I was due April 15th, but no one seemed to believe I'd make it to my due date. I was told at 34 weeks I looked ready to pop and it was strongly suggested to me by some family members that I should pack my hospital bag, but I was determined to at least make it to 37 weeks. I was actually quite lucky to feel really good right up until 38 weeks hit, and then I was suddenly very over being pregnant.
Tom and I started lots of long walks down to the lake with the dogs right around 38 weeks. My waddle would really set in walking a mile uphill on the way home, but I still felt quite capable and it did help to start a few erratic contractions. At my 38 week check up my doctor gave us the good news that I was 2cm dilated, 90% effaced already. We reviewed my very loose and flexible birth plan (the gist was no interventions unless I very explicitly asked for them - more on this in a minute - or one of us was in distress). I was given my next appointment date, and a guestimated 50% chance of making it to that appointment.
I was scheduled to work right up until my due date, which was a Sunday, but my boss had the foresight to leave most of my schedule open during my last week, so that I could commit to same day appointments as I was able. My doctor had been pushing for me to come out of work and rest/prepare for Benji's arrival since 36 weeks, but I couldn't afford the time off and I felt like I owed it to both my patients and employer to be at work if I was physically able. Not to mention I would go absolutely stir crazy with extra time on my hands. And I don't regret that at all, I was uncomfortable if I was sitting around without distraction, and I have always had a hard time with the instruction of "just relax" - multitasking is my friend.
Sunday morning, at 38 weeks 6 days, I awoke around 7am as usual because I had to pee. I'd probably awoken 2 or 3 other times during the night for the same reason, so I had the half-awake shuffle to the bathroom thing down pretty well by this point. I sat down, fully intending on crawling back into bed a few minutes later, and felt (and swear I heard) a distinct pop, followed by a gush I knew was not urine. I called out to Tom and woke him up telling him he should probably get up and get in the shower, while I marveled on the good fortune that: 1. My water broke sitting on a toilet; 2. It was a Sunday, I wasn't on my way to work; and 3. I was going into labor first thing in the morning after a "good" night of sleep.
Tom showered, took care of the dogs, loaded up the car, and called his parents to instruct them to head our way - it's a 9 hour drive. I called my doctor to inform them my labor was starting and I'd be at the hospital sometime soon, called my boss to let her know I was not going to be making it into work the following day (and that she'd have a new patient hopefully by day's end), and got in the shower then got dressed myself. Contractions started sometime during my shower and didn't seem too bad to start.
We were headed to the hospital by 9am and contractions became INTENSE very quickly. I was timing them and they were between 2-4 minutes apart, typically lasting 1-2 minutes each. The women in my family labor quickly, so while I wasn't worried about having the baby on the side of the road, I knew that I was going to dread the 30 minute drive to the hospital. About half way there I asked Tom to speed up. About two thirds of the way there I was shouting my "safety" word. This was a word Tom chose that would be exceptionally embarrassing to say out loud in the L&D room in front of the nurses and docs. This was the word I would be too embarrassed to say unless I really needed pain relief, and I meant it. And this is a word I was loudly saying over and over again for the last portion of our drive. (No, I will not be sharing this word with you.) Tom was disappointed that no one else would get to hear it, I was disappointed I didn't have better pain tolerance, but happy I had already decided to be flexible about a birth plan.
It wasn't a full moon, but L&D was packed nonetheless. There was literally one room left, and I had to wait about 10 minutes before they could even get me into triage. By the time I was in triage they checked me about told me I was about 4cm, 90%, and our baby had hair. I was (probably repeatedly) asking about an epidural as long as they could promise me they weren't coming near my with pitocin, and the staff was really great about expediting things for me. I
Within minutes I could breathe again, I could straighten out my body, I could talk. It was amazing. I do not regret my decision for a minute. My left leg went numb, which was bizarre but not bothersome. I watched Pitch Perfect. We called my parents, and joked easily with the nurses. I continued to progress just fine without any further interventions, and by about 4:30pm I was told I was ready to push, and that the epidural was starting to run out and this should help my ability to feel during the pushing stage.
In all honesty, I think I should have waited to push until I felt the urge. Benji was never in distress, and my body had progressed this far on its own, so I'm not sure why I complied so easily to "try pushing, just see how you do". Turns out, for a first time mom I was deemed a good pusher, and so I was encouraged to keep pushing. I was lucky to have a really excellent nurse as a coach too, and Tom picked up on how to direct me and support me very well. Unfortunately, I was still guessing a bit as to when to push based on the weak sensations of contractions due to the epidural, so while I was good at pushing, my efforts probably weren't timed well for the first hour. As the epidural continued to wear off however, I had more success, and the second hour would have likely produced a baby, had Benjamin's head not gotten "caught" under my pelvic bone. It was clear I could still push him out, but it was going to take more time and more effort on my part. The biggest obstacle was shift change at 7pm and our new nurse was silent - no feedback whatsoever. Thankfully Tom took over as my only coach and he was really great about being a lot more involved than he had planned.
Almost 3 full hours of pushing later, at 7:52pm Benjamin Thomas Cosgrove was born weighing 7 pounds, 14 ounces, and measuring 20.5 inches long. He was beautiful, and scored 8 and 9 on his APGARs. We spent just over an hour skin to skin before I conceded to let them clean him up and get all the official assessments done, while we invited Tom's parents up from the waiting room to meet their first grandson. He did have a decent abrasion on the right side of his head where he repeatedly got rubbed by my pelvic bone during the pushing stage, but that was our biggest hiccup in the birthing process, and I really couldn't complain about that.
It was love at first sight, and every day since.
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