Birth Story - Home Edition

We prepared for a home birth two years ago that didn't end as we planned, but that was no one's fault and my wife was able to finish strong at a hospital with no complications. But that is another story for another time.

This story is how we came to meet Gwendolyn.

a room with no view

Our apartment is average for a three bedroom. The main issue is that we have accumulated enough possessions to fill an average house. My wife, Laura, has already bought all the clothes we'll need for any and all children we have, as well as any orphans and foundlings that turn up (up to size 2T). Having a thrift store with a great selection just down the street has proved to be a great resource and a storage nightmare. But somehow, with all the cramming, boxing, and moving everything we can into the basement, we've managed to carve out a nursery that had room for a 60 gallon birthing tub. Thanks to a two-hundred-year-old oak, the single window gets little sunlight, but it does allow a nice breeze, as on the day we needed it.

Having everything purchased and tested ahead of time gave us more options for decorating, settling on a Hundred Acre Wood theme with little "hunny pots" and branches suspended from the ceiling. Cozy and feeling prepared, we waited for labor to start naturally. And at nine days past her due date, Gwendolyn had waited long enough.

before dawn

Sleeping next to a pregnant woman is not always a reasonable option. Laura had several pregnancy related symptoms that didn't just keep her up at night, but also separated us several nights a week. Constant dry-mouth thirst combined with little room in the pelvis means mama doesn't sleep more that three hours at a time without a potty break. Heartburn, hot flashes, itchy skin - you name it, it was keeping her up at night. So when insomnia gave way to exhausted deep sleep, she relaxed so completely that snoring became my lullaby. Not "wow, it'll be hard to sleep now" snoring, but "woke me up from my own sleep and drove me out to the couch" snoring. Somewhere between a chainsaw and an outboard motor in sound and decibel level, I could still hear her through closed doors and walls between us.

This night, however, I heard sounds of discomfort. Loud enough to wake me up and odd enough to raise concern I asked, "What was that?" She said, "About ten minutes." She had been awake since a quarter to five, and having taken a walk around the block, returned after several consistent contractions. Now I'm wide awake at six in the morning, pulling out my phone to start the timer for the next one.

keeping time

The next ten hours passed with little to mention. Contractions got stronger and closer together. We alerted our midwife (and then backup midwife, more on that later) that today is the day! We didn't want anyone to get too excited until we were in active labor, so we held off on calling anyone else but our mothers. Hours passed without noticing much time. I was always getting food and water, and checking the stopwatch function on my phone religiously to track progress. Everything was going so well that when labor kicked into high gear, it was almost surprisingly on track. Our first experience with labor was start and stop, three steps forward, two steps back. Two days of waiting only to transfer to a hospital when Laura was too exhausted to continue without some rest. But not this time, not this baby. She was on her way, and with contractions now becoming painfully strong, we called the midwife.

"you're not going anywhere"

Early labor, with slow and steady progress, is quite manageable. With a little to eat, a little to drink, some Netflix, time passes. Laura was handling it like a champ. Then active labor feels like you're losing control. Each new contraction could feel like an eternity or come and go quickly. At least, that was the impression I was getting from Laura, who was now attached to me like I was her anchor in the rising tide of pain. On her knees and leaning over the rim of the tub, she wouldn't let me move anymore, gripping my arms or legs to be sure I didn't leave her side. I would sit in that folding chair for the duration. Once, I thought to make a phone call, or scoot back a little, and she grabbed me and said, "You're not going anywhere!" and I decided I'd have to call her mother later (when I did finally call Grandma Jill to tell her about her new granddaughter, she said "But... I didn't get there!" Sorry, Mom, I was going to call, but I was too busy "helping".)

The next hour was all action. We got meet our new midwife, the highly esteemed B we had heard so much about (our midwife was on a vacation that weekend, so her midwife came in her absence.) And she was wonderful. The kindest, most gentle woman we could have hoped for. She was there right in time and she really eased into the situation, checking vitals and taking notes. About then, M arrived as well, a birth assistant and doula, who was there when our son was born. Laura was reaching the end of her tolerance for the pain and strain on her body when they arrived, but we didn't have to wait much longer.

labor land is a real place

Laura went into a trance at this point. Aware of only the here and now, communication with a woman in active labor is about short and direct sentences. I was no longer of help in this area, I didn't know what to do, and couldn't see anything from my position. Laura was starting to nod off between contractions, so the next part was a bit of a blur for both of us. All of a sudden, she was startled awake by the fact that she was pushing, without her knowledge or consent. Her body had switched modes and was now ready to bring baby on out. Screaming at the sudden strength and purpose of the contraction, she was snapped out of her sleep. "I'm pushing!" Laura yelled. The midwife said, "Go right ahead, baby is almost here." M got her attention and explained what to do next. It was just what Laura needed to focus and give it all she had. Just a few more pushes and baby was in the water. Laura rolled and sat up and they handed us our slippery little angel. 

We just stared at her as she gasped and coughed, taking in her few first few breaths. It took five minutes before we even checked if she was a girl or boy. We were just stunned she was finally here.

