much I still needed to do to prepare for his arrival. (Like wash his clothes, make his bed, put his clothes somewhere, pack the bag for the birth center, buy personal supplies for myself, etc...) I was fully aware that second children often come earlier and faster than firstborns - but since our first was born exactly 2 weeks past her due date - I figured him coming "earlier" just meant that he would be on-time. Ho ho. Hee hee. I was counting on this a little too much.

So two days before he was born, when I started to have the mucous-y signs that labor was coming, I completely panicked. I called one of my friends in tears and sobbed about how I didn't even have diapers for the baby and could she take care of little girl while I went to Target and do a load of laundry? She graciously agreed and I threw the Spitfire in the back of the car and drove straight to my friend's house pronto. I dropped her off and then spent a mad half-hour (or so) buying all the disposable products that I could buy: nursing pads, newborn diapers, um... other pads *ahem*, Q-tips, kleenex... I joked later that I had something for pretty much any hole that I could possibly leak out of.

And if that's not TMI for you - then you *must* be a birth story junkie. (Welcome!! It gets worse better!)

Thankfully, the contractions I felt that day remained in the realm of Braxton-Hicks and never progressed. I was able to get little dude's clothes washed, folded and put away (if a Rubbermaid tub in our bedroom counts as "put away") and our bag got packed. God and little dude mercifully were giving me a big fat kick in the pants to get things ready, I guess. Because the next day, things started to change.

The morning started off normal but I was feeling like things could change as the day went on, so I put my husband and sister on stand-by - telling them to go to work, but to keep their phones close. That they did and the wee girl and I got on with our day too. After breakfast, I decided to take her to the park - a normal activity - but as we walked there I started to feel some pressure. We were only at the park for 15 minutes or so when I called it quits and loaded her back into the stroller to bring her home. Once there, I called the hubs and asked if he could come home early, and blessedly, he said he could. Contractions were about 7-10 minutes apart, and all I could think was, "Great. This is exactly like the little girl's labor." I gave my doula a call as well and she said she would come and visit after dinner. She and I went for a walk in the evening and the contractions stayed constant - and we both agreed that this labor was shaping up to be a lot like my first one. This was not exactly what I wanted to hear - as my labor with her was almost 2 days long - but if that's what it was going to be, then at least I knew what I could do that night: have a glass of wine and a long shower! And now this is where my memory fails me... I don't think I did either. But at 3 in the morning I did email the high school students that I was tutoring, to cancel my sessions with them and send their monthly bill! I felt proud of myself to tie up those loose ends. :)

The next morning, I was mentally preparing myself for a long day because if it was going to go down anything like the first time, then I was still going to have nearly 20 more hours of labor ahead of me. But my doula had a different plan: she made the observation that the last time we had tried all sorts of things to make labor progress and it didn't really seem to do much. She even thought that it may have irritated things and interfered with my body's processes. So this time around she recommended that I rest as much as possible. We both thought that resting may not work so well with a toddler running around, so I asked my husband if he could stay home from work again and he agreed. I then plonked myself down on the couch and let the contractions continue to wash over me as they had all night long. But somewhere around 10 or 11 I noticed they were coming faster and that, to cope, I was using my heel to dig out the cushion of the sofa. I texted the change to my doula. And then I began to fixate on my daughter's nap time: once she goes down for a nap, I'll get to work I kept thinking. My doula said she would come over then too.

Before she arrived though, I needed to move myself to the back room. I didn't feel I could hold it together in the front room anymore and I wanted to seclude myself. I started making some "working noises" and felt like the only place where I could work and feel comfortable was practically hiding behind the bed. Writing these things down now, I see that I really should have put it together that things were *not* going the way they did the first time around, but my mind was just totally stuck on the thought that they were.

When my doula arrived, I was starting to lose the ability to stay on top of my contractions. I'd have a few that I could work through, and then one would come that would just knock me off my "pedestal" (if you will). She suggested I move to the bathroom and it took a lot of mental energy to get myself there. I was now making a lot of "working noises" and if my daughter wasn't already awake, then I'm sure I woke her up from her nap. Either way, once she was up, I knew I couldn't stay. I just couldn't work with her in the house. I had to get away. So I asked my husband to get my sister to come and watch the wee girl, so we could head to the birth center.

Unbeknownst to us, my doula was beginning to think that we wouldn't make it to the birth center, but she wisely let us keep on our path...

My sister was at Costco when she received the call from my husband. And in his typical, uber-considerate fashion, he told her to just come as soon as she was done... but thankfully she heard something in my doula's voice in the background that made her drop all her shopping and high-tail it to our house. Thank goodness for womanly intuition!

I was now working completely on holding it together, so we could get to the birth center. Somehow in the midst of contractions that were totally rocking me, I managed to give a kiss to my daughter and go get in the car. The whole way there I was praying that I would be far enough along to be admitted, because I was still thinking things were going like "last time". Hee hee. Ho ho. When we got to the birth center and the midwife checked me I was 9 cm. Fully dilated.  We all cheered! And then I doubled-over with another contraction.

One might think that at this point, things should have gone pretty quickly. And I guess they did... but it was still another 3 hours before John was born. In that time everyone was so wonderful and doing their best to make me comfortable, but I was not to be comforted. I was hot - they turned on a fan - I snapped at them to turn it off. I needed to hang on my husband, I needed him to absolutely not touch me. I needed to stand. I needed to sit. I needed to be on all fours. I needed to lie down. And then... in one fell swoop, as I was lying on my side, the whopper of all contractions smashed into me and I vomited and contracted with such force that my water broke... and shot all the way across the room, hitting the wall opposite the bed. This may be a sick wish, but I really do wish we could have videotaped the birth, just so I could have seen what that looked like! My midwife was totally awesome and just commented, "The water is clear - just what we want to see." What. A. Boss.

After that I tried using the birthing stool - which was Great. I FINALLY felt like I was doing something good! But the midwife didn't want me to give birth there, so with great reluctance and many tears, I moved to the bed. But true to her word, not ten minutes later, John was born into the world at 7:37 pm with much shouts and rejoicing!

Holding him, all I could say was, "I love you John. Mommy loves you!" over and over again. And I did! (And I do) The aftermath of his birth was much quieter than his sister's - which was a nice counterpoint to the excitement just prior to his arrival. We were the only couple in the center that night, so there was no rushing about, or nurses coming in and out of our room. They just quietly cleaned me up while I held my little boy. At 7 lbs 8 oz, he was actually smaller than his sister - which surprised me, given the pain I felt on his exit! But in an odd twist, even though the pain I felt was considerably more intense than what I felt with his sister, I didn't tear nearly as much. Also, because he came quicker than his sister, I was able to order dinner! Veggie korma with rice and naan... so much yum. I ate. I napped. And sometime after midnight we were discharged and sent home. Our little girl went to bed an only child, and woke up a big sister!

We've been in love ever since.