Samuel's Birth Story

It’s taken me nearly six weeks to sit down and write Samuel’s birth story, but I figured I would try to carve out a few precious moments this morning to remember his entrance into the world over a cup of much needed coffee.

Samuel was due on July 13^th – key word “was.” I had been having very irregular, sporadic contractions and Braxton Hicks throughout the last few weeks of my pregnancy, but to my chagrin nothing was happening on July 13^th. I went to work like normal, waddling around as I tried to get everything ready for my pending maternity leave. I went to my prenatal appointment, hoping it would be my last one and I could sweet talk the midwife into stripping my membranes (a method that can induce labor by separating the bag of amniotic fluid from the cervix…about as comfortable as it sounds). Linda, my midwife for the appointment, agreed to check me and strip my membranes if I was dilated enough. I was expecting to be completely closed and nowhere close to going into labor, so I had been hesitant to get checked, but with the chance of inducing labor ahead of me, I agreed. Surprisingly, I was already 3cm, 70% effaced and baby was at a -3 station (low).  In one of the most awkward and hilarious moments of my life, Linda stripped my membranes and told me we would know within 24 hours if it worked. I went back to work, praying to go into labor, and started contracting. I contracted for about 20 hours and called my mom Tuesday morning after my contractions had remained about 7 minutes apart for a few hours. Unsure of whether they should make the drive or not, I didn’t want my parents to miss his birth, so they hopped in the car and headed to Nashville.  I called my supervisor at work and started my maternity leave in case I was in genuine labor. Two hours later, my contractions stopped completely.

Are you kidding? I wanted to cry. I think I did cry a few times.  My parents were on their way, I was off of work and all for a false alarm?! It could be another week – a week of maternity leave that I didn’t get to spend with him as an infant. To say I was discouraged would be a massive understatement. 

Mom and Dad arrived and Mom declared we were going to “walk that baby out.” I laughed, but was happy to have someone join me on my morning walks. Wednesday morning she nearly killed me as she sprinted and I waddled 2 miles – okay, maybe she was walking, but gosh it felt like a sprint! I had a few contractions but nothing promising, and again was feeling so discouraged that my parents had wasted a trip even though they didn’t care, they were happy to be in Nashville with Ray and I. We then got into the car and decided to go walk the mall and run a few errands. Dad decided to join us, and the three of us made a few laps around the Cool Springs mall. At some point in the mall, my contractions became strong and more frequent. As I was driving out of the parking lot, Mom made me pull over and monitor contractions from the passenger seat. We headed to Whole Foods and stocked up on some yummy snacks, and my contractions became more frequent and just as strong. I spent the evening bouncing on my birth ball and twisting into whatever position took pressure off of my back. My sweet husband applied counter pressure periodically, Mom made dinner and I put on what Dad would inevitably call an “inappropriate” sitcom to help distract me.

Around 7pm we called the midwife when my contractions were strong and 5-7 minutes apart, she said we could labor at home and call back when they were about 4 minutes apart. I took a warm shower and headed to bed to try to sleep – keyword “try.” Around 1am my contractions had spaced out a bit and I was hungry, so I decided to eat a snack – which I would regret in a few hours. By 2am, my contractions were strong and waking me up uttering curse words. By 3am, Ray was also up with me as I tried to get into whatever position alleviated my back labor. We (really Ray making me) decided to walk – so we paced in the driveway, stopping often for me to lean on him and sway. What was more bizarre than us walking in our driveway at 3:30am, was a random guy walking down the street talking on the phone at 3:30 am – I’m sure he thought we were crazy.

My contractions went from 6 minutes apart to 3 minutes or less – so much for 4 minutes! We called the midwife and headed to the hospital – my sweet husband driving as “gently” as possible and me yelling at him to screw being gentle and get me to the hospital! We pulled up to the ER entrance to see one valet working his butt off, while his coworker sat in the office bobbing his head to whatever was playing through his head phones. We got his attention and Ray rolled me into the ER, where this poor male nurse had to ask a very cranky, very pregnant me a bunch of questions like “What are the last 4 numbers of your social?” (which by the way, is incredibly hard to remember when your uterus is evicting a child). We were admitted around 4am and only 5cm dilated. Though baby had dropped a good amount since my appointment on Monday, I remember thinking “I’m only halfway?!”

