We'd been trying out a bunch of restaurants that were new to us. It was a fun distraction in those last weeks of pregnancy, and built in together time. We talked about our baby and what we hoped our birth experience would be like. I can't remember exactly what we talked about that night, only that we did talk...a lot! We were the only diners in the small Italian restaurant, and the waitress didn't rush us. When we finished, the sun was just about to set and we were dining near the waterfront; prime after-dinner stroll opportunity! Plus, everyone said walking was good for inducing labor.
Whether the Italian food or the walk had any affect, I'll never know. All I know is that it was just time. As I waddled back to the car, trying to ignore the stares ("Yes, there's a baby in there. And no, I'm not about to pop. It's a baby, not a balloon!") I felt something. Just something. Unlike anything I'd felt in the last nine months. Excitement and nerves swept over me, but I pushed them aside and mused to my husband, "What if this is the last date before she comes?"
What if? It was! Signs of early labor arrived as soon as we got home. The contractions followed that night--fifteen minutes apart, however--producing an adrenaline rush that kept me awake. If only I could go back and tell my silly-pregnant self to SLEEP!!!
The next day I relaxed at home, canceling all my plans for the next few days (just in case) and drifting on the waves of anticipation and dread. "This is it!" "No it's not." "But these are definitely contractions!" "But they're too far apart." "What if it happens quickly?" "What if it takes days?!" On and on it went.
The contractions amped up around 1 am the next morning. That's where the official count began, as the contractions became stronger and more frequent. The nausea of first trimester came back with a vengeance. (They tell you to eat as soon as you realize you're in labor, because you may not have the chance once you're in the hospital....That just didn't work out for me. I was literally running on empty!) There was no denying it. This was labor. And this was HARD!
I only slept for five minute intervals between contractions. Super Husband got just as little sleep and helped me log the time and intensity of each contraction. He called the midwives. He made me food that I tried (and failed) to eat. And we waited.
Strangely, I was anxious to get to the hospital. Just the thought of having help nearby and a soaking tub sounded amazing. Around 9:30 am, we got the OK. Our hospital bags were packed. I grabbed the quilt my Grammie made for me when I was a little girl and buried my face in it for comfort as we drove to the hospital. Squeezing my eyes shut and focusing seemed like the only way to get through contractions, and that made the drive seem fast. We parked in the zone reserved for drop-offs and laboring parents. Greg would park after we were admitted...
...Only we weren't. After visiting the on-call midwife, we found out I was only 3 cm. "What do you want to do?" she asked. I wasn't prepared for that question. What were my options? Walk around the hospital for an hour and get checked again...and possibly get sent home. Or go home now, try to eat again, and come back when I was farther along. Neither sounded very good, but at least at home I could have some semblance of comfort. I still cried in frustration on the drive back. We'd made it to the hospital! We were ready! And now I had to go home again?
Sweet Super Husband made me a strawberry-banana smoothie--ideal labor food, right? Sounds great now. Didn't then. All I could tolerate were a few sips of Gatorade, which I later realized was the "low-calorie" kind! Go figure. The one time in my life where I needed ALL the calories! So I spent most of the next five hours draped over the back of our couch, deliriously counting through contractions, or curled up in bed, trying to cat nap.
One thing that really helped me through this "trial by fire" was music. Super Husband played a worship song playlist on Pandora. As evidence of how long we were laboring at home, we actually cycled through the playlist multiple times, and "Walk with Me" by Jesus Culture seemed to play the most:
"Walk with me" and "how I need you" rang through my mind, echoing the cries of my heart. I needed Jesus in this moment, just as in every moment. But the intense pain and the unknown of what would come next had me recognizing my need with frightening clarity.
Finally, I felt like I couldn't take it much longer. I had to go back to the hospital, and they had to admit me, even if I was less than 5 cm along. I'm not sure how he managed it, but Super Husband convinced me, in my crazed state, to hang on a little longer and move more. Walk, rock on the exercise ball, do mini lunges on the stairs. I agreed...but only if he called the midwives first to let them know we were coming!
About an hour later, we were on our way once more. Convinced we'd be sent home again, we parked in the garage this time...on the second floor. We figured what little walking I could manage at this point could only help things along. The elevator taking FOR-EVER, however, did not. It slowly arrived. The doors slowly closed. We went slowly UP, picked up more passengers, went slowly DOWN, stopped at the SAME floor again, and then slowly down again to our desired floor. Oh. My. Goodness. I must have had three contractions in the time it took us to go down one floor. (Should've taken the stairs!) By then, the poor guy still in the elevator with us made some joking comments about how we'd remember this elevator ride as a part of our birth story. "And it'll be funny someday, I promise." Ha. Ha. Ha.
