So that Tuesday, 17 May 2011, after seeing my midwife, Marcha (only the second time I had ever laid my eyes on her), hubby went out and got the Rasberry leaf tea, which Marcha had suggested. He returned to find me engrossed in some serious organizational task in the nursery. I promised I would have the tea the moment I am done with everthing. He tried to get to take just a tiny ity bity tea break, but I could not be moved- I had a to do list to tick off- but I also couldn’t be happier. But,you know, up until last week, times weren’t always this stress-free.
To find out why, and also how it was that at 39 weeks preggo,I had only met my midwife twice, go catch up over here first, then here and here. Otherwise, just read on for the actual birth story. Warning: It was one lonnnnnnng labour, so settle in, folks, because this is probably going to be a long read too! Or for those of you who are purely after the visuals, there are a bunch of pix at the end, just for you!
My mom had also been popping in and out of the nursery, until she eventually just stood there in the door way, watching me. Her silent presence got me to stop and look at her: “You know, Trace, you are awfully busy.” Followed by her wry smile. I knew what she meant – her nesting instinct was just as high gear as mine was on the day she went into labour. But I assured her, that wasn’t the reason. Mine was purely because these things needed to be done long ago, and today is the day!! She gave a knowing smile, an ok, and left me to it.
I hadn’t had much sleep from that Monday night before, and was up early that Tuesday morning for some reason. But with only four hours of sleep in my butt, I still had it in my head that, so help me, today everything WILL be done. All in the name of me finally getting to rest up, good and proper.
Eventually at about 9:45pm that evening I finally finished. I victoriously packed away the last of sterilized pump equipment and babygrows, and came to join hubby and my mom at the tv to finally just chill out. (secretly waiting for a high-five from someone. Anyone?) Hubby immediately hopped up, sat me down , propped my feet up and went to go make me some Rasberry leaf tea. It felt good to sit down and relax.
So at 10pm, I sipped my tea, savoured the pure victorious satisfaction of the feeling that we’d done all we could to prep the home for baby, and called it a night at about 10:15pm. Hubby beat me to bed by a few mins, so by the time I settled in, he was drifting off already. I lay there, feeling good, and felt the gentle caress of father Morpheus – sleep was coming easily…that is, until I felt a very unfamiliar thumping sensation just above my pubis…
I checked the time: 11pm. Exactly an hour after consuming my tea. What is this feeling? …Wait…Could it be? (Duh!)To be honest, I actually had a split second of “no, not now”. Which was so completely contrary to the whole “come when you’re ready, baby” mentality I had been subscribing to all this time. It even surprised me a bit that I had actually had that moment, but I think it was because I felt that not all things were as I had hoped it would be. Very specifically the fact that I had only had four hours of sleep! Four measly hours. The ONE thing that I was hoping to avoid, was hitting labour with a lack of sleep, as I am an insomniac by nature. Sure enough, Murphy’s train is never late, it was hitting me on a very low tank of sleep!
But such is life: you’re never truly ready for anything. It was here and now. Baby had decided. So just as quickly as I had my “oh no” moment, I went into, “this is IT! Baby’s coming!Yay!…I think.”, and whipped out my phone to start timing things.
I really couldn’t make much of a pattern out of it though. It would tingle, and almost like someone was tapping their fingers on my lower abdomen very firmly for a while and then disappear for a bit.
I remember reading about “getting your rest in” at the beginning of labour, so I tried to relax, but the surges kept me from even falling close to sleep. Besides, the sheer excitement of what this all meant, kept my brain abuzzing, so I gave up on any thoughts of catching some zzz’s. However, I tried to keep myself level headed about things. So I leant over and grabbed my pocket guide to labour, to recap its stages and phases. Hubby over there was snug as a bug, so I just used the light of my cellphone/timer to read the guide in the dark. I peeped over his shoulder, and he was gone, snoring blissfully. I decided to let him be, and rest up. I could still time my own surges, and besides, he would be far more useful to me, if he was well rested.
Eventually, after several surges, and erratic timing, I realised that the sun was starting to peek through the bedroom curtains. Hold the phone.( said in your best Shrek voice) The sun? I checked the time: 8am?! Already?! Holy smokes! Time had inexplicably just flown by…Im pretty sure it was 11pm just a few minutes ago. I was in a complete time warp.
Time had flown, and the surges were picking up momentum, so I figured it would be best to start rousing hubby, call midwife and get some breakfast in.
I woke hubby up with kisses and whispered in his ear that I was in labour. Hubby’s immediate reaction, whilst slathered with sleep, was one of complete excitement and joy! I, however immediately tempered him with the possibility that it could just be a false start – there was no pattern yet, and no mucous plug came to say hi yet. I was even hesitant to call up Marcha, the midwife, but I did.