Our sweet doula Lindsey arrived around 5am, right after my parents got to the hospital as well. We sent poor Dad to wait in the hallway and got into the labor tub. Surrounded with Ray, my mom, Lindsey and a sweet midwife student named Brittany, I labored in the tub for a good while until the heat of the water caused me to feel dizzy. After laboring in the tub, I was 8 cm and entering transition – the part of labor that scared me the most. I had made a joke about an epidural in the tub, but that epidural started to sound really, really good hitting transition. “This is the shortest part though,” I told myself, “only 30 minutes to 2 hours of this.”  I then apologized to everyone in the room preemptively – “I’m sorry if I lose my shit.” They laughed at me, but I was serious.

2 hours my butt I thought about 3 hours later. I had stalled with a small “lip” of my cervix between me being complete and ready to push. All I wanted to do was lay down and nap – someone asked me what I wanted and I said, “An epidural and a nap!” They laughed saying, “At least she has her sense of humor still.” I was kind of serious though. Lying down was so uncomfortable, but moving seemed impossible. We tried everything though – it was like a circus in that room. They had me pulling on labor bars, but I was too short. They had me sitting on a birth stool, which was the most ungodly, uncomfortable, torturous thing ever invented for back labor. They had me standing over the bed, hugging my birth ball, while Brittany tried to spread my legs apart more. I wanted to kick her, but my leg muscles started cramping so badly. I crawled back into bed and inhaled my nitrous like there was no tomorrow. The nitrous made my reflux ten times worse (if that was possible – remember that 1am snack I mentioned regretting? It threatened to come back up the entire labor), along with making me very nauseated and dizzy, so I couldn’t use it with every contraction. Looking back, I think the nitrous gave me something to focus on – it was a distraction, but it didn’t help much with the pain. I kept asking “How much longer?!” even though I knew the answer was going to be, “Let’s just focus on one contraction at a time.”   I later told my midwife Bethany that answer ticked me off but it was the answer I would’ve given my patients if they were in labor.  I remember hearing whispers and I knew that I had stalled. My water had yet to break, but Samuel had a few variable decelerations in labor and I knew breaking my water wasn’t ideal – he was so low and depending on the position of his umbilical cord, removing that cushion of water could stress him further. I remember the midwife giving me an hour to see if I would progress before breaking my water. I remember opening my eyes to Lindsey sweetly suggesting trying to get out of bed – she phrased it in a way that sounded as though I had a choice, but her look of concern told me to get the hell out of bed.

Of all places, they put me on the toilet with my feet on a stool. After a few contractions I was completely dilated and starting to push involuntarily.  They helped me back to bed and we pushed for about an hour I think, that’s what they told me at least. My elbows rested on the head of the bed as I sat on my knees – each contraction sending me into a deeper squat with a loud moan. I could’ve sworn everyone on L&D could hear me groaning like a cow – I thought I was scaring every woman in labor with my noise but I couldn’t help it – it felt natural and helped me breathe. Ray stayed by my head, swapping out ice cold rags to put on my neck, puke bag in hand in case I needed it, and fingernails embedded in his hands. When my breathing would start to get out of control with the pain, he would breathe with me and I could match his tone. I remember looking over at my nurse asking, “Susan, why did I not get the epidural?!” Again, there was more laughter but I was kind of serious!

