Great Expectations: A Birth Story Part 1

It’s been three months since the birth of our fifth child, and much longer since I last made an appearance on this space. But a new year has dawned, and I long to return to this blog with a bit of regularity. Of course, that is largely dependent upon the fact that I have five kiddos, so I won’t make any promises regarding frequency. Nonetheless, I am here now (joined as I write by a sleeping baby and slumbering two-year-old nestled beside me), and it only seems fitting that I mark my return with the birth story of our fifth babe.

W E L C O M I N G   L I L Y

Sunday morning, October 1 dawned clear and bright. October in Texas offers little respite from the strangling heat of summer, so it was hot. I was exactly one week past my September 24 due date, and though I’d had signs of impending labor for a few weeks, we still waited.

My mom had trekked 500 Miles south to visit us for the weekend, hoping that the baby might arrive while she was here so she could tend our other children and meet our newest arrival. Since my last two labors had been remarkably quick, we were terribly nervous about having time to secure care for our four other kids when labor commenced. My mom’s presence thus seemed to be an answer to prayer, but her time to return was looming, and still no baby.

Although I had woken with a chronic dull ache in my lower back and frequent but inconsistent contractions, I knew labor could still be days away. So we attended church, then reluctantly and tearfully bid my mom goodbye. My belly still swollen as ever, and knowledge of our daughter’s arrival still unknown.

Shortly after she departed, I rested with the the two-year-old. But despite my efforts to nap, I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that perhaps my mom should have stayed. I hated to ask her to change course and turn around, since she was needed in her classroom on Monday, but the feeling persisted. I knew labor was inching closer, but there was no way to foretell the day or the hour, and I hated to have her return only to possibly end up waiting days.

I anxiously shot up a prayer, in essence saying: “I won’t ask her to turn around, Lord, but if she asks me if I want her to return, I’ll say yes.” I fell into the restless, uncomfortable nap that accompanies 41 weeks of pregnancy until I was awakened by my phone a bit later. My mom had driven just one hour north and was sitting in a Starbucks parking lot tearfully considering whether or not she should turn around. “Do you want me to come back?” She asked. I replied with a simple, but resolute “yes.”

As she retraced the path she’d driven, my husband’s family arrived, and we spent some time with his parents, an aunt, and his grandmother. All along, the ache in my back persisted and traveled to my pelvis. I was restless and uncomfortable. With this being my fifth baby, I knew from experience that I wasn’t in active labor, but I also knew things were intensifying. My mom returned, vowing not to leave until this little one finally arrived, and we made plans for her to take the oldest two to school in the morning, just in case. I crawled into bed at 9:15; the ache lessened a bit and contractions stalled. I fell asleep around 10.

Shortly after midnight I awoke to find my water had broken, though only a trickle. Since I still wasn’t experiencing consistent, productive contractions, I laid back down and tried to rest. Shortly after 1 AM a contraction woke me. It was sharp and painful enough to jolt me wide awake. This one was different; this was what I’d been waiting for. Labor in earnest was beginning.

I immediately woke my husband who shot out of bed. Since we live 30 minutes from the hospital and my natural labors tend to be quick, time was of the essence. He helped me to the kitchen, grabbed our bags and woke my mom to tell her we were leaving while I breathed through a few more contractions that were now coming at consistent intervals and intensifying. Looking back, God’s gracious timing and the goodness of His urging my mom to return is so very apparent. There simply wouldn’t have been time to rouse a neighbor from her sleep and wait for her to arrive to watch our kids so we could head to the hospital. God answered our prayers in so many ways!

By 1:19 AM we were in the car headed to the hospital. Because of the time, the normally congested interstate was sparse, another answered prayer in itself. We arrived at 1:52 AM, and contractions were getting intense. My husband frantically searched for a wheelchair, but I insisted on walking. At this point I had to stop and breathe through each contraction just to make it to our room.

Although I’d planned on a water birth like my previous two births, the midwife insisted on drawing labs first. I may or may not have uttered a few choice words when they told me I couldn’t yet get into the tub. I opted for the birthing ball until the pain got too intense, at which point I crawled into the bed.

Without the calming aid of immersion in a tub of warm water, I had a difficult time focusing my mind on the wave of each contraction, the peaks and troughs. I felt myself mentally succumbing to the pain, and it terrified me. The intensity was excruciating, and there was little relief between contractions. I felt myself slipping into fear, giving into the anguish. I fought hard to regain mental control and found myself endlessly repeating: You are my strength and my shield, an ever present help in times of trouble.

Although I’d given birth naturally before, each labor and delivery is unique, and this was no exception. As the pain began to reach its peak, I cried out for an epidural. It was a futile cry, however. Before the anesthesiologist could prepare my relief, I was overcome by the undeniable urge to push.

At 2:52 AM on October 2, exactly one hour after arriving at the hospital, Lillian Elizabeth, our fifth child, was born. She weighed 9 pounds, 9 ounces and measured 18.5 inches long (although she measured 21.5 inches at discharge, so that initial length was wrong). The midwife immediately placed her fresh-from-the-womb body on my chest, and I found myself praying “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.” Thank you labor is over. Thank you we made it through. Thank you she’s here!

What I didn’t know then was that a heavy host of prayers and countless more thank-yous would be uttered before we finally went home.

Click here for Part 2 of Lily’s birth story!

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