Friday, June 25th

This was my last day of work. I saw three clients and spent the afternoon between clients running errands with Frankie and my mother in law. The big heat wave was starting and things felt hot and busy. That night after tying up all loose ends with clients and setting my “out of office” email reply, I wanted to celebrate and had a feeling things were going to happen soon so Nate and I took advantage of my mother in law being in town and went on our 3rd date night since Frankie was born. We ate dinner on bar stools outside and I was beyond uncomfortable, my feet swelled up like sausages. I instantly regretted how much I ate. Even walking to and from the car felt horrible. That night at 10:15pm I texted my doula letting her know that the cramps I’d been having felt like they might be turning into contractions.

Birth is so psychological. My labor with Frankie literally started an hour after I turned in my final grad school paper. And wrapping up with clients seemed to mentally give me the permission to have this baby. I was definitely kicking myself I didn’t decide to stop working a week earlier.

I went to bed that night feeling super anxious about what was to come. I’d been checked earlier that week at the midwife and was already 4cm so I was told once labor started it would likely be very quick. My active labor with Frankie was already only 5 hours and I’ve heard second babies usually come in about half the time.

I remember my heart racing throughout the night. I felt anxious about the intensity of labor. I felt worried about how big he might be. Could I trust my body to birth as seamlessly as it had last time? After all, this pregnancy seemed to surprise me every step of the way with how different it was from my first. I got up several times throughout the night covered in sweat and went to the kitchen to take lemon balm. Something about pregnancy really escalates my anxiety and lemon balm seems to usually help but on this night nothing seemed to really calm me.

Saturday June, 26th

I eventually got some sleep and contractions spaced out and even went away at times. The next day I woke up feeling calmer and like I was given a second chance to get ready for what was to come. I spent the day checking items off my to-do list. I bounced on the birth ball, wrote out birth affirmations, packed my hospital transfer bag, and we blew up the birth tub. And by noon my contractions had come back and were 5-10 minutes apart but super manageable. It felt like early labor and I felt calm and ready.

I messaged my midwives through the portal letting them know I thought I was in early labor and asked about options to transfer to the birth center should our power go out and we lose AC. The temperatures were expected to get up to 108 degrees and the idea of laboring in that without power sounded like a nightmare. Despite having central air the birth center didn’t have any back up generators so continuing with our homebirth plans made the most sense.. My midwife recommended staying hydrated with electrolytes. So I drank three giant glasses of water with nuun tablets throughout the day.

We watched “The Undoing” on HBO while I bounced on the birth ball and relaxed. I prepped the birth space and got excited. By the early evening I felt like things were steadily progressing. I really liked the autonomy of being on my own and was hesitant to call our midwives and doula. But I was also aware of the fact that I waited way too long to call our doula/midwife last time and the doula arrived during transition and midwife when I started pushing. Knowing second labors go much quicker I was mindful not to wait too long.

It had been super hot all day so we spent the day inside with the portable AC we’d acquired the week before. By around 7:30/8pm I decided I’d like to try to go for a walk to get some fresh air and help get labor going. I really believed he would be born that night so I called our doula and arranged for her to arrive after our walk, at which time my mother in law could head off to her airbnb and our doula could help us tag team taking care of Frankie with Nate. Nate, Frankie, my MIL and I all went for a walk and I paused at each contraction, bending over a fence or car or whatever was nearby. I felt like I was handling them really well. I loved the freedom of being unobserved by a medical team. We walked slowly for about 30 minutes but didn’t go far. My contractions were about 5 minutes apart, lasting a minute, for about an hour which was the criteria for calling the midwives. I called the on-call number, left the operator my information, and waited for a call back. When they called back we arranged for them to come around 10:00pm and I said I’d call if anything changed.

When we got home I really wanted to give Frankie one last shower as my only child. It felt sweet and like one of my last special everyday routine moments I knew so well with her. We showered and I got dressed in the cute bra I wanted to wear to labor in and some yoga shorts. Our doula arrived around 9:30 or 10pm and we said goodbye to my MIL, hoping that the next morning she’d be over to meet her grandson. The hustle of people coming and going slowed my contractions down, not surprising given everything we know about birth.

I labored on the birth ball with the support of my doula, we dimmed the lights, got the scene set and I tried to relax and move in ways that felt good. I read Frankie a bedtime story and teared up as I tucked her in, again hoping that she would awake to a baby brother.

When the midwives arrived at 11pm they set up computers and supplies on our kitchen table but tried to let me be aside from checking my vitals and the baby’s heartbeat regularly. Things were going well. I was hopeful and excited. It was happening.