If you take a birth class, they’ll most likely talk to you about the “ring of fire.” It’s in reference to the incredible burning sensation you get when baby starts to crown…it’s also an understatement. My bag of water presented first, and they said, “Alex, reach down here – feel this? It’s your water.” I yanked my hand back, quite grossed out, and said, “Get him out!” I remember thinking, “I need to change my breathing” – recalling from our birth class the short, shallow breaths that would keep a feather in the air – but it never translated physically for me. I remember hearing Bethany tell me they were about to deliver the head and she may ask me to stop pushing for a bit. Thankfully, she never told me to stop, because there was no stopping. Samuel’s head crowned, bursting my water, and shooting him out. There was an instant relief of pain that flooded my body, and then there was a lot of confusion as they handed this slippery little human to me from in between my legs. They helped me reposition with Samuel on my stomach, where he promptly pooped (thanks buddy).  Mom cut the cord as Ray held my hand and teared up – taking in his little boy. They cleaned him up and started to fix me up. That nitrous was not fun in labor, but it was my best friend in recovery. Ray laughs at me because I was high as a kite. Dad was finally allowed back in the room from his banishment, and I remember looking over and seeing Dad and Ray both tearing up over Samuel. My repair took nearly 45 minutes before I got to hold Sam again and breastfeed. Lindsey had taken lots of pictures and helped with breastfeeding before she headed back home. God bless her, she massaged my back and applied pressure to my hips for the entire 7 ½ hours I was laboring in the hospital. There was no way I could’ve done it without her, Ray, my mom and the rest of our healthcare team. Everyone was so supportive and unified behind our goal to have a healthy and natural labor.

The rest of our stay in the hospital and our first two weeks home felt incredibly surreal. Recovery in the hospital was relatively easy and fast – I walked to the postpartum unit and frequently during my stay to help ward off worsening soreness. Outside of that, I had no time to process the fact that my body had just gone through something incredible, that I had just had a baby. Everyone kept telling me I was a champ – natural childbirth? You go girl! But that’s the last thing I felt like physically. I felt like a grenade had exploded between my legs and every time Sam needed to eat I wanted to cry. I felt weak and broken. I was exhausted, frustrated, and in constant pain. If I’m being honest, there were times when I snapped at Samuel and wanted to shake him – not shaken baby – but like someone would grab you by the shoulders and say, “Get it together man!” Then I would cry in guilt – I don’t want to be a mother or wife who yells, and yet I was snapping at my husband and baby.  I would burst into tears in the middle of the night – Sam would be crying and I would be crying. I just wanted to feed my baby normally and painlessly, and he just wanted to eat but couldn’t do that well. Still, I remember thinking there was incredible grace – my bottom hurt, his bottom hurt too from a circumcision and then diaper rash. I was frustrated and so was he – I didn’t know what I was doing and neither did he. We were in the same boat, the two of us, and that realization helped me care for him with compassion in difficult moments. The only difference was that I was in constant demand and he was (still is) in constant need. I loved him – but in the very deliberate and determined way that comes from meeting his needs the best way I could, even though it meant putting my needs to the side temporarily. It took us learning to exist together when everyone left – when Ray went back to work, when all the family left – for me to really begin to feel strongly bonded and connected to him. And it has not been easy – a persistent, awful diaper rash, two lip tie revisions and a tongue tie revision, oversupply issues, multiple medical appointments and calls to lactation consultants, we are still learning how to do basic things, like how to suck, how to open his mouth wide, how to latch, etc.  In the midst of everything, God has been so faithful and I am so thankful. Where he would be expected to be “failure to thrive,” because of my oversupply of milk, he has continued to gain weight and grow on curve! Ray and I are well aware that many families and couples would gladly trade the late nights, the episodes of inconsolable crying/screaming, the pain and stress for the sweet presence of a little one – the sweet presence that I never want to take for granted. 

There are times I grieve my pre-baby life – my pre-baby body, productivity, and social/married life – which I think is normal and healthy, but I wouldn’t exchange this season for a thing. Motherhood has been the most challenging experience of my life. My body has been broken, and yet I feel stronger and more beautiful than ever. My spirit has been tested and I have felt so discouraged, but because of God’s faithfulness my family is not defeated. I have learned the depths of my stubbornness, selfishness, lack of control and pride – along with the depth of my need of the Lord, the love and sacrifice in the Gospel, and grace so ever sufficient for my every weakness. My heart, in all of its fullness, is now outside of my body and it rests on a chunky little man named Samuel Grey Shaw.