When she answered the phone, I could hear she was smiling.
“I think Im in labour.”
To which she replied with a hearty laugh, and said she was actually expecting my call. She said she saw my tummy the day before, and knew she was going to be hearing from me soon! She was packed and ready, and now on her way! I did explain to her that I still wasn’t experiencing any patterns in my surges and that I wasn’t sure if this was it. Even though I felt it was, the textbook checkboxes weren’t all being ticked.
So I decided to try the good ol’ shower test…I don’t think hubby has ever found my showering that exciting before, because he was asking for blow by blow commentary. (Love that guy) I jumped in and kind of hung around, until…I noticed.. nothing. Nothing was going on anymore. No surges. It had all just stopped…
It was then that I realised how disappointed I was. Regardless of my cool calm and collected demeanour of earlier, I was actually really stoked that today might be the day. And now it wasn’t?! I opened the door, and Mikey’s broad smile dropped slightly as he read my eyes, and my shaking head. And he was like, “its ok, baby. This just means, if not today, it’ll be very soon.” That was a good reminder to me. But just as quickly I had to run to the loo again – I had felt something.
And guess who came to say hello?! None other than mrs mucous plug…smaller than what was described to me by friends- but we’re all so different in so many things- but it was unmistakenly, the plug . There she was! And so were the surges – they were back, and brought friends!
I was so excited, I almost forgot to pull up my pants as I called out and ran off to tell my hubby that we were back in business! I’ll never forget his reaction: As I burst through the bathroom door, and gave him the good news, he did the most awesomest, cutest and liveliest happy dance ever! I loved his reaction! And it definitely help set the tone for the rest of the day.
At this point, my mom was already on breakfast, and getting things ready for us – love that woman to bits!
We chilled out with her awesome scrambled egg and bacon brekkie, until Marcha pitched up just after 9am.
She was there in record time. We did the check, and found that baby was back in left occiput anterior position (yay!)and that I was only 2 cm dialated. Geezzz…From 11pm till about 9:30am (10.5 hours later) and I was only2cms? Ok. I had no yard stick to compare this to. I was in essence a blank slate, so I was pretty much going with the flow. In fact, I had mentally prepared myself for a three day labour.
Yes, THREE days. I had heard of women being totally defeated by the fact that their labour went on for longer than 24 hours. So I decided that whatever shall be, shall be. I had no control over this. This was between my body and baby, and my mind was to just flow with it, and keep it together. Besides, whats three days out of the nine months you’ve carried that baby around? 😉 I had psyched myself up that I would strengthen my resolve to guard against mental fatigue. That even if my body were to be exhausted by the rigours (Boy, I had no idea!), that I would not dissolve my convictions of having an (unneccesary)intervention-free, natural birth. Lest, of course, my baby and my trusty midwife advised me otherwise.
So she suggested I stay home, chill out, do some pavement walking, bounce on my ball, and keep moving. She did say I was welcome to go to the hospital if I felt so, but warned that I may be rushed there. Given that I was a first time mom, it may be a while before I really started moving up in the different stages of labour. I was pretty sure I wanted to chill at home. So we settled in for the long haul ahead.
It was pretty cool actually. In fact, I have got to say, we actually made a day out of it. We were so freakin excited that the day had come, and we now knew we had all the time in the world to prepare. So we (re)checked that all was packed : my birth bag, my overnight bag, Mike’s bag, and baby’s bag. (Yes, your care free days of travelling light vanish the very day that baby lands in your arms)..not forgetting, most importantly, the food bag, that was in my birth bag.
We whipped out a comedy to watch (Get him to the Greek really did the job, had us crying with laughter, and shot our endorphins through the roof). And since I wanted to keep moving, I bounced on my ball throughout the movie. I have got to say, the movie took longer than normal, because I didn’t want to miss laugh, so I kept pausing for every contraction that came around –some serious FOMO, I know.
The surges had started to pick up in intensity ever so slightly, and I was experimenting with all the different positions to find my happy place. Eventually I found that being on my knees with my head resting on the ball worked perfectly. Moving my hips in circles also seemed to just work well with me. So with all movie breaks, this occupied a huge chunk of our time.
After the movie, we went to do some pavement walking – up and down our street. All the way up and all the way down. Happily waving to my neighbours. All the older ladies in the street seemed to know what was up – trust me, it must’ve looked odd- whilst the other neighbours’ interest was piqued. Later, we retreated to some indoor stair climbing. And hubby, who’s such a team player, did all the stairclimbing with me. (I know, right? He’s such a keeper!) We joked and laughed all the way, enjoyed a divine lunch that my mom had whipped up, and hubby kept the Rasberry leaf tea coming.
