Once upon a time, there was this girl. And she had a plan. For her third and final childbirth, she would have another easy, natural, unmedicated, uncomplicated childbirth.

Life, aka the universe, aka destiny, aka the great cosmic unknown, aka the gods, aka God with a capital G, (choose whichever you like, as your beliefs dictate) however, had a lesson to teach. It’s one our girl is familiar with, and it goes something like this: no matter how you plan or how much control you think you have over a situation, that situation has a life of its own, and events will unfurl as they will, so prepare to let go and let it happen.

So, I didn’t get the birth I wanted. But does it really matter, in the end? The outcome is good. There is a baby, and he is lying beside me, cranky because I stopped feeding him and put him down. He is beautiful.

Oh, but you want the details? OK. Read on.

For two weeks, I had prodromal labor. I would have contractions for hours on end daily that would gradually stall out. We ended up in the hospital twice with regular, timed contractions, only to be sent home because my body wasn’t dilating. Prior to the third trip to the hospital, the contractions were stronger than ever, for a longer, more consistent time. So, off we went to the hospital Monday morning around 4:30am. The midwives decided to keep me, as I was 2-3 centimeters dilated. So, I was admitted at 5am. I labored on my feet or sitting, in Allen’s arms, for most of that day. And when checked, was disappointed to hear that no dilation had happened in that time. I was failing to progress. I tried not to take this personally. Theories abounded, such as the fact that his head had never descended, that his presentation was posterior. That my body wasn’t producing enough oxytocin to do the job of dilating. Although it wasn’t in the plan, we acquiesced to receiving help and I was started on pitocin to get things moving.

Contractions got stronger, and still no dilation. I was having excruciatingly painful back labor. And yet no progress toward birth was happening. The baby’s head was still out of reach. No effacement. All those things that can be measured showed no change. My body was in hard labor, but my labor wasn’t moving toward birth.

Finally, it was decided that breaking the water would move things along.

It didn’t.

To further complicate matters, it was observed that the baby’s heartbeat became erratic whenever I had a strong contraction. For the sake of the baby, I was asked to labor horizontally. There was fear that the umbilical cord was prolapsed, so whenever the heartbeat dropped too low, I was turned to the other side.

Many hours of torture ensued. Fourteen hours after being admitted to Labor & Delivery, and feeling near the end of my pain tolerance, I asked for help. I hesitatingly submitted to the epidural, even though I knew it was unlikely to provide much relief, having tried this before during the birth of my first child. But I did get relief. Three hours of mostly-numb recharging. The left side of my body never got numb, but the edge was taken off. And then the pain returned. Doubly painful. And then the midwives talked to us about our options.

As long as the baby’s heartbeat continued to be stable, I could continue to move toward having a vaginal delivery. But I had to remain horizontal. Thanks to the pitocin administered earlier, I was now 5 cm dilated. Half-way there. When there was no change hours later, we had to make a decision. The midwife had a plan. She suggested a gradual increase in pitocin to get my cervix dilated so that birth could happen, as it was clear that my body wasn’t going to progress on its own. But so gradual that it wouldn’t affect the baby’s heartbeat. If it started to, it would be discontinued, and we’d have to consider a cesarean birth. We agree.

The pitocin is increased gradually. The pain relief is gone. Hours pass. The back labor in horizontal position is having its effect, breaking down my willpower. Another pow-wow with the midwife, and one tired woman asks for professional advice as to what to do. The midwife suggests a new epidural, and (with close observation of baby’s heartbeat) increasing the pitocin to, as quickly as possible, get the cervix dilated. If this doesn’t work, that other option will have to be considered. It’s now been 18 hours since admittance. The second epidural is administered. The pain relief comes soon after. Blessed respite. But the clock is ticking, so the pitocin is increased dramatically.

The baby’s heartbeat is strong, to our great relief. Three more hours pass, and I drop off for little naps here and there between contractions, awaking fully to pain on my left side, which is still not numb.  Then, the last of the pain relief dissipates. I endure hard labor contractions for about two more hours, fighting the desire to push. The midwife checks my progress and says “30 more minutes.” I breathe through the most excruciating pain of my life. Another hour passes. And finally, there is no more holding back. The midwife arrives, and the final check results in the best news ever. I am finally dilated and effaced enough for birth, although the baby remains out of full engagement.