I was feeling the contraction in the center of my pubic symphysis which the midwife suggested meant he wasn’t in the best position. I labored in some squats on yoga blocks, had Nate lift my belly up while I tuck my tailbone under during a contraction which is supposed to help release pubic bone pain, and then I settled in an exaggerated side lying pose in our bed. At this point it was just past 1am and I was really starting to fade, even drift asleep between contractions. Things weren’t picking up, but rather winding down. I felt like it was bedtime and the adrenaline of birth was nowhere to be seen which made me anxious.

At 1:45am I agreed to have the midwife check me to get a sense of where we were at. Earlier that week at my midwife appointment I was 4cm so I figured by now I’d be at least 6. Nope. FOUR centimeters. Zero cervical change despite days of early labor. I felt completely defeated. How could this be possible? My active labor with Frankie had flown by and this was my second kid, it was supposed to be even faster this time. I felt confused and embarrassed for having the midwives come when they believed I was still technically in early labor. We discussed them potentially going home and coming back when and if things intensified. I felt so guilty and like I had wasted their time, which they assured me I hadn’t. Right then I had a really intense contraction that I moaned through. My midwife said she didn’t feel comfortable leaving me like this so everyone decided to stay but get some rest. So we basically had a big sleepover, with midwives on our couch and third bedroom bed, and our doula on the chair and a half in Frankie’s room. Nate and I tried to sleep but between my anxiety and regular contractions it was hard. I fell asleep between every contraction and would wake up and moan through them. The midwife student came in once an hour to check my vitals and baby’s heartbeat. It was hard to rest but somehow I woke up at 4:50am feeling rested and ready to go. This time of year in Seattle dawn happens at like 4:30am so that may have had something to do with it.

Sunday, June 27th

I told my midwife about how I was feeling and she encouraged me to labor in a squat over yoga blocks and go for a walk outside. I took a labor tincture (I’d been taking for a couple weeks) every 15 minutes until there was none left. I was still feeling pain on and off in my pubic bone. It felt like his skull was scraping against my pubic bone. Nate, our doula and I left for a walk at 6:15am. I did curb walking which is supposed to help get things going. On the walk I cried and told them I was scared he was too big, that he was getting stuck, that I was worried at how slowly things were moving compared to what I had expected. I told them I was terrified I was still at 4cm. My doula encouraged me to express these feelings which felt good.

Frankie woke up shortly after we got home and she curled up in our bed with me. I figured there was no way we’d be able to entertain her and care for her all day so we’d need to call my mother in law to come get her. This meant she would probably miss the birth which was really upsetting to me.

Meanwhile, I braced myself and asked the midwife to check me. 6cm. I had made progress. I was so relieved. I labored again in the exaggerated side lying pose on our bed while holding Frankie’s hand. She gave me all the oxytocin and I loved being close to her. At one point I felt a really sharp painful movement that felt like his head shifting in my pelvis between contractions. Later my midwife said all the positions and work I was doing shifted him in a better position and I wonder if this feeling was him moving. Then I squatted backwards on the toilet per my midwife’s recommendation. By 8am I felt like I had made it to transition. Our doula was with Frankie and Nate was with me doing the double hip squeeze with every contraction and I felt like things were working so we messaged my mother in law that we’d like to keep Frankie with us and if she wasn’t tolerating things we’d reach back out.

By 8:45am the midwives had re-warmed the pool, confirmed I was 8cm with a “bulging bag” and let me know I could get in the birth tub. The tub felt incredible. Instant relief, almost like how I’d imagine an epidural would feel. I labored through more contractions and started feeling pushy. My midwife let me know I could push. I felt so much relief. I had made it to pushing. I was in the tub. The end was in sight. I gazed up at the birth affirmations I had posted between contractions and felt like they gave me strength. I continued in the tub until 10:55, not feeling a strong urge to push but noting that it did feel good to push. When I told the midwife the pushing urge felt so mild she said it was likely because my water was still intact. This makes labor and pushing less intense but it also draws it out in duration. Feeling like things weren’t going anywhere I decided to have the midwife break my water. I laid on the couch (covered in tarp) and she broke my water and at the same time noted that I had a “cervical lip” meaning my cervix still wasn’t quite at 10cm.

