 Brian Patrick I am currently 37 weeks, 6 days pregnant. This means, like Arnie Grape says, "I could go at any time." In the past have I ever gone this early? No. But two nights this last week I started having irregular contractions in the evening -- more than those warm-up Braxton Hicks, but less than what I deem to be "true" labor. And it has given me a little bit of anxiety as to the realization that yes, someday soon, this baby will have to come out.
I have taught families about birth for years! I have touted the benefits of minimal-intervention during birth as long as mom and baby are okay. I have been excited for birth, pledged my allegience to birth, shared my mammalian theories about birth, and basically been on fire for the wonders birth can bring -- simply from a new, sweet baby, all the way to that complicated glimpse into what we are capable of as women. Birth has been my world -- it has been something I believe in, something I put my faith in, and something I have experienced as an incredible part of being a woman.
Yet here I sit, getting heart flutters and panic, as I experience a contraction that feels a little stronger than normal. When I get those nagging self-doubts or scary flashes of fear, I push them right out of my mind -- I can't even entertain them. If I had business with them, if there were something fruitful to come from their company, then there would be a purpose in having them hang around. But I know this much about myself: Negative thoughts are part and parcel to my brain and its chemistry, and they mostly have no function to fulfill.
To counter my own inclination of dwelling on the negative, I have found some solace: When I think about the women I have supported during their own experiences of birth, I find my confidence in birth being rebuilt.
There was Karen, who birthed her second son at home in a horse-trough-looking tub, all 12 pounds, 2 ounces of him, like nobody's business.
Amanda, who exercised her right to attempt a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC) in a local hospital; she walked into the hospital (no wheel chair for her!) at 7 centimeters open and soon after birthed her baby in a squat, close to the floor (I don't know if she even sat in the bed at all before the baby was born!).
Kim, who had her baby in the car on the way to the hospital with just the support of her husband.
Tara, who labored at home with a walk to Jamba Juice while she and her husband shared the story of how they met years before, as co-workers, at that same Jamba Juice (he snuck a kiss in the walk-in fridge!). Their baby was born a few hours later, peacefully and in the water.
Another Tara, who labored hard for almost two days to bring Brian Patrick into the world, on St. Patrick's day, no doubt, after being thisclose to having a cesarean birth.
Leah, who didn't let her fears get in the way of the hard work that birth is.
Kim, who was on bed-rest -- she ate breakfast, had a conference call for work, realized her water broke, went to the hospital and had a baby within an hour, had a follow-up call from someone at work regarding the conference call, and then had Thai food for lunch!
Laura, who experienced the worst kind of tragedy during pregnancy which she used for strength to have a home-water-VBAC -- I will never forget the words she kept chanting during transition, "The only way out is through. The only way out is through."
There are so many more. I remember them all. One thing I will say about birth -- no matter how you have a baby, no matter where you are or what your personal experience will be made up of, birth is a day of hard work. Regardless of whether a woman has a spontaneous, normal birth, an epidural, a cesarean birth (or whatever combination), it is generally not a day at the spa. But one thing I have always said, it is mostly a mind-game: You can psyche yourself up or you can psyche yourself out. I, for one, am working on the former, and I am so grateful for all those families who have allowed me to witness their power and strength, because right now, that's exactly what I need.
 I am not sure if you know this or not. With your first pregnancy it may come as a surprise -- with subsequent pregnancies it is an easy thing to forget until it creeps up on you, but it gets terribly uncomfortable growing a baby who sits on top of your bladder and underneath your rib cage. I have long told my childbirth classes this, and as of late, I am reminded again of its truth.
Being 33 weeks pregnant, I have my list of complaints. I feel like this baby can't come fast enough. I even imagine going into labor early -- like today early -- just to be done with it.
My back and hips are aching like never before (surely a sign my body is feeling too old to be going through a pregnancy again, right?). Sleep is something that comes in fits and pieces. I feel bad for my husband as I toss, turn, try to roll over but feel more like Ralphie's brother in "A Christmas Story," lying on the ground in his snowsuit saying, "I can't get up!" Add to that restless legs that shake and quake of their own volition, the 5 pillows I have behind, around, under and between various body parts, and the snoring (yes, the snoring!) that wakes me -- the snorer! -- and I imagine there's nothing peaceful in our bedroom right now.