Not once have I thought it could have been any better. 12 hours of labor, the perfect timing of our birth team. Laura and baby in perfect health. I am so thankful for all the great work and support.

no regrets

Home birth was and is the best decision for our family. If you have a low risk pregnancy, I highly recommend you consider it and talk to a Certified Nurse Midwife right away. Always go with the highest level of care you can find for you and your baby, and never settle for the second best option. Let your birth story be about what you did, not what "happened to you."

Our Home Birthing FAQ

Watch it, it's a good show. Bring tissues.

When you're preparing for a baby, people love to give advice and ask personal questions. Most mean well, and they are really just trying to gauge what kind of person you are by your birth/child related choices. Others are downright pushy. But this post is about the surprising variation in what people expect based on certain bits of information, and conclusions they jump to when you mention you're planning a home birth. A few categories:

The skeptics

"What do I do?" "Nothing dear, you're not qualified."

Advancement in TV medical drama has produced a hospital-based birth expectation among people that grew up watching American-style TV. There is an expectation of a birth "emergency", but childbirth is usually a slow, steady process with predictable success. I've been asked a few standard questions from this side.

"What if something goes wrong?"

My wife is a rock star. For our first child, she was in labor for ~63 hours, when our midwife recommended we move her to a hospital when she failed to progress half-way through the second night of labor. An epidural and a few hours sleep allowed her to recharge and have a successful natural birth of our 11 lbs baby. Yes, 11 lbs. It was the right choice to move to the hospital, there were very simple complications. However, we will be laboring at home for a planned home birth again. It is very likely we will be successful at home this time. We are dedicated to creating an environment of non-intervention until it's clear that medical intervention will be needed to avoid a crisis situation. Hospitals are built for crisis, and doctors get impatient when you go off their textbook timetables. Home birth is the right choice for us because there is no reason to believe that we are in more danger birthing at home than in a hospital.

"Is this a hippie thing?"

No, we are not doing a home birth out of a counter-culture rejection of modern medicine. We love modern medicine. But medicine is for when something is wrong. Most births are completely normal and require very little help from anyone. If things start going sideways, there is usually plenty of time to transfer to a hospital when intervention becomes necessary. Until then, we plan on being at home for the duration of labor and delivery.

"Do people still do that?"

Yes, in fact we know several people who have, including my own mother with all four of her children. Home birth has never been totally off the radar, and is just as safe for normal "low risk" pregnancies as hospital birth.

The naturopaths

I love our birthing community; the midwives and doulas in our area do amazing work. At the extreme end of this birthing spectrum are some folks who are really, really into home birth. They also tend to be into home everything. Backyard gardens, homemade clothes, home-brewed beer. They are dedicated to green and natural living, and that is wonderful. However, some of them also believe in a few odd things that lead to other questions:

"Are you going to eat/encapsulate the placenta?"

No. My lifelong goal of not willfully consuming human flesh prohibits me from eating placenta, no matter what dubious claims of nutrition are reported, or magical powers it may bestow. We may bank the cord blood because that is breaking science that could save lives someday, including our own.

"Will you be vaccinating?"

Yes, most certainly. Vaccination has saved thousand of lives, and countless millions of dol... no wait, they did count it up. $395 Billion dollars saved, and that's just because of the last 20 years of vaccination. "Polio cases have decreased by over 99% since 1988, from an estimated 350 000 cases then, to 406 reported cases in 2013. The reduction is the result of the global effort to eradicate the disease."

It's a proven science. Do you know what has been disproved? The link to autism.

The religious

They might have opinions about home birth, but this group is mainly concerned about rituals and rites, and so these questions only make sense in a religious context. I was raised in the church, but some people can be more than a little pushy. I'm only including them because these questions have come up more often than I expected.

"Will you be circumcising?"

I understand that there are some religious and ethnic traditions that continue to be observed, even when there is no good reason for mutilating an infant's genitals. As for my sons, they will be left as they are, just like the girls. The more I think about it, the more strange it becomes to even consider it.

"When will they be baptized?"

If all goes well, we might just bless the birthing tub water and consider it done. Otherwise, I'm sure it will come up at some point later and they can decide for themselves if baptism is for them. 

We will be fine

Really, if you've read this far, we don't need any more advice, but we love talking about birthing choices. Home birth is a natural choice that be made in a rational, science-loving home. If you still have questions, you can ask me on Facebook or Twitter. 

A step back

I'm 15 pages into my play and I'm realizing that, while it's not bad dialog, and the characters are shaping up, nothing is happening. It's boring and the themes are common. My imagination is limited by my refusal to try anything difficult to write. This is not a problem that I have with my novel. I have villages, adventure, drama, unique concepts and mechanics.

But my play about middle-class white people problems makes me want to puke. I've put hours of work into something I'd never pay to see. I know what I hate about them - they have no real struggle, no life in them. I'm not even using them to say interesting things; I just want to express a general longing for more. Which coming from a family of successful adults is a pitiful effort. It makes them sound whiny. This one goes into the "fix it" file. Maybe someday those characters will have something to say, but not from a place of strength and opportunity. I have to let them wander around in my head for a while until they have more to contribute.

In other news...
We've been waiting for weeks to have our first (and hopefully only) sonogram, but now an ice storm has pushed it back to Wednesday. I would love to say this is the most exciting appointment of the pregnancy, but we are leaving the gender a mystery until birth, so this is just a little check-up, with strange gray slices of baby-shaped love.