Between 11am when my water broke and 11:55am this is when things really went downhill for me. Contractions became so much more intense, but worse than that emotionally I became completely defeated. I felt like I had gone backwards in my labor and was re-experiencing transition again when for the past two hours I felt like I was past that phase. I labored on the toilet, again, then did side lunges per the midwife’s suggestion. She encouraged me that these positions would help bring him down and I wanted him out so badly. Then they brought in what felt like a torture device: the birth stool. I could only do half a contraction on it, it was excruciating. With Frankie’s birth I had felt intensity but really never felt like there was any suffering. During this hour I looked at my midwife and said “I’m suffering”. She asked me if I wanted to transfer, I said no. I cried through contractions and when they’d check his heart-rate a part of me wanted it to be low so we could transfer to the hospital and I could just get a c-section. I didn’t even want to try laboring with an epidural, I wanted them to just cut me open and take him out of me. This was the darkest and hardest hour of my birth. It completely brought me to my knees physically, mentally, and emotionally.

At noon I told them I couldn’t do the birth stool anymore and begged to get back in the tub. Labor instantly felt manageable again. I started pushing shortly after, reaching to see if I could feel his head between contractions. I felt something super squishy and soft, my midwife said it could be his head or it could be the cervical lip. My contractions were intense but really spaced out. She told me that this was a sign of uterine fatigue and would increase my likelihood of hemorrhaging so she recommended pitocin immediately after birth. I said I’d like to think about it, but appreciated the prep.

Meanwhile, Frankie was present the entire time. She moved in and out of playing in her room, eating ice pops on Nate’s lap, rubbing my back, observing me from the couch, and coloring and playing with our doula. I love how normal it all seemed to her, I worked hard to prepare her, we watched birth videos together most mornings and read books about birth (highly recommend “Mama Midwife”). I would tell her mama is going to roar like a lion and whenever I showed her what it might sound like she laughed hysterically. She seemed unfazed by the intensity of it all.

I soon realized what I was feeling between contractions was in fact his head. This brought me so much relief. I visualized over and over what it would be like to finally meet him. I was truly in the home stretch now. I could do this. I had fought so hard to bring him into the world and it was now right around the corner. As he crowned I tried really hard to slow things down. During certain contractions I even tried ignoring the urge to push because the feeling of his head coming out was so intense. I knew the slower I breathed him down during these final pushes the less of a chance there was that I’d tear and it felt incredibly intense.

Quickly after his head was born. I calmly waited for the next urge to push. I remember saying that I could feel his little ear. Then, just like Frankie, he started moving but rather than wiggling out of me, it felt like he was wiggling upward. Noooo. Wrong direction, dude! I pushed to try to over-correct his wiggling. The midwife asked for a time check for how long his head had been out, she sounded concerned. A second later a contraction came and his entire body shot out. The force of it pushed me back and I reached down, grabbed him and pulled him to my chest. I had fought so hard for his moment. I cried. I did it.

Unlike Frankie, he didn’t cry right away. He was calmer and needed some suctioning of his nose and mouth. It took him a minute for him to pink up but my midwives didn’t seem concerned. I looked up at Nate and Frankie and said “Frankie, look it’s baby brother” and they gazed down at me and Arlo. I felt so much exhaustion, so much pain but mostly so much relief. I did it, but it didn’t feel empowering. The experience felt like it broke me and I was just so glad it was over.

Given how different his labor was, it wasn’t surprising to me that he needed a little extra help after he was born. He felt so good on my chest. He felt bigger than Frankie, but so perfect, so sweet. And I felt so much relief looking down at him.

Immediate Postpartum & Hospital Transfer
We spent about 10 minutes together in the tub until the midwives advised me to get out as they were concerned about my bleeding. The moment I stood up a gush of blood clots came out and things suddenly felt a bit more urgent. They had me lay down on the couch and I quickly consented to a shot of pitocin, something I initially really didn’t want, but understood if there’s a time and place for it, it’s incredibly helpful in stopping excessive bleeding. Nate and Frankie cut Arlo’s cord 5 minutes later, and the midwife encouraged me to deliver the placenta as soon as possible. I tried pushing and it came quickly (In Frankie’s birth I had no bleeding after she came out so we waited 50 calm minutes, between doses of angelica tincture, for my placenta to come). After delivering the placenta, they were still concerned with my bleeding so I got a second shot of pitocin in the other thigh. I also got several rounds of that horrible fundal massage. It was more annoying than painful, and again although it wasn’t something I wanted I realized that it was necessary. Through all of this I was holding Arlo and he latched quickly.