My baby is still high enough that I can relate to this scene from "Tommy Boy," just replace bear claws with baby butt:
It is surprising how hard a baby butt can actually be -- but there is not a lot of fat there, and it becomes this firm blockage that prevents me from bending over to put on socks or tie my shoes or reach down to release the emergency brake on the car -- and it is just plain uncomfortable.
Even with the baby still not having "dropped," my poor bladder is being pushed to its own limits. I am convinced I am currently the top toilet-paper-user in the house, visiting the bathroom 4-5 times a night, and so many times during the day I probably use a roll every 24-hours. I have adopted a policy of mandatory-usage if I get within 12 feet of a bathroom. My logic is, even if I don't have to go right now, I will in 10 minutes, so I just pre-emptive-strike it.
I notice I make a lot more noises as I progress through the normal tasks of the day. I sigh and groan and yelp as I shift from sitting to standing, getting in and out of the car, bending down to (attempt) tying my shoes. I swear I am not doing it on purpose, these sounds just escape my lips before my brain can even say, "That was quite the old-lady-carrying-the-cat-food-bag-into-the-house noise." No offense to old ladies who have to carry the cat food bag into the house and may make noises while doing so.
This baby gets the hiccups probably 6-8 times a day. I can't figure a pattern -- sometimes it seems like they may come after I eat, other times they come when I am hungry. Sometimes they just come. They aren't the worst things in the world, they just feel like lttle spasms that jolt my uterus in various places every two seconds. They can space out longer or shorter, but in my scientific explorations, I have noted they most frequently come every two seconds.
These are just the things that bother me the most. There are more issues I can mostly overlook. With this list of complaints, though, it isn't hard to see why so many women press for inductions or agree to inductions when offered. It is hard to wait! It is uncomfortable to wait! It pretty much sucks! Don't believe that rare woman who, at 38 weeks pregnant says, "I still feel great, I am in no hurry to be done," because while she does exist, she is generally the exception, not the rule.
The way we look at due dates, we often feel "overdue" by the time that day rolls around. We are conditioned to believe our (bad, uncooperative, lazy) babies are just kicking back in there, buffing their ever-growing nails on the inside of our uteri, taking up time and space, while we grow more and more uncomfortable.
When I was pregnant with my first baby, I read in "What to Expect When You're Expecting," that doctors only induce if it is medically necessary; so when my doctor offered, on my due date, to induce me, I took her words as medical advice being as they came from my medical practitioner's mouth. Maybe my first clue should have been the way she asked without giving any scientifc rationale: "Are you ready to get this over with?" Well, heck yeah, I was ready to get this over with! That's a vulnerable place to be! Miserable, anxious, wanting that baby out from under your ribs and into your arms. Who would say no? And with that one question, I was set up to believe my body was done doing anything important for my baby and wouldn't go into labor on its own.
I am not a patient person. I hate waiting for things. It took every ounce of confidence and trust I could muster, and some I didn't even know I had, to wait on my babies and pregnancies the next two times around. But the evidence shows birth is safer for mom and baby when they are allowed to work together -- like Mario and Luigi saving the princess in tandem -- to let labor begin on its own.
I was recently asked how women in general have the courage to go through birth more than one time.
My response: Are you kidding? When I think over my last birth experience (11-05), I keep wishing I could go back to that last hour of most intense, hard, full-on kill-me-now labor. While it was hard and intense, what I remember and long for is the closeness that was in that room with my mom, husband, doula, and midwife. The quiet support they offered me. The jokes in between contractions. The anticipation of knowing the baby would be here soon. There was such a special feeling shared amongst us all -- like there was absolutely nothing else happening anywhere else in the entire world, or universe, for that matter.
Yes, during that intense time I said two funny things I 150% meant. 1) I told my midwife, "I'll let you pull him out with a vacuum, you know." 2) I told the room, "I don't think I can do this again."
