birth story

(alternate title: time-killing end of pregnancy activities/ways to waste $$$)

This is a dangerous post to write, isn’t it? I’m 38 weeks tomorrow and have been having all kinds of fabulous lower back pressure and non productive contractions and tonight is not only a full moon but it’s a BLUE MOON. So as Katniss would have it, the odds are in my favor. Also things got so serious with bathroom scouring and floor mopping and whole-house decluttering last night that I went and packed that hospital bag right up, yes I did, because that surge of nesting energy was a force of nature, and I thought it might be prudent to have an emergency preparedness kit laid out.

Alas.

Though, happily for me and every member of this family, I did sleep through the night for the first time in weeks, so today I feel, if still pregnant, at least well rested. And beginning tomorrow, I’m ready to take the self induction game to the next level.

All three of my previous labors have started with similar methods to what I’ll share here, and yes, I know baby has to come out eventually and yes, it’s probably coincidental and completely anecdotal and in no way scientific, but whatever, I know what other preggos are googling at 3 am, and I just want to offer them a glimmer of hope. Even the false kind.

1. Red raspberry leaf tea. My general rule of thumb is to start upping the ante around week 35 with regular and healthy consumption of red raspberry leaf tea. I drink 2-3 cups of it a day starting then, up until d-day. It’s not that bad tasting, and after a few sweaty incidents I’ve started pouring it over ice this time around. If nothing else I’m super well hydrated, but I have noticed that with the pregnancies I’ve used it for, the pushing stage has been shortened so maybe it really does have magical uterine-toning properties? Or not. But it’s pretty cheap (I like this brand at Vitamin Cottage) and it can’t hurt.

2. Walking. I try to up my mileage around the same time I start drinking the tea. Yes, I feel like hell after a 3 mile walk, even in an air-conditioned gym going only 2.3 mph. But labor is a major athletic event no matter how you slice it (or don’t slice it), and I figure I need more activity as it draws near, not less. Plus it’s fun to scare people at the gym. And childcare. And cable tv. Need I go on?

3. Good chiropractic care. I’ve been seeing a NUCCA practitioner for this entire pregnancy and I’m so hopeful that perhaps this time I’ll avoid the dreaded posterior presentation of bebe (read: no back labor, please God.) Word on the street is that good alignment of mom’s spine and pelvis and muscles mean an easier and more efficient exit for junior. I’ll keep you posted.

4. Pedicures. This is my guiltiest of third trimester pleasures, and I know it may not be in everyone’s budget, but with the money I’m saving from not cooking dinner and warming hot dogs in the microwave there’s a little left over to go every other week or so towards the end. It’s also where I allocate my monthly “blow” $$ from our budget once I hit month 8 or so, because I’m telling you, nothing in this world feels better than having your swollen, calloused feet massaged and pampered and painted while reading terrible magazines and getting a mediocre back rub from a machinated chair. Nothing. (Plus, with my firstborn labor started in a nail salon. With a splash. So call me superstitious. Or nostalgic.)

5. Exercise ball bouncing/sitting. This has helped to keep real contractions going once they start up, and even if nothing is happening, it’s good for opening up the pelvis/ getting baby into a good position/feeling “productive” while you’re trolling Facebook.

6. Spicy food. Just kidding, this one is a total lie. I eat like 4 caspacian units worth of heat with every single pregnant meal for 10 solid months and it does nothing. Maybe a little heartburn.

7. Dates and pineapple. Another way to feel productive while doing nothing more taxing than putting food in your mouth and blah blah blah, something about cervix-ripening prostaglandin. (And there are, ahem, other natural sources for those too. Which you are undoubtably well aware of if you’ve found yourself in a delicate condition.) I did, however, eat a pineapple ice cream sunday immediately after getting a massage and walking 3 miles at the gym the night I went into labor with JP. Boom, science.

8. Accupressure/reflexology/massage. This one is the nuclear option, at least in my labor playbook. All three kids have been born within 24 hours (or less!) of me having my feet and ankles (pressure points, baby) massaged and manipulated by a trained reflexologist. Lots of fancy schmancy massage places have reflexologists on staff, and some nicer nail salons may have highly trained pedicurists who can produce similar results, but for me I’ve always had the best of luck with my girl Ying, a Chinese reflexologist and massage therapist (and, incidentally, also a licensed nurse, though not in the US). She is extremely solicitous for my care and comfort throughout pregnancy (I usually see her every 6-8 weeks until the end) and then once we hit week 38, it’s go time. And so far? It has worked every time. I’m talking real, regular contractions within the span of a couple hours, sometimes even when I’m just leaving her storefront. At $40 for a 60 minute session it’s affordable too, considering the price of a medical induction (or, you know, continuing to be pregnant another 3+ weeks and spending hundreds of dollars on Chicfila and throw pillows. Ahem.) I know massage isn’t everyone’s thing, but let me tell you, when you are pushing 200 lbs and your skin is stretched tighter than last year’s pair of Spanx, you will not mind someone touching your feet/legs/back/neck/shoulders. You will revel in it. Here’s Ying’s info for my local girls. But I’d bet my latte money that almost any part of the country features an Asian foot massage establishment. Just, you know, do your Yelp homework and be sure you don’t end up at that kind of massage place.

9. Schedule something really, really fun that you actually want to do. Baby will come 12 hours prior. Guarantee. Dave Matthews is coming to Denver the week after my due date. Coincidence? I think not…

Happy laboring, ladies. Here’s hoping that tonight’s full (BLUE!) moon fills birthing centers and labor wings the world over.

(Oh, and if all of the above fail and you’re still in a delicate condition and feeling down about it? Grab a glass of good red wine and hop in the bathtub. Love, every LDR nurse I’ve ever consulted.*)

*Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on the internet. But if you email me asking about conservative consumption of alcohol or foot massages during pregnancy, I will still persist in giving you my honest opinion.)

