When I did the thing that women have always done so quit bitching about it and push

This is the third, and please let it be, the last part of the little savage's birth story.

So when we left off last time, I was crying for my mom. But not like that. Anyway, Husband managed to get some sleep but I didn't. I just continued to muddle through contractions until my midwife came in to check me and suggested I get into the bathtub. So I did. And I guess I was in there for a few hours but I think time moves differently when you're in the labor groove - a contraction lasts for three days and the space between them is shorter than... insert something witty and short. Ooh, Tyrion Lannister! (Game of Thrones, anyone?) I remember getting super hot every time I had a contraction. I would start my birth song* and that would be my midwife's cue to start fanning my face with a wet washcloth. I didn't love being in the tub but it seemed like a long time before the appeal of dry land outweighed the effort of dragging myself out of the tub.

At some point, I mustered the strength to stand up and begin the slow, hard journey from bathtub to bed. I had Husband call my womenfolk to come back to me and they got there unbelievably fast. I suspect teleportation. Everyone assembled around me on the bed and manned their battle stations. I had one sister fanning me, the other in charge of removing my blankets as fast as humanly possible when a contraction came on (because I felt like I was burning, why am I laboring in the fiery pits of hell?), and my mom responsible for covering me back up when my contraction ended (because I was freezing, why does it feel like Siberia in here?). And Husband was making a sandwich.

So, to get through these contractions I began to bear down justalittleteenybit. After one, my midwife asks me if I'd like her to check me and after she does, she asks me if I'm ready to start pushing. Apparently, yes. So. Ok. I'm done playin'. Birth just got real, y'all. I pushed and I pushed and I huffed and I puffed and I broke some blood vessels in my face and I got that baby out. It was like, six pushes in maybe fifteen minutes total, no lie. And then my little love slides out into his daddy's hands. Husband places him on my stomach and he's so little and slippery and wonderful and I just cried, "my baby, my baby." My baby. My baby, who weighed 8 pounds, 21 inches tall (or long), and came out with his hand on his face. Wikki-what? Yeah. Head and hand, birthed at the same time. But NO TEARING! That's my favorite part of the whole story, the part where my lady bits stayed intact. Early on, I expressed concern, to put it mildly, over the potential ripping, tearing, and otherwise disfiguring of the lady bits that can happen during delivery. But my midwife assured me that she would apply counter pressure when the little was crowning to reduce the potential for down-there disaster.

We waited until the cord stopped pulsing to cut it. I put the little savage straight to the breast and cuddled him and kissed him, even though he was covered in birth goo. We were in awe at how perfect and beautiful he was. And 12 months later, we still are.

There are some things that I'd like to do differently if I ever give birth again. I went at this birth with no expectations, no specific plans on how to manage contractions, or where or how I wanted to birth. Everything was very instinctual, very primal. I liked that. I liked feeling that primitive need to birth, like every mother since the dawn of time. Next time, I'm finding a cave.

*Did I just say that?

Just, you know, laborin' and stuff

This is the second part of the little savage's birth story.

We woke up Saturday morning and thought, well, hey! This labor shit is so easy you can sleep through it! Haha, we were so. Stupid. Wait, why am I saying we? Husband did, in fact, sleep while I labored away but that was later. Anyhoo, we spent the day walking around the house, having mild contractions, visiting with my sisters and parents, rolling around on the birth ball (me), and rushing around Lil' H-town, frantically trying to accomplish all last minute tasks and errands (Husband).

That evening my contractions finally began to get stronger. When I felt one coming on, I'd grab the nearest person and hang onto their shoulders while I swayed my hips around. I had read in Ina May's Guide to Childbirth about something called "shaking the apples." Basically your enablers birthing support team grab onto your hips/hiney/legs and shimmy or shake or vibrate you during contractions. It relieves some of the muscle tensing that goes on during the "surges."

At around nine pm, we decided to head to our midwife's office. Because we live in our family home, I was worried that I would be uncomfortable giving birth and making birth noises while my dad tried to sleep or my little brother played video games or the dogs howled like idiots. Luckily, our midwife has a beautiful office ten minutes away from us with a nice big bed and a nice big tub that we were able to use. When we got there, my midwife checked me... And told me that I was a whopping two cm. Almost three. But not quite. I am disappoint (in my best Borat voice). And then came The Awkward Situation.

My mom is wonderful. She loves her children more than life itself. She would do anything for us. But she can be a little pushy (sorry, mom!) and she's definitely a worrier. Which then worries me. So, and I know this came from a place of love and concern, at the beginning of my pregnancy, she started worrying about me. About whether I could handle the pain and hard work of labor and delivery au naturale. That was kind of a blow to me - I know I'm a delicate flower, but I'm also stubborn as a mule willful determined. I knew I could birth my child just as good as any cave woman. But apparently in the beginning, my mom had some doubts. I hadn't ever given birth before, but I knew if my mom was there with a worried, oh-jesus-she-can't-handle-this, get-her-to-the-hospital mindset, it was going to seriously throw off my birthing goddess groove. Early on, I mentioned this fear to my midwife, which made her start to worry. It was a horrible wave of worry that was no good for anyone. So after she checked me that night, my midwife suggested that Husband and I get into the bed and try to get some sleep (for the second night in a row!) and have my mom and sisters go back home for the time being.

It sounded like a good plan - Husband and I would labor alone together for a bit and get some rest. My mom wouldn't worry about how long things were taking or how I was managing. Everyone could get a few hours of sleep (in theory) and we would call them to come back when things got a little more interesting. But telling this plan to my mom, telling my mom to leave me while her daughter was in labor, that was so. Hard. That was awkward, and uncomfortable, and I didn't know whether I wanted her to leave or not and I certainly didn't want her to be sad or hurt. That was the hardest part of my labor. Pushing a kid out my vag' was cake compared to seeing my mom's face when I told her we would call her when they should come back. But they left. Husband and I got into the big bed - oh, btw, I'm STILL in labor here, throughout The Awkward Situation and it's conclusion - and we tried to rest.

That husband of mine went right to god damn sleep, but what did I do? I cried for my flippin' mom.