Puzzled: Birth Story I

*A Note: It will become clear that my preference (for me) was a natural childbirth. I realize this is not everyone's cup of tea. But it is the cup of tea for me. This does not mean that I think it is right for everyone. You may have made other choices. Great! I love the birth you had and I love the child it produced or will produce. Let's agree that we both made our choices for very good reasons. Some of my reasons are based on research and some are based on my own personal quirks (neuroses?), and, above all, I fully believe that being "open" to any outcome in the delivery room is the best approach for expectant parents. This is our birth story.

40 weeks.  Our due date, November 16, passed with little fanfare.

  

My mother had been in town for a week, waiting, waiting, and on Sunday the 16th, she and I – in all my 40 weeks of round glory– took an 11 AM yoga class.

I figured I would just slosh through the poses, placing my body in a close-but-no-cigar shape next to the actual asana. (Warrior II has never looked so weird on me.) Then we met some friends for coffee, shopped for dinner ingredients, and settled in at home.

No labor for me.

Officially 40 and overdue. Officially going to face induction.

I know induction is not the end of the world. Sometimes it's just the boost a mom-and-baby team need to proceed with the otherwise natural birth. But sometimes it's the end of a birth plan.

And the "Natural" for which we were aiming = spontaneous, non-medicated, vaginal.

We'd be giving up "spontaneous," and hoping for two out of three, but often when induction is administered, the contractions are harder to manage, and the epidural becomes more... "attractive", shall we say? (And I think we can agree the pain-controlling cocktail looks damn fine as it is while enduring non-induced contractions.)

The next day, Monday, I have the standard fetal monitoring session: good, and an ultrasound: also good, then we visit our midwifery practice. Susan, (whom I adore and like to refer to as "Tough Love") gently convinces us to set a date for induction. "One day overdue?," you ask, "What's the big deal?" Well, it's not usually, but because of my – – altogether now – –

"advanced age" 

there is a very slight increase in cases of fetal demise. "Fetal demise" means stillborn. So, any sane expectant mother would dive onto the hospital table and guzzle the Pitocin if she could to avoid such a nightmarish tragedy, right?

But--and maybe I'm not altogether sane-- we knew our baby was thriving, we'd just come from the ultrasound, and we had another ultrasound in two days.

I know I'm 40. 

I know. 

But I didn't feel scared for Little Fetus Froo Froo this time.
And I know what scared is. 

I felt scared during the first trimester when I put myself in child's pose for hours at a time, and rocked myself in the delirium of nausea... 

When I couldn't bear the smell of food, let alone the taste... 

When the few calories I managed to get in, swiftly came out... 

I was scared for weeks... 

Rising from the bed, slowly, half expecting the stain of blood that meant that Little Froo had not survived the night.

But here, at 40 weeks + one day, with a soldier of a fetus, weighing an estimated 7 pounds, in a good head-down position, and with nice plush pockets of amniotic fluid cushioning her every move, I was not scared. ... And I'd prefer if everyone stopped trying to make me so.

... Yet, we'd listened. We listened to doctors, midwives, literature, friends, other parents, you.  You, who leave your comments here, or on Facebook, warning in your caring- though somewhat scaring- way:

It never goes as planned.

We heard you. 

We heard. 

We heard.

And, so, on Monday the 17th, at one little day overdue, we scheduled an induction. I stretched time as long as possible, aiming for exactly one week later, when Tough Love herself was the midwife on duty.  Monday the 24th.  (Sigh), Froo won't be a Scorpio born that late...

It never goes as planned.

Susan accepted my decision, but pointed out in all seriousness that I –and Sheffield– was making a choice against the midwives' advice.  They would have me induced immediately. Remembering our struggles... Froo's and mine... remembering the conversations I had with her (him?) before she was even conceived... remembering the jolt we felt when she stubbornly wouldn't move for a couple of hours the week prior... Should I be scared?

Me to Susan: "Do you think I'm being reckless?" 

Susan to me: "No, I trust your instincts.  But I can't risk recklessness either.  I have to advise you this way."
"Okay."
"Okay."

We rise from our chairs, and Susan takes my hand and kisses it.  Peresia at the front desk –who had predicted she wouldn't see us today because the baby would already be here– insisted that this time, it's for real. Baby is coming, and no way would we make it to that induction next week.  She placed her hands on my belly to make it so.

We walked slowly out of the office, and in the hallway, I asked Sheffield for a hug. It was raining cats and dogs that day, and we didn't want to get soaked searching for a place for lunch. (I got it in my head that I wanted Indian food, specifically spicy eggplant, which is rumored to evict the little ones. Thank you Cousin Monica.) So, we rode quietly back to Queens on the subway to our local Indian buffet lunch, occasionally stating the obvious: 

"This is good. We have to let go of our expectations, right? "

"Yeah, 'it never goes as planned,' right?"

"'It never goes as planned.'"

"Right.  And that's still a whole week..." 

"Yeah." 

"Yeah."

But we all know that poor woman who was nine days late, or two weeks, or more...

It continued to rain. We continued to work on the 1000 piece puzzle whose sole purpose it was to pass the time – – and now the puzzle nearly finished, and the time pretty well passed. 

We ordered pizza. Watched Jon Stewart and then Stephen Colbert.  Jennifer Lawrence was the guest of one of them.  Gosh she's pretty.  Gosh she's successful.  Gosh she's... not 40.

Mom goes to bed.

Soon we have just a half-dozen puzzle pieces to go. Then three, two, one – – and it's done. 1000 pieces of various colorful bugs.

Sheffield moves to the kitchen to wash the day's dishes, and I get ready for bed.  Somehow we know that the decision to alter our ideal plan is like the last step in the "Letting Go" that is going to be necessary to have this baby.  Like the last piece of a puzzle.  

Twenty minutes later, at 11:30 PM, I get my first real, true, honest to God natural-as-they-come contraction.  

Things never go as planned.