I always wondered how many children Dave and I would have and when I would feel that my family was complete. When I was pregnant with David we discussed that maybe he was our last. I told Dave that I would be fine with that but I wanted that feeling people get when they know that they are done. Almost immediately after the doctor put David in my arms, I got the distinct impression that he was not my last. As time went on, Dave became convinced that there was one more as well. It took us longer than we thought to get pregnant and when we did I had already turned 40. This unnerved me a bit, but I felt great through the pregnancy for the most part and had lots of energy.
Going into pregnancy knowing this is the last time you will experience it was such a gift. Every change of his and mine was really wonderful to watch and feel and I felt blessed with a knowledge of the miracle of growing and having a baby.
I really wanted this birth to be different than my other births. I wanted my ideal birth experience, including only people who were really in awe with the birth process there. I have loved giving birth to my other children and really tried to be a part of the decision making process of how I wanted the birth to occur. Early in my pregnancy I decided I wanted to give birth at home with a midwife. This scared me on some level, but felt so right on another. Dave and I met with the midwife who lives closest to us in the desert, although she was still over an hour drive away. She was wonderful and spent over an hour with us going over all of our questions and concerns. She was practical, commonsensical and loved the birthing process—just what I wanted, but I worried about her distance. I worried about her not being able to get to me on time and having a baby unassisted. I worried about having complications from the birth and being a 30 minute drive from the hospital. I worried about how I would feel if something went wrong at home and knowing that I had opted to have my birth there. I put a lot of thought, prayer and effort into the decision and finally decided to have a conventional birth at the hospital.
This decision was really heartbreaking for me, because I knew exactly what I was in for—bright lights, loud noises, disinterested doctors and nurses, lots of pokes and prods, less mobility, and lots of sighs and annoyed expressions when you try to have any say so in the birthing process. I buoyed myself up by reminding myself that my amazing birth team of Dave and my mom would be by my side and by having lots of heart to hearts with my doctor about how I wanted this birth experience to be less intrusive, less on his and the hospital's schedule.
As my due date drew near, my doctor started the typical pressure to chose a date for an induction. I had told him earlier that I wanted to baby to come when he was ready on his own. He had a long list of reasons why we should induce, including the baby's size (he was measuring small) and my age. When I hit 40 weeks and was already 50% effaced and dilated to a five with nothing getting started, he really urged me to come into the hospital so that he could at least break my water. He had done the same thing with both Kennedy and David and it progressed things quickly and both times I had a baby in arms within three hours. I was ambivalent about this choice. I felt like I wanted to respect what the doctor thought was best, but I also was still clinging to the idea of this birth being different. I finally agreed and on March 14th, we arrived at the hospital at 8:30am. The doctor broke my water at 10am and then we sat and waited. Nothing happened. Nothing. The doctor came back at 1pm and strongly urged me to start Pitocin to help the contractions start. Internally, I was devastated. I was really nervous about being administered Pitocin because I had heard it would be extremely difficult to proceed forward with an unmedicated child birth because the drug strengthened contractions so rapidly it becomes too painful to go on. I felt like my birth was being highjacked, just like I had worried it would. I told him that I wanted to be unhooked from the monitors and walk around the hospital to see if I could get things moving on my own. He agreed to this and said he'd be back in an hour.
The nurse unhooked me from the monitors and Dave and I started walking around the halls pretty rapidly. This was a sweet hour. The contractions started almost immediately and it felt so good to be holding my love's hand and letting my baby just do his work while talking about potential baby names. My contractions were getting stronger and consistent. At first one for every lap of the maternity ward, then one every half a lap of the maternity ward. I didn't want to stop moving, scared that the contractions would stop. I kept setting lap milestones for myself. I was slowing down and starting to breathe hard through the contractions so knew it was getting closer.
After an hour went by we went back to the room and Dave got the nurse. I was 3pm and I dilated to an eight and in hard labor. I would stand during the contractions and practice my Lamaze breathing techniques with Dave and then sit on the birthing ball in between contractions. Dave and my mom pulled out all their tricks—lower back massages, encouraging words even an ear pressure point technique my mom had learned from the Russian ice skating coaches while watching the Olympics. They will never know how reassuring and helpful they are to me during birth. I rely on them wholly and know I couldn't do this work without them, but I'm not lying this labor was hard. Really hard. I've read that a woman is introduced to a part of her she never knew existed in hard labor and it is so true. All your self doubts emerge and all your courage all you inner strength is put to the test so acutely. The pain is profound. I never had that moment like I had when I was in labor with David where I felt that even if it was hard, "I had this in the bag". I struggled and questioned and tried to reassure myself over an over. Usually, I lock eyes with Dave during labor and just follow his breathing cues. This time I just draped myself over him during contractions and did what Dave later called a slow dance with my head nestled against his shoulder while trying to follow his breathing cues. I looked up at him at one point and saw tears in his eyes. It felt so good to know that he was in the moment with me and knew how much I was struggling.
I had my own bag of tricks too. I had two mantras this time, the first was given to me by Rose Knight when I was pregnant with Kennedy, "Perfect love casteth out fear"(1 John 4:18) and another private one I picked up in the while visiting the temple two days prior. I kept reminding myself this was all I needed. I watched the clock like a hawk and the minutes were crawling by. I had the nurse check me a few times but I was still at an eight. This went on for over an hour which in the scheme of things doesn't seem long, but in each excruciating contraction seems like it will never end.
I've heard that when you feel like your only escape during labor is death, that you are going through transition and your body is literally engaging in the fight-or-flight response priming you for pushing the baby out. I'd experienced this with my other children, but just never for an hour straight. It tested every part of me, but I held on and didn't give up and then like magic I felt the need to push. Dave or my mom ran to grab the nurse or doctor and they immediately told me to get on the table. I told them I couldn't sit down while the contraction was happening and sat down right after. I remember the doctor asking me if he had time to put on his gown and I didn't answer because I was already pushing. I then heard him say, "Nope, I guess not". And then my baby's head was out and then his shoulders were out and then he was being held up high. And I was calling him Benjamin in my mind, even though we hadn't agreed on a name yet. I heard the nurse ask Dave what his name was and I wanted to scream out Benjamin!
While the medical team was suctioning out his mouth out and checking him out I felt this peace wrap over me and the scripture came in to my mind from Alma 36:21, "Yea, I say unto you...that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you...that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy." My legs were shaking and I was still contracting and there was still work to be done, but there was a perfect dichotomy between how I felt moments before and how I felt now. My boy was here and all was right in the world. And I knew I was willing to go through hell and back for this little boy. I also knew that it was a gift to experience a hard birth to know that about myself. And just like that I gave birth to my mothering self again.
He is perfect, our little Benjamin (because just like I knew Dave knew right then too that his name was Benjamin) Liam Thatcher. He was 7 pounds, one ounce and 19 1/2 inches long. He was born at 4:14pm on Friday March 14th, 2014. Our fourth, and NOW our family is complete.
