Cookie's Birth Story

36 hours old

A few days into new motherhood comes what my midwife friend calls "the wet week." The hormone levy of pregnancy bursts, and everything- breast milk, night sweats, and tears- starts flowing, all at once. After Nug's birth three years ago, this corresponded with (or prompted?) my obsession to watch birth stories on television, and so I sat, through the wet week, pausing each episode to mop my face dry before the next wave of tears.

I was drenched by the enormity of my hormonal roller coaster, but more than that, I was reconciling the experience of Nug's birth (thus the childbirth television obsession). Nug was healthy, and I was healthy, but the transition to motherhood was immense. I had imagined a different, more empowering scenario, one that stood triumphant on the pedestal I built for it over the course of my years as a perinatal nurse. Instead, I felt derailed and disappointed (in short, I did not want any interventions but I got them).

I'm sure those feelings are shared by many a first-time mom, but I was determined to create a different reality with Cookie's pregnancy and birth. With a three-year-old at home, drowning in my tears was not on my list of luxuries! So I carefully chose a midwife practice (then chose again) and hired a doula, Stephanie. I spoke openly of my fears and even created a mantra for labor. Buoyed by these supports, my heart and head felt open, even excited. Once February rolled around, I was ready to go.

My mother-in-law was due to arrive on Saturday, ten days before my due date. Regular Braxton Hicks contractions had begun the week before, however, and kept us both anxious, wondering if we'd have to activate Plan B for Nug's care. On a couple of nights, the contractions were strong enough to text the doula with a heads-up. I tried to stay off my feet (impossible!) and we gently asked the baby to wait for Grandma to come.

Cookie was listening and I woke up Saturday morning in early labor. We went to breakfast and kept our fingers crossed for an on-time train and a tardy labor. W gave me some time off from parenting and I took a midday nap.

Grandma's train arrived at 2:30pm in a dusting of snow. I opened the door for my mother-in-law and the cold air carried her proclamation to my belly, "Oh, you are ready to go!" W and I took a long, slow walk together, my face frozen in the winter air while the rest of me simmered in crescendoing labor. We came home and sat down to dinner; I managed to eat, then started pacing and called the doula.

Trying to rest on the couch with Nug while W and her mom make dinner (my last pregnant meal) 

Stephanie arrived around 7:30pm. She turned down the lights, put the tea kettle on, and placed a heat pad on my low back. W put Nug to bed. She kissed me goodnight while I was draped and contracting over the exercise ball. As soon as my first born walked away, my body slid into active labor.

Laboring at home with Stephanie, my wife, and my mother-in-law was calm and peaceful. I moved through different positions and visualized my happy places (drinking poolside pina coladas at the Empress Hotel in Asbury Park!). During really strong contractions, I could feel Cookie move down. Around 9pm I needed a distraction from the back pain and got in the shower. Contractions were every two to three minutes, lasting for one minute, getting stronger and exhausting me. Nervous about laboring during the car ride, we called the midwife and packed up. I glanced at the clock when I climbed in the car: 10:07pm.

My water broke as we turned into the hospital driveway, I felt a little pop. W parked at the emergency room entrance and unloaded. There was a line to check in, but luckily a female security guard waved me to the front, shooshing her male coworkers as they tried to ask me questions. W and I walked the hospital maze to the labor and delivery floor. At this point my heavy breathing was constant.

It was probably 10:40pm when I got in the labor room. Contractions were right on top of each other. Reluctantly I climbed into bed for the standard twenty minutes of monitoring and a student midwife checked my cervix: seven centimeters. I didn't have time to digest this information because the psycho contractions began. These pains were straight. up. horror. film. Face down and howling into the sheet, I could not catch my breath or find a place happy enough to combat the new level of pain. My eyes were shut tight and my hands gripped the side rail. I puked. Cool cloths were placed on my superheated skin. I felt an urge to push. Someone told me not yet. A bright light hovered over my head- time to insert an IV, but there was no way I was going to lie still for that. The urge to push came again and I was thankful for the sensation. The midwife checked me and to everyone's surprise (except mine) saw Cookie's head. They weren't even finished with the twenty minutes of monitoring! Four pushes later, and after a week of early labor, four hours of active labor, and thirty minutes in the hospital, Cookie was born at 11:11pm.

She was placed on my belly, crying and warm. It took me a few minutes to catch my breath and assimilate that the pain was gone. I held her and looked at my wife, as immense relief was replaced by immense love.

And now here I am again, a few days into motherhood, and crying. This time, however, there is no regret, no failure. There is no comparing my birth to stories on television. In fact, you know what I've cried about this week? 1) Being moved by the voice of Philip Philips (yep, it's true), 2) Realizing during our Valentine's dinner out that it was Cookie's last day of being five days old, 3) Feeling triumphant in my body's accomplishments of the last seven days: from pregnant, to birthing without pain medicine, to postpartum recovery, to mother of two.

P.S. If I had to do it again, I'd probably choose the epidural!