Before the midwife even had a chance to check me I figured I’d torn. Most first time moms tear and I somehow left Frankie’s birth almost entirely unscathed, I had a tiny superficial tear that didn’t require stitches. I was told over and over again if I didn’t tear with my first it would be extremely unlikely I would tear with my second. I was also told active labor would be half as long and we know how that turned out. So when she told me I had a second degree tear that required about 10 (internal and external) stitches I honestly wasn’t surprised. His head was only a cm larger than Frankie’s but they said his head didn’t mold at all, so it presented as much larger. Later a nurse even commented that he looked like a c-section baby because his head was so perfectly round and he had no bruising and swelling the way vaginal birth babies usually do. He likely had lots of space with his bag intact for so long and then just shot through. My midwife also mentioned my pelvis being wide enough that he had plenty of space and his head didn’t need to mold. Definitely surprising to me.

I have a phobia (that’s gotten much more manageable in the last 5 years) of needles so I was really freaked out about getting stitches. I asked the midwife what my options were for pain and anxiety relief. She said if I transfered to the hospital they could give me a benzo and gas/air which felt unnecessary to me. Instead I ended up taking two rounds of lemon balm tincture, putting on my calming music, and having our doula hold Arlo so I could have Nate’s undivided attention and support. The midwife also said she was in no rush to get the stitches started so I could rest a minute. I was really eager to know just how big he was so I asked if while we waited we could weigh him. 8 pounds 2 oz. I had been telling people I would be shocked if he was under 8 pounds and I was right. In fact, I actually guessed 8 pounds 2 oz exactly at my baby shower, but I thought he’d arrive a week earlier than he did. I still don’t really know how I grew an 8+ pound baby after Frankie was only 6.5 pounds.

The stitches were definitely not as bad as I had anticipated. I got topical and shots of lidocaine (the shots were the worst part) and I really didn’t feel the stitching at all aside from some tugging. Once it was over I felt like I could finally relax.

During all of this the midwives were checking both Arlo and my vitals and they had increasing concern about his breathing. He had elevated breaths per minute that didn’t seem to be getting better. At first I wasn’t too concerned, I figured we’d just monitor him, but eventually my midwife said that she’d advise calling to consult with the UW neonatologist. I consented, trusting her judgement, but still really hoping it would just resolve itself. Meanwhile, the midwives helped me to the shower. I was covered in blood, seriously so much blood, poop and sweat. Birth is messy. I felt disgusting. It was hard to stand so I showered quickly. When I got out I laid down on the bed for only a couple minutes with Arlo until we learned that it was best to transfer him to the hospital for monitoring. A part of me really couldn’t believe it, but I think I was so much in survival mode I figured we’d just do what we needed to do. We called Nate’s mom and she rushed over to be there for Frankie so Nate and I can go to the hospital with Arlo. When she arrived Nate whispered to her “his name is Arlo”. That was her dad’s name; he died a couple months before Nate was born. We all hugged and cried.

After several calls the midwife informed us that driving ourselves to the ER wasn’t a good option as we’d be waiting there for hours and he’d be exposed to tons of people. There was also a 6 hour wait for an ambulance (remember we were in the middle of a historic heat wave), so the best remaining option was to call the fire department who would come and facilitate getting an ambulance. My midwife warned they would show up fully in gear and I braced myself for it. Nate and our doula helped me throw some extra things in my hospital transfer bag, after all I figured if I was transferring it would be for me not for Arlo. I was not prepared to be a visitor in the NICU, sleeping on a couch, hours after giving birth.

When the fire department arrived they filled our apartment. The ambulance brought even more people. They carried me down our third floor walk-up on this chair designed to go down stairs. Nate brought Frankie down to see the ambulance and firetruck - she loves fire trucks but was not interested. She started sucking her thumb, which she’s never done, and appeared really stressed by everything. I had prepared her extensively for the birth but never thought to prepare her for a hospital transfer. I felt horrible. I got into the ambulance with Arlo and Nate followed behind in the car. The medics were warm and kind and we chatted for the duration of the ride.

When we got to the hospital they wheeled us up to the NICU and immediately swabbed Arlo for COVID and took him away. I was told that I couldn’t see him until his results came back two hours later. I think I was so much in survival mode that I couldn’t really emotionally process that information in the moment but I remember feeling particularly concerned with being able to breastfeed him. The thought of him being alone and hungry was heartbreaking. The charge nurse came back a couple minutes later and said that we’d missed the 6pm covid test window so now we wouldn’t expect results until 10pm. Because of this they made an exception for us to join him in his room as long as we agreed not to leave until his results came back, not even to use the bathroom. We obviously agreed to this and immediately went to get some food and use the bathroom so we could join him. When we were in the food court Nate told me he walked by Arlo’s room and heard him crying and I completely lost it and sobbed between bites of caprese sandwich I forced myself to eat. He had lived inside my body up until five hours ago and now he was alone. When we got to his room the nurse advised me to let him sleep and when he wakes up to notify her so she can help get him out of his little incubator bed. It felt really frustrating not being able to just hold my baby. I hated needing permission. As soon as he woke up we did skin to skin and breastfed. He was so good at nursing from the beginning. It came with so much more ease than with Frankie, maybe because I’d been nursing for two years, maybe because he was bigger and stronger than Frankie was.

