At lunch on Tuesday the 24Th, I had half-joked to friends that I was definitely going to go into labor that night due to the full moon and a "cool" front that was supposed to come through that evening. Evidently my powers of intuition are stronger than I thought. That night, after going to my usual yoga class, and taking my usual "let's get things going" waddle- ahem, walk- around the neighborhood, I noticed something. "Hey, could it be an honest-to-god contraction? And, hey, was that another one?"
At home, we watched some sort of documentary and I continued to take notice of said contractions. They were pretty far apart, but were enough to make me sit up and take notice. I decided to make lunches for the kids, lay out school clothes and complete any last lists of instructions for those caring for the kids. I still fully expected everything to come to a grinding halt when I went to bed, though.
That was not the case. After we went to bed, I found myself just hoping that things could hold off til morning so I wouldn't have to wake anyone out of a dead sleep. I mean, I know my friends would give their left arm for us, but they'd probably rather do it on a full night's sleep. I had predicted all along that this baby would probably be born somewhere in the wee hours, given my track record for giving birth twice at 4AM. At least everyone was forewarned. After about an hour and a half of pondering what I should do, I asked Sean to call the midwife. We spoke, and I felt really lucid, which led her to believe that birth was a ways off. I reminded her about my last 4 hour labor and how far I live from the birthing center, but she didn't seem to think things were too urgent at the moment. Ha!
As soon as I stood up to walk around, everything changed. No more talking, no more conversation. The only thought I had was "I need to get out of here and go have this baby!!" Of course, when it is 1AM and you've got 2 sleeping children in your house, you can't just up and leave. Even if you want to. So, I staggered around the house while waiting for our incredibly wonderful friend who had agreed to camp out at our house. At some point in this waiting I went from zen master to a crazy laboring lady. This probably should have been a clue that time was of the essence. I think I grunted something at our friend as I stumbled out to the van and began calling for Sean to get his butt out there. Little did I know the fun that was about to begin.
As we got on the road, I thought we were home free. I knew I could rely on my dear husband to drive like a bat out of hell, ignoring all lights and speed limits. Mo-PAC is a safe road, right? Not too much traffic to worry about, right? And then.... "Hey what is that?!!!" and a few other choices words. THUD. And then a horrible screeching noise started coming from our front driver side wheel.
Oh. My. God. I'm in labor. In a minivan. And we just hit a coyote running across Mo-PAC. This can't be happening to me.
I think the first words out of my mouth were "Call 9-1-1" Which we didn't. Sean pulled over in the shoulder (which actually was not the shoulder, but the exit lane at Mo-PAC and Barton Skyway) to asses the damage. While he discovered that our front bumper had been sheared away, but that amazingly our tire was not flat, I had visions of cars running him down, and of myself giving birth in the backseat of our Kia.
With the wheel still intact, we started rolling again. No more wild animals got in our way, but there was a lovely bit of road work that had Mo-Pac shut down to one lane. And, with a wave of nausea, I also had the realization that I was indeed hitting transition. And still in my van.
We made it to the Birthing Center, screeching into the parking lot. I'm pretty sure I started opening the door and getting out before we had fully stopped. There was another expectant mom already there. God love her, she had combed hair, matching pjs, a stack of belongings neatly stacked in front of the door. As I staggered across the parking lot, I knew I could take her. I stumbled past her and the midwife, mumbling something about damn coyotes.
Once inside the center, I was confused as to why Joan was directing me to one of the exam rooms. Couldn't she see I was having a baby? I had no time for exams! I needed a birthing tub. Right then! I think she finally appreciated the gravity of the situation when I abruptly stripped naked in the hallway. She had me squat while being supported by Sean and announced that I was complete. Everyone else but me seemed surprised at this fact. My clothes were still somewhere in the hallway, and so Sean took off his shirt and put it over me and we began to shuffle, in between contractions, around the hall to the birthing rooms.
It was only a few feet away, but I thought I might actually give birth in the hall. A big contraction hit, and after I had worked through it, I told Joan that it sure felt good to push with that one. “You were pushing??” she asked. “Uh-huh.” The shuffling towards the birthing room got faster.
Finally I reached the promised land- the same room where my other children had been born. I hauled myself into the tub as she drew the water. And, without asking anyone, I got straight down to the buisness of pushing. I kneeled against the back of the tub and went into my own little world. By far, I consider the pushing phase my greatest triumph from this birth. Well, that and not giving birth in my minivan. I have never understood those women who say that they like pushing, or that it actually felt good. Until now. I just worked with my body. No one had to tell me what to do, I didn't ask anyone whether it was time or for any instruction. I just did it. It was work, but good work. I was able to work with the contractions, with my body, instead of pushing in spite of all the pain.
And the lovely warm water of the birthing tub? Well, the baby wasn't actually born in water, but it sure felt lovely on my lower calves!
And then the next surprise... I started asking if “he” was okay and looked good (the baby was actually behind me, since I was kneeling). Joan said yes, but that our “he” was actually a “she”! I had been so convinced from the get-go that I was carrying a little boy, I was actually in shock for a bit. But there she was, our beautiful little Julia Claire.
We had pulled into the parking lot at 2:50 AM. The time of Julia's birth was 3:07AM. A new personal best of 17 minutes. This is one record I'm not going to try and top any time soon.
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