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The Birthing Story, Part Deux

by on Monday, November 1, 2010 5:23 pm

I’ve been trying to write my birthing story for MONTHS now.  I wanted it to be all clever and fun and entertaining and spunky, but what I ended up with was a rambling piece of exposition that would have put my own mother to sleep, which…is not good.  At all.  After Herculean efforts, the darn thing kept growing, so before Jefferson is yet another month older, I’m putting on my editor’s hat to ruthlessly shorten the story to a more manageable length:  Jefferson’s birth and by extension, my birthing experience, was the most special kind of extraordinary wonderful there is.

That said, there are still details I’d like to record, if for no reason other than to help jog my memory on those days (I know are on their way) when I wonder what I got myself into and why all the hard work is worthwhile.  Like, even though his random disappearances irritated me at the time, how happy I am that Dave actually blogged every moment of every day from the moment my water broke until the baby was born since one of the side effects of giving birth is a randomly selective memory wipe.  And how much labor and delivery hurts, except another side effect of childbirth is that you find out how inexplicably personal and unique the whole process is, no matter how precise your vocabulary.

I would love to document the exact way I cussed out my midwives, my honey, my mother and my sister as they helped me bring Jefferson into the world, but I didn’t.  Not really.  Okay—maybe a little bit, but it was mostly in my head, and that doesn’t make for good story-telling except when you’re telling a psychological thriller with a schizophrenic main character.

I can actually document the crazy things I said, like “Can we still go to the hospital to cut it out?”, or “Why do women do this more than once?  I’m never doing this again!!!”, and perhaps my favorite…(WARNING!!! TMI alert, TMI alert!!! Read the next few sentences at your own risk!) ”OMG, what is that?  Is that the baby?  What is he doing–is he licking me?”  This last was while the baby was still on his way out of me and engendered a tickled look from Midwife Ellie.  By the way, he wasn’t licking me—he was pretty darn near close to being born and was wiggling his way on out.  But to me, it felt like licking.  Weird, I know.  Stop the groaning, I gave you a TMI alert!

I can also share my crazy fixations, like how upset I was that I didn’t get to shower before labor started (and how laughable it was that I even thought I’d have the chance to do so on Monday morning while I was in active labor), how, once I hit 9cm, I continuously asked if I was dilated to 10 yet and could I please push, and how Dave helped me brush my teeth and then held up a bucket, in which I was able to get all vomitous-like, and which he was wise enough to bring to me along with my toothbrush because he knew my tooth-brushing request was insane and instead of arguing with me, just helped me through it like the champ he is.

What I really wanted to share though, was how grateful I am, first, for being able to birth the way I wanted and needed to—in the comfort of my own home with professional help alongside.  Second, the overwhelming feeling of love from family, friends, acquaintances and Dave, the likes of which I’ve never encountered before and may never encounter again, and third, Jefferson Zachary Francis, aka, Peanut.

And boring or not, that, is the gist of it.  And now on to the next item on my “todo” list, because the Peanut is sleeping on my chest and us moms needs must gets it done while the babies sleep!

Jefferson's favorite napping location...aka, mommy's chest


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