My little daughter, my first ever newborn with a ‘sleep’ setting, is nestled into her rock n’ play (infinitely superior to a pack n’ play, thanks Holly) peacefully dreaming at my bedside, and I figured why not bang this birthing tome out before Advent comes to a close. I’m still kind of reeling from the pleasant surprise of having another early bebe (Joey came at 37w5d), and at one week post partum exactly, I feel surprisingly good. It might just be that Christmas time is the best time to have a baby, because the whole world is gearing up for a glorious party, and nobody has to be in swimsuit shape any time soon.

Not in swimsuit shape. Not a problem.

So last Friday night. 38 weeks, 3 days, and feeling every minute of it. I had spent the past week helping my sister move into and arrange her new house, and while I avoided heavy lifting etc like an obedient little lady, I still did way too much and worked way too hard for far too many hours, so I was feeling like a train wreck. Dave was away for the night at a Nugget’s game, (with my blessing, I had a hunch it might be his last night of ‘freedom’ for a while), and my sister had agreed to repay my manual labor with a few hours’ of free babysitting, so off I trotted to my favorite Asian masseuse for a little induction massage. I can’t even call it anything else at this point, since I’ve now had 100% success of induction via foot massage.

I heaved my weary body into the chair and Ying looked me up and down appraisingly,

“You ready?”

“Yep.”

“You go to hospital now?”

I cocked one eyebrow in mild alarm,

“Well, yeah, if labor starts.”

“Okay then, you tell me if it too hard.”

And we were off.

Now this isn’t some kind of tortuous, violent pummeling we’re talking about here. It’s actually a fairly relaxing and somewhat gentle head/neck/shoulders/foot/leg/back massage. But the money is in the 15-20 minutes spent on the foot/ankle region. That seems to be what kicks my body into baby town, every time.

I was having mild feelings of conflicting guilt while she worked my feet, realizing that 7 pm on a Friday night with my husband all the way across town at a major sporting event was probably an inopportune time to start labor. But, I was so tired. And so sore. And I just didn’t have the heart to stop her once she started on my swollen ankles. Once the massage was over and I was waddling out to my car I realized that I was already having mild contractions, but that overall my body felt good for the first time in weeks. I decided to go home, hit the warm bath, and see if anything came of it.

Dave rolled in around 11 pm, and the contractions were still coming at fairly regular intervals, but they were mild. I told him to try to sleep and I wandered the house, ping-ponging between the living room and the family room, trying to decide if the lumpy microfiber couch was more comfortable than the sweaty pleather number. Around 5 am I was convinced that we needed to head to the hospital, as my contractions had been 5 minutes apart for about 6 hours at this point. Never mind the fact that they still weren’t terribly painful and that I insisted we hit up the Starbucks drive thru en route. (Note: if you are interested in coffee and/or sausage breakfast sandwiches, you’re probably not in active labor.)

A couple snooty nurses, one very friendly and compassionate one, and 3 odd hours of monitoring and walking the halls later, our sweet nurse Katie sent us home with instructions to walk or rest up, and that she’d see us back later that night. Heads hung in shame, we shuffled out of the ER entrance at a paltry 3 cm and drove home to catch a quick nap before my baby shower. By the time my mom and sisters arrived to decorate and lay the spread for a very late-in-the-game celebration, I was having much more painful and regular contractions but I was determined to 1. eat that cake and 2. stay the hell away from the hospital until I had something to show for myself.

I mean, come on, who has a false start with baby #3?

Anywho, cake was consumed, presents were unwrapped, and friends were mildly amused/lightly traumatized when I paused to breath and sweat through particularly painful contractions during the party. The rest of the day is pretty hazy, but I did manage a nap at some point, and like 3 more baths.

Damn I love baths.

Around midnight that night, after a couple hours staring at a plastic image of Our Lady of Guadalupe and realizing I will never, ever attempt an unmedicated birth and that I most definitely would have died in childbirth had I belonged to any other century, I knew it was go time. For real, this time.

Back in the car, back to the hospital, back to the nurse’s station with my head hung in shame…or was it in a painful contraction posture? It must have been the second, for they put me into a real LDR room and skipped right over triage, glory! And then, the moment of truth, the cervical exam. I mentally held my breath as my nurse winked and pronounced me a “conservative 6.5 cm” while assuring me that she had chubby fingers and I was probably further even than that. Weird. And awesome. Dave and I started high-fiveing each other because holy crap, 3.5 cm at home with relative ‘ease’ on my part, and I wasn’t even screaming for my drugs yet.

Our sweet nurse inquired about my plans for pain relief and I told her they involved regulated substances and later, beer and ice cream. She told me now would be a wonderful time to get an epidural and I laughed with delight, because it didn’t even hurt that much yet, and yes please, send that wonderfully overpaid doctor up right away. She mentioned something about sending my blood to the lab to check my platelet count and quoted us 30 minutes till party time. And then she left. 30 minutes later, no doctor or nurse in sight, I wondered if maybe I had misheard her. An hour later, with pain started to become kind of a teensy bit on the unmanageable side, I wondered if we maybe should call somebody. Nearly 2 hours later, I had Dave by the collar during a contraction and told him to go out into the hallway and yell her name, where in the hell are my drugs?

Apparently my wonderful doctor had fallen back asleep? Forgotten? To order my labs, and so while the contractions intensified and labor mounted, nary a platelet was counted. And to think I’d been worrying about whether I’d have the chance to offer anything up during this birth. As it turned out, yes. But I’ll have to leave you hanging here because somebody is demanding a latte. To be continued…

(Part 2 here.)