The midwife sounds doubtful that I can push the baby out, since so much pain medication was pumped into me. She thinks I am numb and unable to push. “Do you remember how to push, how you pushed out your girls?” she asks. I don’t answer. I just push. I try to communicate that there is no pain relief, that I feel everything. But I’m also a little out of it with pain and resting between contractions. Her next question, I can hear the doubt in her voice. “Do you feel like you’re making progress?” I don’t need to answer this question. I just need to push out my child. I do so in less than 5 minutes, with three  contractions and some heroic pushes using every bit of energy and willpower I have left, to the cheers of my amazed and amazing husband, who hasn’t left my side for the entire 24 hours.

He is born at 5:48 am on his estimated due date—October 20, with a full head of hair.  8lb, 9oz, 22 inches long. Perfect.

I am up and walking 30 minutes later, and we are transferred to recovery. I shower and get dressed, and our first visitors arrive a few hours later to meet our son.

For more photos, go here.

photo by Scott Lefton

Many of you have asked for a belly shot. This is my belly at 30 weeks. Yes, there is only ONE baby in there. I only appear to be carrying a litter. Now you may twitter amongst yourselves about my gargantuan midsection, and save the thoughtful comments about how glorious I look in this, my last pregnancy, for me to read here on my blog. You will undoubtedly note the bags under my eyes. You can bet that after I give birth, I’ll be poking my sleeping newborn throughout the day to get my revenge for the last two months of his tap dancing in my uterus for hours on end starting at the magical hour of 2am and ending around 6am. Sleep deprivation is a bitch.

I’m at that interesting phase of pregnancy where everywhere I go, people either stare or move quickly out of my way, perhaps afraid I’m going to eat them. And, hey, if they are made out of chocolate, I do eat them.

On a slightly more serious note, I am spectacularly healthy. I’m now 33 weeks, so my belly button is moving toward that “done” position where it’s starting to poke out. I must admit, this has been my least comfortable late pregnancy. I very much look forward to the completion of this project and regaining my mobility, flexibility and stamina. Blood sugar, blood pressure, baby heartbeat, baby position — all indicators are normal and good. We’re hoping for another natural childbirth in mid-October *crossing fingers*.

I know, we’re getting all geared up for having a baby. But… we have 4 months to go. Is it REALLY necessary to add this much breast THIS early? These are the tits of porn. Isn’t this overkill? And let’s not forget what happens when the milk comes in. It’s just ONE baby!

You know you’re in trouble when your husband sees you naked and points and stares in fascinated confusion, and is only able to stammer out the words, “Baby! Your boobs!”

Are we really moving into size “G” territory here? For fuck’s sake.

No love,

me

When I was pregnant with my first,  I thought I’d need the crib with matching changing table, the beautifully decorated nursery with the John Lennon baby animal motif. I remember feeling frustrated because we couldn’t afford all those additional items I thought were needed to have a baby. And then I gave birth to a child who would not sleep in a crib, especially not one that lived in a separate room from her mother. The happy ending is that I learned quickly and reinvented myself and my perceptions of what motherhood really meant.

I became a sleep-sharing, baby-wearing, extended breastfeeding, very happy mom; and my child slept well, ate voraciously, and grew into this long-legged, smiling kid whose entering second grade next Fall.

When my second child came along less than two years later, the transition was a whole lot easier.

The first and only item I've bought so far for Rockstar P!

And 5.75 years later (oy!), we’ll be bringing a third baby into our household. Even though we sold/gave away all of our baby stuff (because we were, errrr, done having children. Ha ha!), I figure I can pick up the things we really DO need at little expense.  I’ll be getting lots of boy baby clothes from my best friend, Erica as well as from others in my community who will be passing down their used baby clothing. I’ve put a few things on an Amazon wish list (I have a link in the right column under “categories” if you’re curious), as there are some things I need to replace and would rather have new. Anything else  I need, I can probably find on Craig’s List, Ebay, through my town’s list serv, from friends, or from freecycle.com.

The single most used baby item in my life has been my sling. For me, it’s a necessary baby item. I used my first sling, an Over-the-Shoulder-Baby-Holder, all day long while at home and on every excursion with Kelsey for her first two years. And then, when my second child came along, I replaced it with a Maya Wrap, as I had worn the first sling down to a nub. I used this sling for at least the first three years of Laurel’s life. Not continuously, but it was an item of comfort for her and a way for me to be hands free when out and about with two kids. If you were to ask me for the most important thing to acquire for having a child, I would hands-down recommend getting a good sling. I still have my Maya Wrap, and it’s still in excellent condition. I’ll get more use out of it soon.

