Oddly enough, I think today is the perfect day to finish my personal birth story series. I’ve got a great starting point thanks to Twitter and Crunchy Domestic Goddess’ post on inductions, not to mention the fact that today marks the 12th anniversary of the birth of my oldest child, D, which of course was the subject of my first Birth Story! The subject of my second birth story, P, turned 3 on Monday 😀 I’ll go over all that in a later post. I’ll just say—this past weekend has been a wild one, at least to me.
Referring back to my last post on this…
And boy what a big surprise it was!
Within the last year or so before the end of my last semester of college, things had begun to happen in my reproductive health. I was…showing more often than I had since I had D. I had lost weight the year before, and I think that started to jump start my body into the right mode to recoup it’s old self. The periods were still hit and miss—months would still go by between each period, but they were happening. The last time I KNOW I had one was when we came back from our first trip to Colorado, in the middle of July, because it was my first week of internship at the Seneca Nation Library, for the Capstone of my minor, Native American Studies. For the usual part of that week, I was miserable with pain. I won’t go into details—but while I was in pain, I was also happy to know that my body was starting to remember what it was supposed to do.
And we did start trying, despite the fact that I actually had quite a patch of stress going on there—my mom’s double knee replacement surgery also fell in the second of those 6 months before I was done, in August. So many times, I’d go to see her and my stomach would be in knots, she was in such bad shape.
I had been visiting the gynecologist who’s office is across the street from us, every 6 months to “monitor” my situation, and see where I stood. It basically consisted of spending $15 every 3 months for him to ask me if I had had a period in the time since my last visit, and if I had lost any weight in that time. He really should put up a misogynist shingle, and not a shingle stating he’s someone who helps women—because he’s not much of a help. Anyhow, I told him I needed my yearly check up, so we scheduled it for what would be my next scheduled appointment—in September. It was for September 19th, to be exact. If you’re following the timeline, that’s the 3rd month of those 6 months before the end of my last semester.
5 days before my appointment, my mom went down to Hamot in Erie, PA. I rushed down there to be with my mom, and rushed back a bunch—I had been down in the town where my sister lived for a tour of the library there, since it’s the central office for the library system for this county, so I rushed home with her when she came in to tell me mom had been sent down there, so I could tell T, then we rushed down to see my mom and dad, then home to get T to work and pick up D to bring my sister home…I doubt THAT day was the day P was actually made, but when I put in my due date in the conception date regression generator I found while pregnant with P, that’s the day that popped up. So, some time in those 3 days, or even the week before, there had to be some incident 😉 that produced P. Which is totally possible, since I was rather randy myself then.
The reason why that particular appointment was so important, though, with the GYN, is that I told him that day that I felt pregnant. It had been about 3 months since my last period, but I remember that soon after we conceived D, my uterus felt like an orange to the nurse who checked me, so I asked him to check to see what my uterus felt like. It might sound strange and crazy, but that’s what I asked him to do, because I felt pregnant. I can’t remember when it started, I can’t put my finger on why I would think that (other than the fact that we HAD been trying that whole time, and that I had hopes)…but I seriously felt like I WAS ABSOLUTELY PREGNANT.
And, sure enough, a month later I started feeling that old familiar feeling. Not the randy feeling (ha ha), but the nausea, the fatigue, etc. That was October. Right along with when I started feeling it with D. We bought something like 3 or 4 pregnancy tests—in about 2 boxes, with 2 per box, or maybe one and 3. Anyhow, I took 3, 1 of one kind and 2 of another, one evening while D was at her Girl Scouts meeting. Probably the next day I called the doctor’s office, and scheduled an appointment to be checked. And when he asked me that time why I thought I was pregnant, I told him I had the usual symptoms and had taken 3 positive pregnancy tests.
A sonogram was scheduled for shortly after to determine when my due date was, since I had not had a consistent cycle, so I didn’t know for sure (okay, I knew, but not in a way that was medically identifiable) when this baby was conceived. This was the last item connected to the doc across the street, because by that time I was no longer satisfied with him, and had heard stories that told me I really didn’t want him as a doc anymore.
Things went well from then on. My due date was determined to be June 8th, one day before he was actually born, and also the day before my father in law’s birthday.
Now, this brings me to the reason why I was prompted to write about this from Crunchy Domestic Goddess’ post. I want to take a moment and point out that in some ways, I have definitely become a very crunchy mommy. I may not buy organic, I may not be throwing myself into a green way of living (yet, I think that I might be convinced to one day, because…those political views won’t be expressed here), but I do think that the natural way is the best for just about everything. If there is no medical reason why a birth should be induced, then there’s no reason why a mother shouldn’t wait.
That being said, we didn’t wait for P to come on his own. I’ve got a lot of excuses as to why I’m okay with it, but I will tell you that, yes, it was a decision partly based on the fact that the 9th is my father in law’s birthday. Partly, though, it was also because I was so physically miserable by that time, uncomfortable no matter what position I was in, and while I didn’t have any kind of rash or anything, unable to comfortably sleep for long periods of time (was I preparing for what was to come?), plus I was 3 centimeters along ON MY BIRTHDAY, NEARLY 2 WEEKS BEFORE I actually had this kid! I also would like to point out again that the EXACT conception and due dates could not be determined, because my exact ovulation date was indeterminate considering I didn’t have a consistent cycle, and this child was rather large for someone who, yes, was overweight but did NOT have gestational diabetes, and only gained 15 pounds during the whole pregnancy. P came out at 9 pounds, 3 oz.
However, I find it very interesting that my experiences with the actual births are totally opposite than hers. My birth that came naturally, when she decided, was a MISERABLE experience. My mom and I determined I must have been in labor the day before, I just didn’t know it, but when the full fledged contractions came on, the ended up so close together and so uncontrollable, it really was a big part of why I wanted to wait. With the induced pregnancy, I was able to take it a whole lot easier, and I felt it was more paced. The total time I know I was feeling labor with my daughter was 4 hours. From start to finish with my son, from when I came into the hospital to when I had him, was roughly 10-11 hours, and I was able to fully experience the birth—and, I’ll also point out, that while I know it might not have been the best thing for either my son or I, I did take a small break in there, asking for a shot for pain when I was told was the last chance I’d have. It gave me enough time to “relax” (you really can’t relax in child birth), and experience the contractions and messages my body sent me. With my daughter, they were just coming on so fast and furious that I barely recovered from one before the next one showed up!
I was happy that, by this time, my mom was at least starting to return to her former self. I called her from my labor/delivery/recovery room about an hour after having P, and cried to her that I had really hoped she could be here. As it was, I joke now that it wasn’t such a bad thing—because we were living with my parents when I had D, and T’s dad wasn’t able to come out that short notice/monetarily for having her, the grandparent whose birthday I had her on was there to fully experience the event (neither was in the delivery room, but there were able to hear about it and see their new grandchild soon after), and because mom was in Ohio but T’s dad was able to come out and visit then, the grandparent whose birthday that grandchild was born on was here to fully experience the event (my dad was able to be there for both. How odd is that?).
As it is, having 3 weeks of birthday fun is quite interesting. I’ll definitely have more on that tomorrow, which will be a “regular” post. 🙂