Wren's Birthday!

Tomorrow my daughter, Wren, turns five. Like so many parents probably do, I spend the days before her birthday planning special surprises, marveling at her age and where the time has gone, and wondering what the coming year will bring her (and us). She will be starting school, making new friends, experiencing a brand new age of independence, and I am sure it will be filled with fierce and beautiful Wren qualities. I also, every year so far, spend the days before her birthday thinking about her birth. I don't know if other mothers do this, but I do it, without fail, every year. Now that she is just a day away from being 5, I thought it might be time to finally write her birth story.

Birth stories have become so important to me, personally. I think they are a beautiful part of defining us. As mothers, fathers, parents, and families. The start of who we are, setting the stage for our early moments, days, and eventually our entire life. Not only is a birth the essential beginning for a new life, it is also a turning point for the mother. The moment where her baby becomes separate from her, but also entwined in her life and heart from that time on. Each of my labors and births have been so different, meaningful, and important. I record the stories for myself, my children, and anyone else who might feel connected to it in some way.

Wren was our first baby. First babies are exciting and scary. Obsessive. We read every book, I googled constantly, we went to classes and really, couldn't stop talking about pregnancy. You get baby showers, belly attention, and recording/documenting and preparing seems to be such a priority. For us, subsequent babies were complete opposite. Life barely paused to allow them into the world, and at times I forgot I was pregnant.

Anyway. Mike and I attended childbirth classes through The Childbirth Collective. It’s a wonderful and free group that offers parent topic nights. The topics are helpful and interesting, especially to first time parents, and you get to meet others who are newly pregnant and just as obsessive about pregnancy and birth. It's great. One night--as we went around the room introducing ourselves, our pregnancy, and our birth plans--a couple stands out in my mind. The said something like, "hello, we are so and so, we are 30 some weeks pregnant with our first, and we are planning a homebirth." There were approving nods and smiles from many of the doulas and midwives in attendance. And looks of confusion and shock from many of the other pregnant couples.

A homebirth. I had never even heard of such a thing. Really. I had never even heard the word. I had no idea what it meant, and wasted no time in bringing the topic up in the car. What is it? What do they mean? It sounds really weird. Didn't they seem weird? How can you have your baby at home? Little did I know, right...?

At the time, we were receiving care from the OBGYNs at Fairview on the U of M campus. It was convenient, and I hadn't really thought twice about other options. I had already been to several, several!, appointments, and it seemed fine. I saw Wren on an ultrasound. A little snowman shape bouncing around all over in my belly. I heard her heartbeat. Fast and loud, the pounding of horse hooves. Everything seemed well and good. Appointments were short, but people were kind, and like I said, I didn't think twice about it.

Then someone at a Childbirth Collective meeting recommended the book, Birthing From Within. At the time I was reading A Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy, suggested by the staff at Barnes and Noble, and I was completely depressed by it. It is meant to be sarcastic, sassy and hilarious, but it had me near tears every time I read a chapter. One, I'm super sensitive. Two, I'm pregnant, which means I am even MORE sensitive. I want a book that's meaningful and loving, like a comforting hug. So, we picked up Birthing From Within. It was eye opening and amazing. It struck a chord with me. The book revels in the incredible and beautiful things a mother's body is capable of, but it holds back no words on how much work it is either. It gives no pretense that pregnancy, labor, or birth are easy or enjoyable, yet offers ideas on how to warrior through it all, giving way to complete BLISS, joy and accomplishment. I felt empowered. Excited. Flipping emotional.

Clutching the book one night in bed, rubbing my big tummy, and tears streaming down my face I blurted out to Mike, “I want a homebirth.” I shoved the book at him. Here. Read this chapter. I stared at his face while he read. Searching for a reaction. He read the chapter. Looked at me and all my crazy emotion. He responded carefully (smart man.) If that's what you want to do, I support you in it. (I'm not sure he really thought we were going to have a baby. He was still in the oblivious stage that fathers remain in until baby crowns.)

Homebirth. Now I had a new obsession. New books, new googles, Ina May, more childbirth meetings. And midwife interviews. I was actually pretty far into my pregnancy at this point. 30 weeks I think? So I was switching care midstream, which meant many midwives were not taking clients, because they can only accept so many births a month. I called many, interviewed 3, and chose one. Hmm. I am going to be a little vague about my midwife, because at this point in my life, in all my retrospect, she was a poor choice, and I don't think she did her job. However, at the time, I would describe her as "salt of the earth". She was caring, listened, was careful, considerate, and said all the right things. Assured me of the importance of pregnancy, birth, and overall, affirmed my decisions. I had a midwife.