Separating the needs from the wants isn’t something the baby marketing industry is terribly keen on your doing. But we’re living in some somewhat lean times. If you’re like me, trying to make ends meet in a part of the country where the rents are high, there’s just less money to spend on STUFF. And, honestly, a lot of us are cognizant of what is going into our landfills. We don’t NEED all this stuff.

What do you really need for a new baby in your house?  You obviously need a way to transport the baby, a safe place for him to sleep, some VERY basic clothing and diapering supplies, health/baby care items, and formula/bottles if you aren’t breastfeeding. Those are the basics. The rest is dependent on your lifestyle and resources.

I wish someone had told me this 7.5 years ago.  I would have put money into starting a college fund instead of spending it on decorating and furnishing a nursery we never used .

No need to adjust your settings. It's just me.

Regardless, the gestating part is an amazing process that requires a versatile wardrobe and 40 weeks of vast amounts of freakishly weird and diverse foods. This week, I have grown out of two pairs of maternity pants, and two bras; and I’ve consumed more meat than I had all of last year, a jar and a half of sweet gherkins, a quart of grapefruit sorbet, 3 grapefruit, probably a pound of instant mashed potatoes, and three-fourths of a chocolate cake.

We’re obsessed with names right now. Or, at least *I* am obsessed. Allen has vetoed the following awesome names I came up with : Sky, Micah, Corbin, and Devon. He likes Owen. Aren’t my names SO much cooler? So, it looks like I need some help!

Send me more awesome names! The winner of the coolest baby boy names contest gets to, errr, name our baby! And we will publish YOUR name right here, on mothermirth. For all 20 of my readers to see! Think of the prestige, the honor….

The tech got all the shots she needed to conclude that the baby is looking good and that everything looks normal. Every time she pointed out something that wasn’t genitalia, Laurel would pipe up “We wanna see its bum!” They really wanted to know if their sibling will be penis enabled or not.

When the time finally came, they both seemed excited at the news. Our little bean has testicles! Kelsey was ecstatic. She couldn’t wait to call her cousin to let him know.

Allen and I were totally in shock. We didn’t know we could MAKE boys! The odds were so against us! Now we’re going back to the drawing board with the whole names thing. It’s hard to come up with a cool boys name!

On the way home, the girls came up with some interesting names to call their little brother. Laurel’s wins the prize, though. We are now calling him “Rockstar P.”

Here are some ultrasound pics. If you can make out what the hell that first photo is, you get a prize. The bottom two are profile shots of his head. You can pretty much just say “Oh, yes, your baby has a head! Congratulations!” I swear, wouldn’t you think we could get one of those new ultrasound photos that actually look like something?

Say hello to Rockstar P. Oh, and if you have any cool names to recommend, send ‘em along! Although, I’m getting somewhat attached to the idea of calling him Rockstar!

I switched midwives this week, mostly because I have no faith that Cambridge Birth Center will actually be the place I’m allowed to give birth. There are so many medical regulations dictating the admissions and requirements of most birthing centers that are associated with hospitals. I don’t blame the midwives at all, but I don’t want to be rolled across the parking lot to give birth at Cambridge Hospital. I switched to Midwives at Mount Auburn Hospital, and I’ve been assured that they will do their best to allow me a medically unassisted delivery at Mount Auburn, as much as is possible.

My new midwife informed me yesterday that I’ll be seeing the Advanced Maternal Age Specialist at the hospital when I get an ultrasound in a few weeks. Being over 35 and pregnant qualifies me for this, umm, honor. It’s a good thing I don’t turn 40 until a few months after I’m due, or more… honors would be bestowed upon me.

The AMA specialist will likely recommend that we induce labor at a certain gestational age. I’ve been doing a lot of reading about advanced maternal age and the complications of having children past 35. So, I am aware. I get the reasoning for such recommendations. But I’m also very healthy and had NO complications in my last two pregnancies. My medical history is positively boring. I will, of course, adhere to recommendations IF there is any evidence that I need to for the sake of the baby’s health.

Don’t get me wrong! I’m grateful to be living in a part of the world where good prenatal care is available. And I realize how lucky I am to have excellent insurance, a caring and supportive partner, and the availability of modern medicine in case there are any complications.

Still, it kinda sucks to be treated like a risk, based on my ADVANCED age. But I’m going to have to put this out of mind, for the sake of my own happiness. I want to continue to be positive, big-bellied confident mom-to-be, not her paranoid, obsessive, pessimistic alter-ego.

Leaving me to wantonly finish off the last of the coffee ice cream in PLAIN VIEW in the kitchen.