He walked ahead of us as we slowly made our way inside. The saint then asked for a wheelchair, as I'd stopped to lean against a windowsill for a contraction. (Wherever you are, sir. Bless you!) The nurse asked if I'd fallen. "Um, no. Just in labor." I said through clenched teeth. It is funny now--"just" in labor?!
"Okay then!" she said too cheerily and started wheeling me toward the Family Maternity Center...where I did want to go, but couldn't without a visit to the midwives first...in the opposite direction. Poor Super Husband must have been dazed, because I was the one who had to tell her (twice) that we needed to go the other way. Again, humorous to me now. Not so much then.
"We're back!" I chuckled mirthlessly as we wheeled into the midwives' office. There were other expectant mamas in the waiting room, and I feel bad for the horrific picture I must have left them. Already disheveled, feeling haggard beyond belief, and announcing that it wasn't a "one and done" kind of visit before the baby arrives. Sorry, ladies.
It took me a few seconds to register what the midwife was saying. "Okay, so you're 8 or 9 cm. Aaaand your water just broke! What do you say we go meet this baby girl?" I burst into happy tears, momentarily and blissfully unaware of the pain as we celebrated that THIS would be our baby's birthday! At long last! It wasn't without a tinge of fright, however, as she calmly announced that Baby had pooped already and we'd need to have NICU staff there at the birth. Not part of the plan, but safer for Baby.
The staff at the midwives' office were always so good to me and sweeter than pie! They cheered us on and wished us a "Happy BIRTH day!" as we left. Heading over to the other wing, I could hardly believe this was it! After all the anticipation and waiting for this moment, to be that far along was far beyond my wildest expectations. The next hour was a blur--signing forms, meeting our labor and delivery nurse, listening as she and the midwife joked and bantered about that day's news, and settling into the room we'd call "home" for the next 24 hours. The room where our daughter would enter the world!
In a strange moment of calm, I opened my eyes from another contraction to find our midwife sitting in front of me, watching me intently. It struck me how odd and amazing it was to have two people there with us the entire delivery, from this moment on! "What do you want to do?" Again, NOT expecting that question. Should've said, "I want to have this baby!" But instead I shrugged and muttered that maybe a bath would be good.
"Good" doesn't cut it! It was the best thing ever! A sweet bit of relief from an exhausting 24 hours. "Just let us know when you feel the urge to push," the midwife had said. I'd been a little anxious over that part...okay, a lot anxious! I'd never had a baby before. Didn't know what that urge felt like, much less how to actually do anything about it!! But the old adage is true--your body will know what to do.
After about an hour, I felt ready. After a bit of coaching, I knew how to get the most out of this most difficult part of labor. Super Husband was a bit surprised at how involved they let him be and he did AWESOME! I think he was more in shock about the whole experience than I was!
In a strangely appropriate way, Ludovico Einaudi (the composer whose song "Divenire" played as I walked down the aisle to on our wedding day) was playing during the birth. Obviously, my attention was elsewhere, but I'm pretty sure this was the song I heard, "Questa Notte:
Divenire means "becoming," a word that meant a great deal to me in our early years of marriage and becoming a wife. Likewise, Questa Notte, which means "this night," is perfectly suited to the birth of our daughter, because her name means "night" in Hebrew. And as night fell that day, our Lyla was coming.
I felt strangely calm and focused. I knew what I had to do. And I would do it. As the midwife excitedly announced, I was doing it! It was by God's mercy that I delivered so quickly. After about ten minutes of the hardest but most rewarding work I've ever done, a perfect, surprisingly big, hot, and purple little human being was placed on my chest.
Here she is!
I'll never forget the way her long fingers wrapped around my arm, already holding on for the ride of life. We cried and welcomed our daughter to the world. She didn't come in screaming (unfortunately) and I had to give her up for a few minutes while the NICU people checked her out. I couldn't take my eyes off her as they got her airways cleared. (She came so fast, the NICU crew barely arrived in time!) But her first little cry made me tremble with joy. She's alright. She made it. WE made it!
When I had her back in my arms again, I finally managed to tear my eyes away from her sweet, round face to look at Super Husband. In that moment, with golden evening sunlight pouring in the windows, my child in my arms and my hero at my side, I think my heart grew bigger than I ever thought possible. Bigger to hold the love I have for this man and our little girl.