Mike, because he is awesome, became just as obsessive. He read the books, did the research, and firmly stood by me in choosing homebirth. He admitted there was no way in hell HE would ever birth a baby without pain meds, but if I wanted to, he thought it was an admirable decision for both me and Wren. We talked passionately to our family about it, but they thought we were crazy. They had questions, mainly wondering why we were choosing to birth our baby like an 1800s family and wondering how qualified our midwife was. I think my dad may have even questioned the word MIDWIFE. He wanted solid things. Like HOSPITAL. And DOCTOR.

We dragged my parents to a screening of Ricki Lake's movie, The Business of Being Born. Giggling as I write this. It was a packed auditorium of doulas and midwives. My dad might have been the only man there. Sorry, dad! You're the best. It is a movie filled with raw footage of birth and beauty. The audience loved it. Ate it up. Preaching to the choir. We went out for drinks afterwards and though they may have remained unconvinced, they were proud of me for making a researched decision, and maybe a little less worried. Plus, my dad said, you live in Minneapolis. You can always transfer to a hospital if need be. That seemed to be the refrain most people close to us left with. Yes. Makes sense. You can always transfer to a hospital. Mike and I rolled our eyes behind their backs. Hospital. Scoff. We were hardcore homebirth fanatics now.

What next? We waited. As we all do while a due date approaches. My due date was April 14th. But we know now this baby was coming late. Not until April 24th would she arrive. I enjoy pregnancy, for the most part, and Wren's pregnancy especially was cake. I felt great from beginning until end. Well, til veryveryvery end.

MONDAY.
Monday, April 21st  I went to bed around 11pm. Couldn't sleep. Light contractions. Got up to write in my journal. As I wrote, and paced around, contractions got stronger. I remembered all my birth plans and advice and that resting through early labor is so important. I went back to bed and tried to sleep. Contractions were crampy enough to keep me awake. It was a brand new kind of contraction. It hurt more. And felt. Different. I shook Mike awake. I told him it might be it, and he sprang to life.
He got out the vacuum, because that was first on my labor list. I wanted a clean house to labor in. At this point it is 1am, and we are laughing and vacuuming. Contractions are still happening, and as a first time mama, I think that a few more hours of this keeping busy and contracting, and then baby Wren will plop out. What wimps other women are, I think. Unable to get through labor without meds and hospitals. Scoff. This labor is going to be a breeze!

We call our parents, even though it's 2am, and tell them we will be in touch. We call our midwife, who tells me to eat something and go back to bed. We fill up the birth tub, because Mike is dying to fill it up, and we think I might want to soak in it in a few hours, and it takes a while to fill/heat. We try to go back to bed, but contractions really do hurt, and I can't sleep. So we stay up. Until morning.

TUESDAY.
Tuesday morning Mike calls in to work, lets everyone know our baby is on its way. We send out mass emails, updating family and friends, and we blast music. I eat a little and pace around. We talk on the phone to our midwife. She says we are doing fine, she will stop by later to check on us, but keep doing what we are doing. She reminds me to rest.

I have some really awful contractions. Like, damn. It really hurts. I am reminded of the Being Born movie where one of the women attempts to "run away" from her labor. I did the same thing. I ran circles from our kitchen to our office to our living room to our dining room to our kitchen. Circle circle circle. Fast walking, howling “ow ow ow ow ow.”

The day is long. Nothing is progressing, but it’s not getting easier. I just feel uncomfortable. Slightly anxious. Unsure. Not hungry. Not able to sleep. Just....labor. Our midwife does come and check on us. She listens to baby, baby sounds good. She reminds me to rest, to eat, to relax. She tells me that if this was my second baby I wouldn't even know I was in labor. I would be busy taking care of my child and cooking dinner. She tells me to be busy. To stop focusing on the labor. She says it will get much worse. Her words are sharp, and I feel like a wimp. She thinks it will be another day. She does not check to see if I am dilating. She does not make me feel at ease. She is not there very long, and that makes me feel sad and panicky.

We wanted to labor alone, and privately, but I call my mom. My mom and dad come over for dinner and a walk. It's spring, and we walk around the block. This feels uncomfortable to me, but my mom encourages it. Good for her. I needed to get out of the house and concentrate on something else. I was focused on my labor, even though I was trying hard not to be. My dad looks concerned when he leaves. I am sure he reminded me about the nearby hospitals.

We go in the birthtub. We talk. I labor. I get in and out. My back is killing me. Mike goes to bed. He sleeps! The nerve. I try and try and try to sleep. I can't get comfortable. The contractions hurt. They just hurt. I am up all night. I haven't slept.

