Oliver

Flashbacks of my labor and delivery have haunted me this week as I've had the privilege to hold my healthy baby boy. The details are surreal and painful to recall, but I would be foolish to abstain from recording them, as to me the details are unmistakable evidence of a higher power, as well as the reality and viability of a woman's natural instinct.

Beginning

On Monday night I remember texting my dad telling him that as the due date was passing with no baby it felt like everyone forgetting your birthday. I hadn't had any real contractions, and Austin and I were getting ready for bed, mentally preparing to wait a week or more for this baby to arrive. Suddenly around 11pm, my first contraction began and it was strong. At the time, I was unaware that delivery would take place within the next three hours.

There are three emotional signposts of labor:

1. Excitement as the realization sets in that your baby is coming!

2. Seriousness as you buckle down to work

3. Self-doubt. Is this really something your body can handle? This signpost should indicate to anyone helping the mother that the end of labor is near.

Looking back, it is obvious that I completely skipped the first emotional signpost, and half of the second. My contractions started at 5 minutes apart.

Austin and I worked through 8 or 9 contractions at first, breathing and trying to relax through them, still unsure if this was really happening. It seemed too fast! We called the midwife and alerted her, and then Austin helped me take a shower and get ready to go. We were supposed to leave when contractions were 4 minutes apart, a minute long, and had been that way for an hour.

When I got out of the shower, my contractions skipped to 3 minutes apart. After a few minutes, I hit what is known as "transition," threw up, and suddenly found myself in the third emotional signpost. We realized we really should have already been on the road, and I worked through more contractions on my own on my hands and knees as Austin got our bags in the car.

The Car

We have a little Mazda 2, and I was really not happy about the idea of working through any contractions inside of it. Having space and leverage to adjust and move through each contraction was the only thing keeping me stable. I decided to kneel on the floor facing the back seat while Austin drove. We had grabbed some bath towels on the way out, and I gripped one as the contractions became more and more intense on the road while Austin sped. I tried to relax in between each. Austin kept the AC pumping and blared various Ludovico Eunadi tracks that we had prepared for the birth center.

By now, my sense of time was completely nonexistent. I know now that my time in the car was around 25 minutes total. My water broke, but I was in a sleeping gown so I was still able to remove my underwear quickly before the next contraction. As the pain increased I tried to feel to see if the baby was crowning, but was shocked to feel 10 tiny toes. I didn't have time to process what bad news it was to have a surprise double footling breech baby, which is probably better considering the circumstances in hindsight. For those unfamiliar with birth, you would be hard-pressed to find a hospital that would deliver a footling breech baby vaginally at all: they would be taken for a cesarean section.

The babies legs slowly emerged over the duration of a contraction, and I tried to remember not to touch them as I knew stimulating the baby could trigger a response of his arms inside me, which could stop his delivery and cause his death among other complications. With the next contraction, his body slipped out up to his neck. I massaged his legs and body as I waited for the next contraction to hopefully deliver his head. It is hard to know if that was the right move, since he could have decided to start breathing before his head was delivered. I can't think too much about that now.

Sure enough, with the next contraction, I pushed and his head came out. I was already holding his body, so I pulled him up, turned him over laying on my right hand and rubbed his back with my left hand trying to get him to cry and breathe. A month prior, I had actually dreamed that I had the baby outside of a medical facility and in the dream I knew to do all of that. I have wracked my brain for where that information came from, but I simply don't know. It took what seemed like much longer I'm sure, but he did cough and started to cry a little there in the back seat of that Mazda 2. My sweet, perfect husband (who never cries) was now audibly crying as he drove, just repeating "he's ok! I have a son! He's crying! He's breathing!"

You may be wondering about Austin. I shouted that his feet were coming out back when that happened, and Austin called the midwife back. My baby had been head down for months, so this was a shock for everyone. By the time the call ended, the baby was out and Krissy (my midwife) suggested we go to an ER since we were still around 20 minutes from the birth center. We just so happened to be coming up on the exit for the ER (I'm sorry for those of you who still only believe in coincidences), and Austin pulled in. 

Oliver and I carefully emerged from the floor, covered in blood, but in no pain. Following a natural birth, women's bodies are programmed to release a flood of hormones that act as painkillers, so I was unaware of my second degree perineal tear for the next few hours.

In Summary

Oliver Isa Dressman was born on August 25th, 2015 at 1:45am, weighing 6 lbs, 11 oz. He measured 20.5 inches long, and had absolutely no complications once he started breathing in that car. I received stitches for my tear, but never even needed as much as an IV or oxygen for anything else.

Every woman, body, and pregnancy are different. For me, I feel overwhelmingly privileged to have delivered Oliver naturally. I have never felt more powerful, more loved, or more purpose than I did that terrifying night, kneeling on the floor of our car. I obviously don't recommend delivering your own baby while your husband speeds on the highway, but I am grateful for the knowledge that I have a Heavenly Father who loves me and loves my baby. He knows me and what I am going through. I also know that God loves us through the misfortunes, and that if I had lost my child that night, which statistically should have happened, that I can still be with my little family forever. If you find yourself unsure of what will follow this life, I would encourage you to take steps towards coming to understand before you get there. 

I love my little family. Even as I sit here on this stitched up tush of mine, sore and nursing my tiny newborn, I feel an overwhelming surge of gratitude to be a woman. I am strong, and I am capable. I am grateful to be me.