Women like me don’t get pregnant. Certainly not twice, easily.

I’ve been a bit  careless with my body. I started smoking at 17 years old , drank wine almost everyday and indulged in a joint almost as often. Average reader will agree, there are far more deserving bodies to incubate the future, to be sure.

When 39 came around, and no special someone had introduced themselves, I figured I’d be one of those eccentric Aunties, the kind that wear  billowing caftans and chunky  turquoise jewelry. We traveled the world and brought exotic tins of jam and tribal figurines for our families at Christmas. We had lovers, but no husbands and no children. And, the truth is, motherhood never seemed like me. I could smell a baby’s head and my uterus wouldn’t feel a thing. I never even imagined my wedding day, not once. I’d said ,out loud, on more than one occasion, that kids and I would not blend. I was the person who make a mean face at a toddler if they were acting up in public. You get the picture.

Then, along comes a man who wants to be a Dad, I fall in love and perspectives change.   He asks me, “Why don’t we just stop trying not to get pregnant” ?  I say, “Okay, look. I’ve been smoking and drinking for twenty years, so maybe this happens and maybe it doesn’t.”   We have our first unprotected sex two days after Valentines 2007, and faster than you can say ‘BritneySpears’, I am pregnant. I’ll spare you the periods of dumbfounded staring.  I say I want to try a natural birth, but I never really addressed it,  I hardly even thought about it, and duh,when the time comes, I am completely, totally, ridiculously unprepared to handle the pain. Take that and add a multi-pressure-ized nurse system in the hospital and you have me cave, cower, whimper and take the epidural. That I had purchased an expensive absentee doula designed to help me get through that particular sticky bit, is another bitch in this sideways tale, but I will live to rant another day, I’m sure.  So, after a ridiculous number of hours during which I had to be given pitocin to speed up my lagging labor (that I mostly slept through) and  two and a half hours of pushing, I end up having a c-section because was son was Occiput Posterior (face turned the wrong way) and gets stuck because I can’t feel enough to push him out (OR, my doctor didn’t have the wherewithall to turn him). This becomes a story I retell myself (and others) over and over, disappointment anchoring it in my consciousness. When, two years later, an accidental pregnancy misses, I decide I really do want a sibling for our son, and we start trying to get pregnant. In March of this year, we are happily on the path to a new addition in our family. I am forty-three years old.

My ob/gyn, who, when trying to convince her I can have this baby the regular way ,shakes her head and  says second babies are bigger, plus I am old. The only way she will be my doctor is if  I schedule a c-section. This pisses me off a number of ways and I complain to anyone in the room and start to do a lot of research on VBACs. It turns out there are risks, especially if you are already old and have had a big baby prior. But someone in the room who was listening had the name of a guy they called “progressive”. I made an appointment. I am immediately taken with him.  He has not only heard of Ina May Gaskin, but he has read ‘Spiritual Midwifery’!  This man doctor is the closest thing to a midwife I have found. He thinks there is no reason I can’t try for a natural birth with the codicil that I keep my weight (and thus, the baby’s ) down. At this point, I am ,perhaps 30 weeks along, and have not passed by one almond croissant without declaring it mine and loving every bite. I have gained 37 pounds but remain nutritionally vigilant.   Baby Fetus is healthy and thriving.  So. The due date approaches and Doctor Progressive is getting a bit nervous. He wants to get this 8-9 lb guy out as soon as possible. He informed consents the beejesus out of me. He talks about the latest VBAC studies, and how shoulder dystocia is becoming a concern now that we know my baby is indeed, big. He calls me in several times just prior to my due date to do membrane sweeps, which ranks up there in experience to having pubic hair ripped off of you-from the inside. But I do as doctor asks, because he worries that the longer I don’t go into labor, the bigger this baby, the odds get better for bad things to happen. Me? Not worried. No, really, I’m not. I trust that my body can do this, giving birth is what women do, and I will have the safety net of the hospital to catch me should it go wonky. So. The night before my actual due date(Nov 22), I begin to experience regular contractions starting at around 9 p. After the false starts created by the painfully useless tissue tearing, this feels real. Like I might be having a baby coming out out of my hooha pretty soon. WHEEEEE! When Greg gets home, I tell him it might be ‘on’, but let’s try and  get some sleep. UHoohkay, he says carefully, staring at me like I just farted on his mother. The contractions feel quite mild, and I wonder how it is that my cervix has already dilated 4 centimeters and I’m not screaming. (I’d been at a 4 for a few days now, according to Dr. P) In the morning, we are expectant, excited…my labor companion and bestest friend, Lauren comes over, ready to be of assistance. We make breakfast and hang out…. breakfast turns into Titos Tacos and jacuzzi sitting and I can’t help but  notice that I seem to have misplaced my contractions. This has made me cancel my fifteenth trip to the Doctors office, and I am relieved. The day wears on and no contractions. I deflate and begin to worry for the first time. I worry that I will have to fight my doctor for a natural birth. I worry that my son will have to be surgically removed from my body. I practice my nose breathing and say quiet prayers. I send Lauren home..it is 6pm on the 23rd. As soon as I escape to my room, contractions start in earnest. And this time, they aren’t screwing around. The nose  breathing method I have been practicing turns my nostrils into tea cup saucers- contractions are coming so intensely. By the time Lauren arrives around 9ish, they are a minute and a half apart. In the car, I press her not to let me cave and ask for drugs. We arrive at the hospital and just as I manage to get my pants off, my water breaks…, Then, as I’m going “eeww”, and shaking amniotic fluid off my shoe, I feel something like a bowling ball dropping down into my hooha.  Suddenly, I have to push. I had been at the hospital approximately thirty minutes. The doctor arrives just in time. Reader, it was just like the movies. I was sweating, grunting, neck veins bulging, it was work. It took an awhile, maybe an hour and a half, and I needed both Lauren and Greg along with the doctor and nurse to help brace my legs so I could keep pushing. I have never worked harder in my life. At 1:48am on the 24th, my son was out. He weighed 10.8.8 lbs, and was 22 in long. Ten fingers, ten toes, all organs and parts accounted for.  We are very, very blessed. Thank you for reading. 

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