WEDNESDAY.
Early Wednesday morning, when Mike gets up, I ask him to call our midwife. He says NO. Just wait. She said to wait. So we wait. I don't know what we did that day. All day Wednesday. I know I never slept. I didn't sleep at all during my 3-day labor. AT ALL?! Surreal. I don't know how that's even possible, I just know it's what happened. I know I took showers. I stood in the shower and cried. This was taking a long long time, and I started to feel scared. By early evening I was crying and cranky. Mike called the midwife. She told him to get me out of the house.

We went to the Seward co-op. I think we went to buy some sort of midwifery thing. Black sheep? No. Something like that. Shepherd's purse! I could barely walk I was in so much pain. Like, I could NOT take my mind off it for the life of me. I tried to walk normal, but I couldn't. I was crying and contracting. Crying and contracting. We saw a couple at the co-op from the Childbirth Collective. They had their newborn with them. I remember, vaguely, Mike chatting with them. I remember standing in the produce section at Seward and feeling panic. I needed. to. get. out.

We went back home. Pacing. Contractions. Crying. Shower. Birth tub. Repeat. Eventually, Mike went to bed. Eventually, I didn't. I watched the clock. I cried. I kept trying to wake Mike up. I begged him to call the midwife again. He said no. He slept. I don't blame him, but it still sucked. I was alone and scared and in pain. I woke him up again. Mikey. Please. I can't make it til morning. I can't do this anymore. I am dying. I remember sitting in the birthtub, in the middle of the dining room, staring out our living room window. Mike had told me to just wait until morning. By morning, he said, it will be time. Wren will be ready, and I will call the midwife. I watched and waited. Those hours were the longest and worst of my life. Horrific. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn't function. I just. FELT. And begged the sun to come up. Morning. Wait for morning.

THURSDAY
Around 4am that morning, Thursday, as I climbed out of the birthing tub, my water broke. I barely reacted. I knew it happened, I watched it pool around me, and I cried. I told Mike. My water broke. And he said, I will call the midwife around 8am. The thing about Mike, is he is polite and people pleasing, almost to a fault at times. He does not want to bother or inconvenience anyone. This includes midwives. (In all of our birth stories Mike politely lets the midwives alone, lest we disrupt them with my LABOR).

I leave the birthtub to take a shower. It’s all I can do. Alternate between shower and tub. Shower and tub. In the shower I can't stand. I lay on the floor of the shower, huddled in a fetal position, water pounding my back, tears down my cheeks. I repeat to myself. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. I know it. Something is wrong. In weeks following this labor I can't take a shower without experiencing fear of labor and a panic that it will happen again. The feeling is so intensely rooted in my body. I get out.

MIKE. I NEED TO GO TO A HOSPITAL. SOMETHING IS WRONG. It is early morning. Almost 8am. PLEASE TAKE ME. I KNOW IN MY HEART SOMETHING IS WRONG. INSTINCT.

Mike is grinning and giddy. He shakes me and laughs. This means were almost there! he yells. That's what all the books say! When you beg to go to the hospital, it means the baby is almost coming! He is so happy. I look at him, a tiny bit of hope creeping into my heart. Really? I ask. Really? You think she's almost here? I am almost done?! I smile. YES. he says. We are almost there, babe! And he goes to call the midwife.

While he is calling her I feel awful. I lay on my back on our bed. Some sticky goop comes out of my body. (this is, by the way, Wren's favorite part of her birth story.) Mike comes in holding the phone. She wants to know how far apart the contractions are? he whispers. I DONT KNOW. I say. But look. I hold up my hand, which has some goo on it. Oh. he says. Um. He asks our midwife about it. She asks if it is dark brown. He says it’s not DARK brown, but it’s brown. She says IT'S FINE.

Well, guess what? It's not fine! It's actually meconium. Wren's POOP! Coming out of ME! But we didn't know that at the time. So we said, OK. And she says, I will be over later this afternoon.

So, from 8am that day, until she got there at 4pm, I labored nonstop with meconium dripping out of me. I sat on the toilet a lot, pushing. I remember that, because I used the first floor bathroom, which was our dog, Honey's, space. She would come and rest her doggy chin on my knee. I would pet her, and stare out the window, and wish to be done. I remember thinking, this is why women died in childbirth. I feel like I am dying. I am going to die.

I told Mike to call the midwife and if she wasn't here in the next hour I was going to the hospital. He called her, told her that, and she said she was on her way. Apparently you have to get really serious with some midwives to get them to attend to you. (By the way, I am still 100% for homebirths, and I think most midwives are amazing).

