Being pregnant was such a strange experience. I love to be prepared, but no matter how many birth stories I read, no matter how much research I did, there was absolutely no way to be prepared for the experience of birthing my daughter. 

I had such lofty goals. Labor was going to be spiritual. I was going to birth her naturally, and take my time laboring, first at home- comfortably in my bathtub, and walking around my apartment, in my own space - and then once we got to the hospital, I’d continue to labor as I felt my body move me. Different positions, free flowing, active, full of motion and quiet calm. I envisioned myself being very much in control of myself and ready for the challenge that lay ahead of me. 

Sunday morning, I started noticing small contractions. I began timing them around noon when it became clear that they weren’t going anywhere. We have a full house - my mom, mother in law and 10 year old sister in law are all in town and were all at our apartment, so I contracted through several hours of cards and board games with our company, trying not to let on to what I thought was starting to happen. 

At 730pm, my water broke. Or at least, I thought it did. It wasn’t some dramatic and obvious flood of liquid the way it’s portrayed in the movies. My husband called the hospital, and the nurse on call told me to shower and then come in and get checked out. That’s when I started to get anxious. Suddenly, so many things seemed SO important. I was overcome by the desire to shave my legs. And take the old polish off my toes. And blow dry my hair. And maybe alphabetize my bookshelves. Anything to put off the hospital. 

But, by 9pm, we were in labor and delivery. On the way to the hospital, I had managed to convince myself that I’d just be sent home for false labor. I’d be able to just go to sleep and try again tomorrow. Instead, they confirmed that my water had actually broken and admitted me. It was officially GO time. 

Ok. Time for all the spiritually in-tune labor practices I’d been planning on, right?

Wrong. 

As they monitored me during my hour in triage, Xochitl’s heart rate tanked after every contraction. Baby’s heart rate is supposed to lower during contractions, but is meant to level out again after. The fact that Xo’s kept falling after each one was cause for great concern. I was wheeled into a private room where i remained hooked up to monitors, was started on an IV drip, and was given oxygen. I was confined to bed and made to flip from one side to the other (which is a painful endeavor when you’re 40 weeks pregnant) every 20 minutes for about 5 hours to see if she responded. She did, thankfully. Afterwards, my doctor offered me morphine to help me sleep through the contractions for a few hours, but I was way too stubborn. I said no pain meds, I meant no pain meds. 

By 7am, I was able to get off oxygen. Xochitl was more consistently stable and I was able to get up and stand by my bed. The movement was such a relief. But I was also exhausted, so after walking in place and squatting a few times I crawled back in bed to try and cat nap between contractions (which didn’t really work). 

By 9am, my doctors were getting concerned again. My labor was not progressing fast enough. I was 80% effaced and 4cm dilated with contractions 30-40 seconds long every 5 minutes. If left to my own natural devices, I’d probably have been in labor for three days before it was time to push. Unfortunately, there’s a little bit of a time clock in play when your water ruptures and I didn’t have that kind of time, so I was started on pitocin to help things move along. They started pitocin at 1030am, and by noon I was 10cm dilated and completely effaced.

Contractions started coming fast, and strong, but Xochitl had moved over the part of her water bag that had ruptured, blocking the rest of her fluid from passing and preventing her from moving along like she needed to. At this point, the student midwife (that I didn’t know was going to be in my labor until I was in labor) attempted to rupture my water again between contractions…6 times. She was not good. I was so irritated with her. 

When the rest of my water finally broke, it was thick and brown - little Xochitl had decided that pooping couldn’t wait until she was outside. In my brain, all I could feel was panic. She had to come out soon. The timeline after my water first ruptured put her at risk for infection and now the meconium (little baby poops) could damage her lungs if she inhaled it, and I hadn’t even started pushing yet.

Shortly after 1pm, I finally started to push. My midwife coached me through pushing before I felt the “urge” to push, which in retrospect I wish I hadn’t done. I expended a lot of energy, and it was in between these strong contractions and early pushes that I started to really doubt myself. My midwife and her shadow were yelling at me to push, and push harder and I was doing what I thought was the best I could, but with little effect. I felt weak, and ineffective and seriously questioned if i was going to be able to do this. Between each contraction my legs shook uncontrollably, my mind was racing and I couldn’t get my breathing under control - that was truly the worst. During the contractions I felt like I had a purpose. Between them, all I could do was doubt. Around 2:15, and without any explanation or precursor, my midwife put what felt like her whole fist in my cervix during a contraction. I have never screamed like that in my life. I had no idea I was capable of that kind of noise. The pain was so sudden and so intense that I literally saw everything in a shade of red. My whole brain was pure panic; flight mode fully engaged. She explained, after the contraction had ended, that my cervix had prolapsed and was actually preventing Xo from being able to exit. It was like a little lip had curled up just enough to hold her in. So my midwife literally had to hold it open. Then she asked her gorilla-fisted trainee to reach in and help her hold it down. It briefly crossed my mind I should just let my legs “slip” from the squat bar and “accidentally” break her nose, but I did not act on that thought.

Luckily, it was right then when something engaged in my body - I had to push and I had to push NOW. It was an incredibly different experience. My body just acted. I was silent, and pushed. And then I pushed again. And suddenly I could feel her making her way out. The determination I experienced at that point was indescribable. I pushed one more time and knew that I wasn’t going to stop until she was here. And I didn’t. At exactly 3:00pm, she arrived, screaming at the top of her lungs and absolutely perfect. 

I don’t really remember passing the placenta. I don’t really remember the 16 stitches. I don’t really remember anything except the incredible disbelief that she was here. On me. Wiggling and crying (and taking a *massive* poop all over me that I didn’t notice until later). All I remember is that the world was absolutely perfect. People came and went and cleaned her while she was on my chest, but I didn’t notice any of them. She wiggled down to find my nipple and start nursing on her own and I don’t know if the tears that fell on my chest were mine or my husband’s. 

27 hours of natural, unmedicated labor, and Xochitl Quinn arrived - 7lbs 14oz, and 21inches long.  It wasn’t exactly the birth experience I had imagined, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. We are so, so in love.