And getting to eat ALL of my Easter candy that a friend bestowed upon  me? All it took was explaining to the five year old (who caught me nom noming a bunny ear) that this was GROWN UP candy. And, stunningly, it worked. Hooray for sneaky!

As for 3 month milestones and such, I’m over the nausea and happily in cravings land. Emotions are running a bit high, especially when I’m starving or alone in a room with Laurel, who is going through some challenging developmental milestones of her own.

On the AWESOME side, my appearance has changed! The mirror no longer reflects a first-trimester sallow, discheveled mess with bags under her eyes. Mother Nature has been kind to me this last week. My skin is glowing, and I have rock star hair.  I am spring! Witness my body swelling with new life. I am fecundity!

And now, back to the freezer, to finish off the Neapolitan ice cream. Because the kids are STILL distracted!

If you are what you eat, last Monday I was a can of spinach. Yesterday, I was a bowl of gloopy instant mashed potatoes with rivulets of melted butter. I’m certainly not the Bradley Diet or the FDA’s nutritional guidelines for pregnant women.

Trying to manage nutritional needs in a woman’s first trimester of pregnancy is akin to juggling starving weasels. Someone’s going to get bitten. Yes, women who find they are the mother ship carrying a new alien should certainly try to eat well. But when just eating… anything proves difficult because of nausea or vomiting, finding what will stay down is the key.

I have a friend who could only eat saltines and lime popsicles for the first few months of her pregnancy. Her daughter is now 7 and is not only healthy and beautiful, but she’s also not green! I couldn’t stand the THOUGHT of chicken when pregnant with my first, and yet I somehow made it through my pregnancy without chicken or beef, subsisting mainly on vegetarian sushi, tomatoes and avocados.

You make the best choices you can. You take the prenatal. You try to manage the nausea. You wait for that time in pregnancy when you CAN manage your diet better.

I’m closing out week 10, and here is the list of foods I want to eat: sweet gherkins, instant mashed potatoes, cinnamon toast w/apple butter, grape tomatoes, broccoli, the ubiquitous coffee ice cream, chocolate milk, fresh fruit, orange juice, Chipotle’s vegetarian bol, Subway’s spicy Italian sub with banana peppers and oregano, Panera’s pecan twist pastries, and almost anything from ** my friend Sierra‘s stash of leftovers! I’m in the cravings stage now, moving OUT of the nauseated phase. When I get something in my brain that I want to eat, it’s very hard to switch tracks and accept eating something different without triggering those feelings of nausea.

After doing a little research, it appears there is still little known about women’s cravings and aversions during pregnancy. There are cravings that may possibly be influenced by a lack of iron, and then there’s the great unknown. Most cravings are linked to, big surprise, a pregnant women’s emotional/hormonal imbalance. Of course, science has been baffled by women’s issues for centuries and subscribe anything mysterious to our hormones and emotions. Why do some women eat baking soda and dirt during pregnancy, that feared pregnancy disorder called pica? If it’s NOT mineral deficiency, a mental disorder is diagnosed. That’s science for you, in a nutshell.

Maybe when I get a hysterectomy, my hysteria levels will decrease and the scientists can breathe a sigh of relief.  In the meantime, I have crazy cravings, and I and my peace-loving husband try to find ways to meet them. Because it’s GOOD to want to eat. It’s happy-making to fill my belly with foods that make me smile and NOT feel nauseated.

Managing to eat, eating to feel better, managing to escape nausea — these are issues pregnant women have a lot of anxiety about. One look through the October 2009 discussion boards on Babycenter.com brings an alarming number of posts from women concerned about what to eat/what NOT to eat. For every google search on “effects of nausea-induced starvation on a growing fetus” there’s a women in her first trimester, sitting in front of a computer and biting her nails off in fear that she’s harming her baby.

Find something, ladies! Take your prenatal right before bed on an empty stomach with a small glass of OJ (not calcium enriched) so that the iron absorption is optimal. Eat popsicles if you have to. Fruit, crackers… just get through to the time when you can open up your food choices and get a little closer to those recommendations.

Most importantly of all, surround yourself with friends who are supportive and understanding, who will indulge in your weird Chipotle cravings and meet you for burritos and good conversation. Or who open up their fridge and say “what can I heat up for you?” Or the understanding friend who gets it when you’re late picking up your kids from a playdate because the only Subway in town is actually two towns over down mysterious twisting streets that the GPS finds baffling.

I’ll be back next week. So if you see a large pickle with fabulous hair and a protruding belly walking around Davis Square, give me a wink!

**Sierra blogs over at www.childwild.com. Check her out!