Our midwives assistant arrived first. It was a little after 3. I was on the couch. I was wearing a t-shirt of Mike's with Triumph the dog puppet from Conan O’Brien on it. It said on it, FOR ME TO POOP ON. I still don't know why I was wearing that. It's a scratchy, big shirt. I don't like it. I was sitting on a towel. No undies. Meconium was everywhere. On everything. Seriously. I went through so many towels and blankets that day. There was a bowl of uneaten oatmeal in front of me. I was dying and could barely talk or look at the assistant. I had contraction after contraction and didn't really react, besides some light breath work and moans. I remember her saying, "you are handling these contractions really well, Ara."

And I thought. THAT’S because I have GIVEN UP. I am DYING. This baby is NOT COMING OUT. And NO ONE EVEN CARES! I had truly given up.

Our midwife arrived. She checked me on our bed. I was dilated to 9. And Wren was breech. So, her toes were at her nose, and her butt was coming out. And she was pooping.

Our midwife asked if I wanted to try and deliver a breech baby at home. She was up for it if I was. I was sitting on the toilet at the top of our stairs. Pushing pushing pushing, but nothing was coming out. I wasn't even sure what I was trying to get my body to do. I just knew I felt like I should push.

I said. No. I can't. I need to go to the hospital.

And so we drove to Abbott.

I was so worried about a hospital transfer, but the way was paved with gold. Angels escorted us. Everyone was accepting and loving and babied the heck out of me. We arrived at the hospital around 5:30. Wren was delivered by emergency c-section at 6:24pm. Our surgeon was amazing. She was so kind and talked me through it all. She said she understood how important a homebirth was for me, and was sorry I didn't get it. She said many of her friends delivered at home, and she believes in the power of natural birth. She said she would keep me awake, and show me my baby when she was lifted out. She promised to stitch me up in a way that would allow future vaginal births without complication. She was an incredible doctor.

Mike watched as my stomach was rolled open, and our baby girl was lifted out. The doctor showed him Wren's swollen bottom, red and raw from the long labor, and Mike shouted, “IT’S A BOY!” (This is Mike's favorite part of Wren's birth story).
“No.” The doctor said. “She's just swollen.”
“Ohhhhhh.” Mike said. “I totally thought that was a ball sack!”

I rested in a room, alone, for what felt like a very long time. I felt sad. Deflated. All that, and now it was over, and where was my baby? I was unbelievably thirsty. And tired. A nurse brought me a cup of ice chips. Where was my baby? I felt. I felt mad and envious that everyone was else was laughing and with Wren. I felt disappointed. This wasn't at all what I had envisioned. I felt completely drained. Yet antsy to be out of this weird waiting space.

Finally I was wheeled down the hall, and transferred to a wheelchair. Someone brought me Wren. She was all swaddled up. A giant burrito with tiny face peeking out. Did I want to hold her? I guess. She was placed in my arms, in this strange position. It was like I was holding an object, a grocery bag maybe, not a human baby. I felt disconnected. Irritable. Tired.

In our hospital room my midwives rushed to my side to instantly latch the c-section infant. I was angry. I didn't want to be touched, and they were squeezing my boobs, and all our family was there. The room felt crowded. Too many big smiles. Too much. I felt suffocated. The baby isn't latching and midwife keeps squeezing and pinching my boob. It all feels harsh. Yucky. Hate. My family of well wishers shuffle around and talk together. Mike carries it all. He's good at that. My eyes keep closing. I'm so tired, but trying to smile and be polite.

Wren is asleep in a little plastic basinet.

Everyone leaves. We are alone. We don't talk. I fall instantly asleep.

When I wake, it is dark. I don't know what time. I am sore. Everywhere. Oh yeah. Ohhhh YEAH! I have a baby!! I try to reach over to her. I can't reach her. I press some buttons. Bed down. Bed up. up. I scootch, reach, reach, reach, grab her. Mine.

I hold Wren. My baby. I stare at her, she stares at me. She latches. She milks.
I feel complete.
Peace. Love. Relief. Big breaths of amazement, gratitude, and united solitude. 
Me and Wren. I am so in love.

She stays there, on my chest, for the rest of the night. A nurse strips her down, so she doesn't overheat. Little warm naked body on me. The smell of baby. Tiny hands. Milky breath. Weak neck. Bright eyes. Knowing.

That's how it happened. That's how she got here. The story of your birth day. Happy birthday, Wren! To you and to me.

 here is the start of labor. late monday night or early tuesday morning...

 here is wren being lifted out.

 seconds old.

 here is me first holding her. see how kinda cranky and uncomf i look? not happy.

 first pic in hospital bed. so tired. i havent slept in 3 days!

my baby wrenny!

 

wren and dad. little bright eyes. she is only 1 day old, and already trouble.

 bringing her home.

 Our lovely girl, Wren Elizabeth Schmidt.