When I first saw her big eyes squinting up at me, I was surprised how dark and impossibly blue they were. What a privilege to be the first thing she ever laid eyes on, to be the first to touch her. It was truly a miraculous experience. God showed me great mercy and kindness that day. I'll be forever grateful, forever praising Him for it.
And that's how one of my greatest dreams and desires came true. We had a baby! And suddenly all the other dreams I thought I had pale in comparison. She's such a priceless gift. Our family story started a new chapter, and we're still enraptured by it.
The next day I relaxed at home, canceling all my plans for the next few days (just in case) and drifting on the waves of anticipation and dread. "This is it!" "No it's not." "But these are definitely contractions!" "But they're too far apart." "What if it happens quickly?" "What if it takes days?!" On and on it went.
The contractions amped up around 1 am the next morning. That's where the official count began, as the contractions became stronger and more frequent. The nausea of first trimester came back with a vengeance. (They tell you to eat as soon as you realize you're in labor, because you may not have the chance once you're in the hospital....That just didn't work out for me. I was literally running on empty!) There was no denying it. This was labor. And this was HARD!
I only slept for five minute intervals between contractions. Super Husband got just as little sleep and helped me log the time and intensity of each contraction. He called the midwives. He made me food that I tried (and failed) to eat. And we waited.
Strangely, I was anxious to get to the hospital. Just the thought of having help nearby and a soaking tub sounded amazing. Around 9:30 am, we got the OK. Our hospital bags were packed. I grabbed the quilt my Grammie made for me when I was a little girl and buried my face in it for comfort as we drove to the hospital. Squeezing my eyes shut and focusing seemed like the only way to get through contractions, and that made the drive seem fast. We parked in the zone reserved for drop-offs and laboring parents. Greg would park after we were admitted...
...Only we weren't. After visiting the on-call midwife, we found out I was only 3 cm. "What do you want to do?" she asked. I wasn't prepared for that question. What were my options? Walk around the hospital for an hour and get checked again...and possibly get sent home. Or go home now, try to eat again, and come back when I was farther along. Neither sounded very good, but at least at home I could have some semblance of comfort. I still cried in frustration on the drive back. We'd made it to the hospital! We were ready! And now I had to go home again?
Sweet Super Husband made me a strawberry-banana smoothie--ideal labor food, right? Sounds great now. Didn't then. All I could tolerate were a few sips of Gatorade, which I later realized was the "low-calorie" kind! Go figure. The one time in my life where I needed ALL the calories! So I spent most of the next five hours draped over the back of our couch, deliriously counting through contractions, or curled up in bed, trying to cat nap.
One thing that really helped me through this "trial by fire" was music. Super Husband played a worship song playlist on Pandora. As evidence of how long we were laboring at home, we actually cycled through the playlist multiple times, and "Walk with Me" by Jesus Culture seemed to play the most:
"Walk with me" and "how I need you" rang through my mind, echoing the cries of my heart. I needed Jesus in this moment, just as in every moment. But the intense pain and the unknown of what would come next had me recognizing my need with frightening clarity.
Finally, I felt like I couldn't take it much longer. I had to go back to the hospital, and they had to admit me, even if I was less than 5 cm along. I'm not sure how he managed it, but Super Husband convinced me, in my crazed state, to hang on a little longer and move more. Walk, rock on the exercise ball, do mini lunges on the stairs. I agreed...but only if he called the midwives first to let them know we were coming!
About an hour later, we were on our way once more. Convinced we'd be sent home again, we parked in the garage this time...on the second floor. We figured what little walking I could manage at this point could only help things along. The elevator taking FOR-EVER, however, did not. It slowly arrived. The doors slowly closed. We went slowly UP, picked up more passengers, went slowly DOWN, stopped at the SAME floor again, and then slowly down again to our desired floor. Oh. My. Goodness. I must have had three contractions in the time it took us to go down one floor. (Should've taken the stairs!) By then, the poor guy still in the elevator with us made some joking comments about how we'd remember this elevator ride as a part of our birth story. "And it'll be funny someday, I promise." Ha. Ha. Ha.
He walked ahead of us as we slowly made our way inside. The saint then asked for a wheelchair, as I'd stopped to lean against a windowsill for a contraction. (Wherever you are, sir. Bless you!) The nurse asked if I'd fallen. "Um, no. Just in labor." I said through clenched teeth. It is funny now--"just" in labor?!
