One year ago today, I was almost 39 weeks pregnant with my fourth child. He was due June 25th and I was preparing myself to go past my due date. Expecting an early delivery makes each passing day seem like an eternity. It was a Friday, and my youngest brother was turning 12. He had invited some friends and his little nieces and nephews to play with him at Millennium Sports Park, a 15 minute drive from our house. I had kept Liam home from school and we were planning to meet the others at the park at 10am. As I ran around the house scrambling to get everyone ready, contractions started. I called my mom to let her know. “I think it might be because I’ve been running all morning,” I said. “I’ll lie down for a bit and then come. The boys are looking forward to going to the park.” We decided that if things progressed, I would leave the three boys with her and go home. I rested for half an hour but the contractions kept coming. Not wanting to disappoint the boys, I got up, buckled everyone into the van and drove to the park. By the time we arrived, I couldn’t sit through the contractions. My mom, both my sisters, and a friend were there with their kids. We had put together a picnic and I ate a few bites as I paced and swayed. Finally, my sister asked, “So when are you going to leave?!” I agreed that it was time. I was about to call Brendan to tell him, but he called me first. “I’m having contractions, I need you to come home!” he joked. “Funny you should say that,” I replied. “I was about to tell you the same thing!” He laughed. He had ridden his bike to work that morning and would now have another 45 minute ride back, only a couple hours later.
It was around 2:45pm when we arrived at the birth centre. By 3pm, we were heading home again. My midwife had determined that I was only 3cm dilated and advised that I go home, take a Tylenol and a bath, and rest for a while. I felt like things were progressing along the same trajectory as my two previous labours (which had begun in the morning and ended mid-afternoon), but after the midwife’s assessment, I began to prepare myself mentally for a longer labour. My first labour had been very long, and although I was hoping for a baby before evening, I began to think that maybe this labour would be more like the first than the other two. I was disappointed, but resolved to stay focused and calm. Brendan dropped me off at home and went to pick up some Tylenol. I ran a bath. During my last two labours, being in the giant birth centre tubs had given me some relief. My regular sized tub wasn’t quite cutting it. Every time a contraction came on, I felt a simultaneous wave of fear. “Don’t be afraid,” I said to myself. “Let it come. You can do this.” I’m convinced this positive self-talk helped my body to open up and accept the process. After a short while in the tub, I entered what Ina May Gaskin calls “Labourland”: the trance-like state that accompanies advanced labour. Though it didn’t occur to me at the time, looking back over my labours, I recognize this as the period right before transition. Between contractions, I felt my body relax, almost to the point of sleep. I decided to get out of the tub and lie down in bed, so that I could relax more fully, as my body was prompting me to do. I climbed into bed and tried not to resist the contractions as they came. I concentrated on making low sounds, avoiding the pull to get shrill and panicky. Suddenly, I felt the urge to push. “The baby is coming,” I told Brendan, who had been napping beside me. “Call the midwife. And get my homebirth kit out of the closet.” He bolted out of bed, called the midwife to tell her what was happening, then put the phone on speaker next to me so that I could talk. He retrieved the large pads from my home birth kit, which we had as a precaution. We weren’t expecting to need them. “I’m on my way,” said the midwife. “If your water breaks before I arrive, call me back and then call 911.” A minute later, my water broke. Brendan informed the midwife of my progress, then quickly spread pads over the bed. I moved onto all fours. Brendan dialed 911. I breathed. “My wife is having a baby,” I heard him say. “AND I CAN SEE THE HEAD!” Don’t strain, just breathe, I thought. He’s coming. You can do this. “THE HEAD IS OUT! I’m putting you on speaker,” Brendan told the operator, setting the phone down and preparing to catch the baby. Another surge. “THE BABY IS BORN!!!” It was 4:38pm, just over an hour after we had gotten home. Brendan placed Eamon on the bed beside me and I cradled him, taking in his beautiful newbornness. “Ok, what should we do now?” Brendan asked. “Is he breathing properly? Is he crying?” asked the operator. “Yes!” we cheered. “Good. Just keep him warm. The paramedics will be there soon,” the operator assured us. “Congratulations!” I don’t know how many minutes passed between Eamon’s birth and the arrival of the paramedics. Maybe five. But I remember the feeling of that moment, the sheer disbelief that I had done it, that my baby was now in my arms.
When the paramedics arrived, they checked our vitals and determined that we were both fine. They clamped Eamon’s umbilical cord and Brendan cut it. One of them told me that I would have to go to the hospital but I said my midwives were on the way and I’d rather stay home. The midwives arrived about 15 minutes later. Satisfied that I was in good hands, the paramedics left soon after. I reclined in bed again and nursed Eamon while the midwives worked around us. The midwife who had checked my progress at the birth centre told me that at that time, the baby had been posterior. In an hour and a half, his position had changed and he was born. Brendan ran a couple loads of laundry that included every single towel we owned. The midwives weighed the baby. They helped me shower and put on fresh clothes. They made my bed. All the while, we talked about what a crazy experience this was. Then they left, and it was just the three of us.
Brendan ordered Thai food for dinner, at my request. We called our parents, siblings, and some close friends to share our joy. We soaked in the wonder of our new boy.
The next morning, my parents brought the other boys home to meet their brother. They were ecstatic and each wanted a turn to hold the baby. My heart surged. All these little people were mine!
Over the next days and weeks, I gradually recovered from birth and we fell into the rhythm of our new reality as a family of six. Brendan had the whole summer off work, which was a blessing to all of us. It was one of the best summers of our family life. Eamon was an absolute delight from day one, and it was so nice to be able to enjoy our first summer all together in our new home.
