Caspian Uriel: a birth story
part I of II
This is a birth story: a very personal account of the arrival of our fourth baby, written to preserve the details of this memory for our family. As such, it’s pretty long, so with that in mind, I’ll be telling the story in two parts. Thank you for reading!
Sitting down to write this took forever. Five weeks, to be exact. Lucky as I am, with a husband whose job gives exorbitant paternity leave, postpartum for me kind of feels like being in another dimension. The last week or two have been like the slow voyage back to reality.
Five weeks it’s been already. Five weeks! Over a month of changing tiny onesies and ignoring the world and writing my to-do list in texts sent to myself. We’ve come a long way from my last pregnancy-related newsletter, in which I complained heartily about my planetoid state. And let me just say, I was totally right that hanging out with this baby in newborn format would be a lot more enjoyable than lugging him around in my womb 24/7.
His birth story is a fun one, full of twists and turns that felt like spiraling anxiety in the moment and now have me smiling in nostalgia every time I recollect them.
Many things I prayed for over the course of this, my fourth, pregnancy: a natural labor with no induction, a well-positioned baby (my third came out sunny-side-up), a quick delivery in the hospital and not some random sitcom-esque location, and a healthy, happy boy with lots of hair. All of those prayers, and more, were answered.
My contractions started around midnight on Friday, the fourth day after my due date (I’d scheduled an induction for the upcoming Monday). I was both scared and relieved when I found myself timing contractions in the middle of the night. Relieved because I almost couldn’t handle the thought of waiting all weekend. Scared because although Caspian was my fourth baby, this would be only the second time I’d given birth naturally, and I knew I was in for an intense ride. The closer I got to my due date, the more antsy I became and the more I wondered if I could really survive it again. It felt like dancing with death. The first time must have been a fluke, a miracle, and now I was pushing it.
In the couple weeks leading up to Caspian’s birth, I battled this fear almost constantly, and it surprised me. I found myself praying through tears more than once, simply asking God for assurance that He would take care of me. In my Bible reading, a verse from Isaiah stood out to me and I clung to it like a vine tossed down to me in a deep pit: You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you (Is. 26:3). If I could just hold on to Jesus in the midst of my fear, I had to believe he’d keep me upright.
So there I was, just after midnight on May 9th, logging contractions on my pregnancy app and trying to relax. I was too uncomfortable and anxious to sleep. At some point between 2 and 3 am I went to use the restroom, and on my way back to bed I paced the floor thinking, Please God, don’t make me go to the hospital in the middle of the night. I don’t want to do this right now.
Contractions stalled at 3am. Prayer answered. I lay down, not sure what to expect in the morning, but relieved.
Three hours later, the contractions woke me up again. They were coming irregularly, some at two minute intervals, some at eight. Every time I stood up the contractions intensified, but they loosened whenever I sat down. I worried I was just psyching myself out over a bunch of nothings, but I texted my mom anyway. She had been standing by for the last week for us to drop the big 3 kids off with her on our way to the hospital. “You can just bring them and time your contractions here for a while,” she said. I jumped at the chance to head to my parents’ house, which has become a safe haven for me now, as a mom—even more than it was when I was growing up there.
My dad happened to have the day off, so rather than delivering mail he spent the beginning of his day making his trademark rubbery scrambled eggs for my husband and toddlers, while my mom took me for a walk. We walked a little under a mile in a loop around the neighborhood. Part of me wanted to rest then, having gotten only three hours of sleep and hardly any breakfast. The other part was terrified that resting would completely stall my labor. How would it be if we’d dragged the kids across town and disrupted my parents’ day, all for the baby to refuse to come out? I didn’t voice any of this, lest everyone tell me I was crazy and inconsiderate for thinking I was in labor (you see the mental state third trimester had me in?).
Instead I took mom’s advice and called my doctor, Jenda. The nurse said I should come to the clinic for a check, so we said our goodbyes to the kids, me praying avidly that this would be the last time I saw them today.
“You’re at a tight 3 centimeters.” Hearing those words from Jenda filled me with dread. 3 centimeters dilated? That’s barely anything. I almost cried in frustration.
Still, there was a shred of hope. Jenda told us not to go home. “You came all the way here already, don’t waste it.” She told Zac to take me for a walk at the outdoor mall nearby so that we wouldn’t end up stuck in the hospital for too long. “Maybe we’ll have a baby this weekend,” she told me, smiling. I thought, if this doesn’t happen today I’m going to throw a fit.
Zac drove me to the mall, where he bought me gigantic ice cream cone. I felt so ridiculous in my enormously pregnant body, walking around in public where anyone could see me panting and wincing in pain, but it was good at least to be somewhere, feeling some progress. Because I love Zac, I allowed him to drag me around the Best Buy, which I can honestly say was the most excruciating part of the day. Being at Best Buy when I’m not in labor is a painfully boring experience. Forcing myself to walk around browsing Bluetooth speakers and home security cameras while puffing through piercing labor pains was nothing short of hellish. To take my mind off of the situation, I made Zac buy two LEGO minifigures for a souvenir.
We assembled them in the car shortly afterward:
During the process of walking, my phone rang several times. Once, it was the nurse from the clinic. I missed the call but she left a voicemail asking for an update, and of course when I called back no one answered. I figured I’d call back again later when I felt more convinced that we needed to check ourselves into the hospital. After this point (it was close to noon), I saw an unknown number call me several times, but thought nothing of it. I wasn’t about to answer a phone call from a scammer while in labor.
We drove to a nearby Panda Express, where my husband bought himself lunch and ordered a tall water for me. I felt like puking and also like I could fall asleep standing up. While he, blissfully free of physical discomfort, ate his food, I dozed off in the passenger seat for about 20 minutes. All this time I was thinking how am I supposed to give birth on only three hours of sleep? I was afraid I’d give up on natural labor just out of pure exhaustion.
I knew that if I wanted to retain my resolve, my only choice was to limit my time in the delivery room as much as possible. No matter how comfortable the hospital, being trapped pacing a hallway is a lot more mentally taxing than being outside. So I pushed myself to keep walking, first in a ritzy subdivision, then in the neighborhood Target, until I looked at my phone at 2pm and saw a message from Jenda in my email inbox.
“Hi, just wanted to check on you,” it said. “I tried calling from my cell phone, I’m here at the women’s hospital and I would’ve expected you to come in by now. Let me know how things are going.”
I was so surprised by her phrasing. She’d made it sound like she thought the baby would come today! I hadn’t felt nearly so confident after leaving the clinic three hours ago.
At that point I realized I’d been stalling. On the one hand, I was so anxious to give birth that I felt like it would never happen. So the critical voice inside my head said, I must be imagining contractions out of pure desperation. On the other hand, I was so afraid of putting myself through labor again that I was subconsciously refusing to go to the hospital until someone else forced me. Jenda’s message gave me permission to trust my instincts, and also to let go of control.
I called the nurse at the clinic and told her we were on our way.
This is part I of a two-part essay.