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*.

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!