guest post: the calm before my stork

By Mayberry Mom

In the weeks before my first child was born I never once entertained the idea that I would have a cesarean section. Although my girl was large (nearly nine and a half pounds, as it turned out), she was not breech and therefore, in my mind, there was no reason why she couldn’t be delivered vaginally. I read nothing about c-sections, did no mental preparation for the possibility. I could argue now that this was all part of my calm, positive outlook and desire to avoid a self-fulfilling prophecy. But I know now that it was all about denial.

After nearly 48 hours of labor and a baby still at -2 station, there was no denying that this baby was not coming out without surgical intervention. Famished and exhausted, I signed the consent forms. Less than 30 minutes later, my girl was in her father’s arms and I was being stitched back together.

And I was mostly fine with this turn of events. After all it brought my amazing firstborn to me, whole and healthy. My recovery was smooth and so was breastfeeding.

But still, the doubt crept in. Could I have done something differently? Stayed home longer, walked more, refused the pitocin administered after 24 hours of not-that-productive labor? Begged for more time?

So with my second baby, I vowed to be more proactive. With the support of my (new) doctor, I insisted on attempting a VBAC, despite “are you nuts?” comments from friends and acquaintances. In the calm weeks leading up to stork #2’s arrival, I walked miles and miles, hoping to induce labor naturally and goose that baby down, down, down into my pelvis. I took evening primrose oil and drank raspberry leaf tea. I visualized, prayed, hoped for the best.

Sure enough: when my boy was ready, my labor began and I dilated far faster than I had the first time. I walked the corridors of the hospital and bounced on a ball. The nurses and doctors left me alone with my husband to let my body do the work, calmly and with determination. And, for awhile, it did.

Until it didn’t, anymore. Seven centimeters dilated, for an hour, then two. When my son started showing signs of distress I once again made the trip from birthing suite to operating room. I once again was cut open so my child could emerge, freed from the cord that had twisted itself around his neck. Smaller than his sister, but with a shock of hair just like hers. Whole and healthy too.

And then, finally, I was calm in the knowledge that I had done everything I could to have the right birth, the one my baby and I both needed.

I’m Mayberry Mom, and I usually blog much more frivolously about life with my two no-longer-babies in a wholesome midwestern town. I’m honored to help blog-sit while Julie and Jonah are enjoying the quasi-calm that comes after the stork!