That night I slept on a couch in his room and Nate slept in a recliner. No one hours postpartum should have to sleep on a couch. It was so less than ideal. Throughout the night and into the morning Arlo’s breathing returned to a normal range and by rounds that morning his team agreed to let him go home. His breathing issues were ultimately labeled as “transient tachypnea of the newborn” which is not uncommon. Hearing about the other babies in the NICU really made me feel so lucky. All of the nurses joked that Arlo was the biggest baby there and had the shortest stay. Overall the staff was amazing and I took advantage of all of the hospital services from the IBCLC to the Social Worker. It reminded me so much of the year I worked on an integrative care unit in a hospital back in grad school.

We got home around 3pm the next day. It was the peak of the heatwave and set a record at 108 degrees. It was so good to get home to Frankie, who has become the sweetest big sister. The first days home were really challenging and chaotic. It took me days to even realize we never got our golden hour post birth. We never got to crawl in bed as a family of four and exhale after his birth. This is one of the best parts about having a home birth and it was taken from us. I feel like this is something I still need to mourn a bit.

When my midwife did a home visit 48 hours postpartum (the frequency of postpartum visits with midwifery is amazing and really needs to be standard of care) she asked if I felt my birth was traumatic. As a psychologist I understand trauma as being relational and from this lens I felt respected and supported for the duration of my labor, so no, I don’t think it was traumatic. But I do think I’m coming to terms with some disappointment in my body and the way I see myself in relation to birth. I think I’ve lost some faith and trust in my body and the concept of physiologic birth.

I’ve wrestled so much with how I could have such vastly different birthing experiences. Why was this birth so long and hard? With Frankie my midwives arrived at 10:30pm and she was born at 1:00am. 2.5 hours they were there before she was born. With Arlo they arrived at 11pm and he wasn’t born until 1pm the next day. 14 hours. Was it the heat? His size? Was it psychological? Did I not practice my hypnobirth tracks enough? Was he truly in just a horrible position or even posterior? The only part of his birth that lined up with expectations was the fact that I pushed for around half as long as I did with Frankie. About an hour of legitimate, fully dilated, pushing compared to the 2.5 hours I pushed with Frankie. I’m really struggling with making meaning out of it all. On paper I got my second home birth but it doesn’t feel like a “success” it feels like my body let me down. It actually felt reassuring to me when Nate said he felt if I had had a hospital birth it would have ended in a c-section. I probably would have been labeled with failure to progress or insufficiently sized pelvis. I probably would have been given pitocin. And although I wonder if an epidural would have helped relax my uterus, I speculate it would have kept me for the most part laying in bed unable to do all those positions which ultimately helped get him out. I fought so hard to bring him into the world, but I felt like my midwives fought just as hard supporting me every step of the way. I feel incredibly grateful that they never gave up on me, even when I was giving up on myself.

I think his birth will take a while for me to make sense of. Emotionally postpartum has stung much less this time. Frankie’s birth felt like a truly spiritual experience that left me so emotionally raw. I felt myself wanting to cling to that experience forever. With Arlo’s birth I just felt relief that it was over, and a readiness to move on and enjoy my baby. It feels much less emotionally charged and I feel more stable this time.

After I got stitched up on the couch, I turned to Nate and said, “That’s it. We are absolutely done. There’s no way I’m doing this again”. By day 5 postpartum I was already open to the idea of having another. We’re on day 9 now and I can confidently say I hope we have more kids one day.

I recently saw the following quote on instagram and it resonated so strongly:

“For every birth video you watch where a woman calmly breathes her baby into the world, make sure you watch one where she begs, pleads, roars, swears, doubts and works incredibly hard to meet her baby. So if this is your experience you are not caught off guard.”

— @matrescence.podcast

I’ve been taking this postpartum period more seriously this time around. I’ve rested more and left the house significantly less than last time. And really trying to just enjoy my son. For how chaotic and challenging his birth was, Arlo is the sweetest soul and the easiest most snuggly baby.