My first baby was pulled out via vacuum after three hours of pushing. I felt let-down and insignificant, like my doctor could not help me push him out by suggesting another position, or just letting me take my time -- it was more like she wanted to get home. My dh knew I would be so upset if I actually did have this baby pulled out that same way, so he knew he would not let me do that (if it were not needed). My midwife laughed, too -- she recognized it as a cry for help and plea of desperation, but not what I really would have been happy with in the long run.
When I said the second thing I meant I could not have another baby after this. My midwife looked at my husband and said, "Do you want to get this in writing?" I held strongly to this until day 6 postpartum -- and then I remember thinking, "I would do it again."
There is just something so incredible about being on the cusp of that life-changing experience. I think I would have 5 labors/births to not have to go through 9 months of pregnancy, that's really where the draining experiences come in my opinion!
Before my first baby, I didn't have so much fear simply because I had no idea what to expect. After my first, and seeing how things went and knowing more, yes I was pretty scared to have another baby. After my second I was even more scared -- they say the third birth is a wild card, and I also had this cognitive distortion that, well babies and I were safe the first and second time, so something bad is bound to happen now!
After my third birth I felt like, heck -- they are just starting to get good! Having my third baby made me want to have another one, and I never felt that way before.
We are in the middle of a move. It is hard to wade through 7 years of accumulated stuff, and there is a reason moving is one of those challenges that can help set a person into a depression. On the good side, our new place is bigger with more room; on the bad side, it is a new place, and there are a lot of kinks to work out, such as no available DSL/cable, no known address for the Post Office, and the usual rash of new-house-issues that we, as the first occupants, get to discover. It is an adventure, to say the least!
When having a baby, we have the opportunity to move. We move from one head-space, to another. It is a time to purge out old ideas, such as the fears surrounding birth that we have grown up with or watched on TV. It is a time to find the philosophies that resonate with us and our pregnant bodies, and nurture those, such as an innate belief that our bodies and our babies know how to time, cooperate, and coordinate all things needed for a safe birth-journey.
Just as each birth experience in a woman's life is unique, every pregnancy and birth-journey can leave an expectant mother feeling like the first person to move into a new home -- discovering the askew window, the shower with low pressure, the sink that wasn't sealed -- and these things can leave her feeling stress at the anticipation of how these problems will be resolved. Rest assured, though, that with the proper maintenance team, they CAN be resolved.
And so it goes for the pregnant woman. When a woman is surrounded by a care team that she trusts, she can discuss her particular issues and work towards solving them. There are things that can be picked up at a routine prenatal appointment, such as high blood pressure, but it is important to remember the physical body is just one room of the pregnant woman's house. If you are feeling unrest, worry, anxiety, your practitioner might not always be aware of that -- and you may feel you don't want to bother her. Let me share, though: If you feel something is going on that is not normal for you, your care practitioner will want to know.
I can speak from the heart on this one. I experienced a deep depression with my third pregnancy, and I mentioned it to no one. Looking back now, I realize it wasn't okay; at the time, though, I think it was pride that kept me from sharing this with my own midwife. Come on, I was a doula, a childbirth educator, and the already very-able mom to two children; I didn't want to embarrass myself by admitting that I might be having a problem I wasn't capable of fixing on my own.
This wasn't just a bit of negative thinking, though -- my thoughts were being colored by what seemed like a cloud hanging over my head. Here is a peek as to how serious (and distorted) my thoughts were: I was sure my baby was not going to be born alive. I just knew it. It kept me awake at night. I started having panic attacks. I disconnected a bit from my children. And of course worry consumed me. Through all of this, I never mentioned anything to anyone. I suffered in silence.
At the time, this was my full reality. Looking back now, I know I was in need of help, and I should have sought it out. But stigma and shame kept me isolated, and I endured alone.
That baby will be three next month. He is happy, healthy, and learning to use the potty. I recovered quickly after he was born, and we adjusted to life with three boys. I regret I spent so much of my pregnancy with him sure and ready to lose him.
When these kinds of thoughts don't just pass through your mind, but stay, take up residence, and make themselves cozy, it may be time to lighten the burden by getting in touch, and being honest, with our care practitioners. We don't have to be stuck in a bad mental space simply because our pride acts as a barrier. If you feel you may need help, please ask. It could be time to move.
Three places to find more information:
-Postpartum Support International
-What Uncle Sam has to Say
-Self-Quiz
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