"Okay then!" she said too cheerily and started wheeling me toward the Family Maternity Center...where I did want to go, but couldn't without a visit to the midwives first...in the opposite direction. Poor Super Husband must have been dazed, because I was the one who had to tell her (twice) that we needed to go the other way. Again, humorous to me now. Not so much then.
"We're back!" I chuckled mirthlessly as we wheeled into the midwives' office. There were other expectant mamas in the waiting room, and I feel bad for the horrific picture I must have left them. Already disheveled, feeling haggard beyond belief, and announcing that it wasn't a "one and done" kind of visit before the baby arrives. Sorry, ladies.
It took me a few seconds to register what the midwife was saying. "Okay, so you're 8 or 9 cm. Aaaand your water just broke! What do you say we go meet this baby girl?" I burst into happy tears, momentarily and blissfully unaware of the pain as we celebrated that THIS would be our baby's birthday! At long last! It wasn't without a tinge of fright, however, as she calmly announced that Baby had pooped already and we'd need to have NICU staff there at the birth. Not part of the plan, but safer for Baby.
The staff at the midwives' office were always so good to me and sweeter than pie! They cheered us on and wished us a "Happy BIRTH day!" as we left. Heading over to the other wing, I could hardly believe this was it! After all the anticipation and waiting for this moment, to be that far along was far beyond my wildest expectations. The next hour was a blur--signing forms, meeting our labor and delivery nurse, listening as she and the midwife joked and bantered about that day's news, and settling into the room we'd call "home" for the next 24 hours. The room where our daughter would enter the world!
In a strange moment of calm, I opened my eyes from another contraction to find our midwife sitting in front of me, watching me intently. It struck me how odd and amazing it was to have two people there with us the entire delivery, from this moment on! "What do you want to do?" Again, NOT expecting that question. Should've said, "I want to have this baby!" But instead I shrugged and muttered that maybe a bath would be good.
"Good" doesn't cut it! It was the best thing ever! A sweet bit of relief from an exhausting 24 hours. "Just let us know when you feel the urge to push," the midwife had said. I'd been a little anxious over that part...okay, a lot anxious! I'd never had a baby before. Didn't know what that urge felt like, much less how to actually do anything about it!! But the old adage is true--your body will know what to do.
After about an hour, I felt ready. After a bit of coaching, I knew how to get the most out of this most difficult part of labor. Super Husband was a bit surprised at how involved they let him be and he did AWESOME! I think he was more in shock about the whole experience than I was!
In a strangely appropriate way, Ludovico Einaudi (the composer whose song "Divenire" played as I walked down the aisle to on our wedding day) was playing during the birth. Obviously, my attention was elsewhere, but I'm pretty sure this was the song I heard, "Questa Notte:
Divenire means "becoming," a word that meant a great deal to me in our early years of marriage and becoming a wife. Likewise, Questa Notte, which means "this night," is perfectly suited to the birth of our daughter, because her name means "night" in Hebrew. And as night fell that day, our Lyla was coming.
I felt strangely calm and focused. I knew what I had to do. And I would do it. As the midwife excitedly announced, I was doing it! It was by God's mercy that I delivered so quickly. After about ten minutes of the hardest but most rewarding work I've ever done, a perfect, surprisingly big, hot, and purple little human being was placed on my chest.
Here she is!
I'll never forget the way her long fingers wrapped around my arm, already holding on for the ride of life. We cried and welcomed our daughter to the world. She didn't come in screaming (unfortunately) and I had to give her up for a few minutes while the NICU people checked her out. I couldn't take my eyes off her as they got her airways cleared. (She came so fast, the NICU crew barely arrived in time!) But her first little cry made me tremble with joy. She's alright. She made it. WE made it!
When I had her back in my arms again, I finally managed to tear my eyes away from her sweet, round face to look at Super Husband. In that moment, with golden evening sunlight pouring in the windows, my child in my arms and my hero at my side, I think my heart grew bigger than I ever thought possible. Bigger to hold the love I have for this man and our little girl.
When I first saw her big eyes squinting up at me, I was surprised how dark and impossibly blue they were. What a privilege to be the first thing she ever laid eyes on, to be the first to touch her. It was truly a miraculous experience. God showed me great mercy and kindness that day. I'll be forever grateful, forever praising Him for it.
And that's how one of my greatest dreams and desires came true. We had a baby! And suddenly all the other dreams I thought I had pale in comparison. She's such a priceless gift. Our family story started a new chapter, and we're still enraptured by it.