The midwife came back at about 4pm that day – with me still bouncing and snacking away. We did a check, and I was 4 cm dialated (17 hours after labour started)..I had no expectations, so I wasn’t disappointed nor excited by this. All I knew was that I was 4 cm dialated. Midwife hung around with us, and joined in the chit chat and laughter of the day with Mike, my Mom, and myself. It really was a good day, so much excitement and laughter in the air. And why wouldn’t there be? We were having a baby!!
Eventually at about 5:30pm we decided that since my surges were finally making a clearer pattern, lasting much longer, with much shorter breaks in between, that we should start making our way to the hospital.
The ride there was a little uncomfortable. [My mom rode in front with Mike, and Marcha rode at the back with me.] It was a pretty short drive – thank God, it was a public holiday- only 20 mins. But the two surges I had on the way, made the drive feel like a two day trek! It was a bit of an odd experience, truth be told, as I had to get up on my knees with my head resting on the backboard, nicely looking at the driver behind us, dead in the eye.(Hi there, don’t mind me, Im only contracting and about to birth my child.) We also had a good giggle at the few rather quizzical stares we got from passers by or other passengers at the red robots.
When we arrived at the Vincent Palloti Hospital, we walked straight up to the maternity ward, where I proudly announced that I was in labour. We were shown to our labour ward, and nicely settled in, with every damn bag we owned.
As I was making myself comfy in the room, the midwife drew my attention to the screaming woman next door… She looked me dead in the eye, and said, “Please don’t listen to that. It doesn’t have to be like that.” But I hadn’t even noticed it, to be honest, I was so damn excited about what was happening with me, that her screams hadn’t even featured on my radar. Not sure how I missed it though, ’cause boy, she had lungs! But each to his own; That was her dealing with her own journey. Respect.
On unpacking our luggage, it was here that I discovered that Mikey did, in fact, not actually double check his to-pack-in list, and forgot most of what I had requested of him. I had a moment of incredulousness…”Honey! You had one job”…but realised that he, in fact, did NOT just have only one job, he had ALL of ME to deal with…so we ended up just making light of the state of excitement his brain was in. Even captain Awesome forgets things sometimes. (All the time)
So we used up the last of the ipod’s battery life to listen to Robin Thicke. (my baby totally jammed in my tummy every time I put that on) Which probably worked out well, as I think I was getting past the point where I didn’t want any music at all…my surges were starting to demand my full focus now.
To be honest, up until that point, I was still feeling pretty much chuffed with myself. Breathing, humming and swirling my hips with every wave of contractions. That is, until 7pm came around.
I still remember standing and chatting to my mom and Mike, when I felt the build up of the next surge…this time, the top of my thighs started to become numb, and I dropped onto my knees to get into my position on the ball…but this one surge…this one was a doozy…this one truly showed me we were heading into the next level of labour..It lasted longer than any of the previous surges…and really tested my breathing skills. It truly pulled back the veil on what labour entailed…At one point, even with my breathing, I felt a tear roll down my cheek, as my lip curled down a little. My mom was there to brush my hair off my face, her touch giving me extra fortitude like it always amazingly does…and just then, I felt a pop!
My waters had broken!!
Oh my hat! So that’s what that monster surge was about! We all had a celebratory laugh, midwife hugged me, and let me know that everything was going awesomely. Hubby gave me kisses and my mom was smiling beautifully back at me…I’ve never felt so awesome before. MY BODY was doing this!! Wow.
I had now well and truly entered into active phase of labour. At this point, I had been at it for 20 hours..with only 4 hours sleep in my butt from the previous night. (But, hey, who’s counting? Me. And I still am.) If I think about it now, I am surprised how I didn’t just wave my little white flag and collapse. But honestly, I may have been tired, but the excitement/focus of the birth process was still keeping me on over drive. I did try hard not to calculate how long this energy rush would keep me going, though.
It was at this point that my mom excused herself and left with my brother. She felt that this was a sacred time for Michael and myself, and that she would leave us to it.
There I was, trying to find my body’s birthing position. Bending and rolling, with a lot of laughing at myself. (Because really, when you’re that round and trying to do moves like Jagger, whilst “breathing”… you gotta take time out to enjoy just how ridiculous you must look)
I really thought that I would squat for birth. It just seemed like the most efficient way: you had gravity working for you, you were still on your feet and you could deliver your own little baby if you so wished…but as I learnt, its not so much about what you preconceived, but about what your body wants and needs at the time. So no matter how I bent, leant, squatted, layed, sat on hubby’s lap, hung form hubby’s neck, suspended myself from hubby’s arms, balanced my ass on his thighs, and pretty much went through a whole Cirque de Soleil trapeze act … my body felt most at ease when I was simply on my knees with head on ball…So screw my ideals of squatting- I,in fact, felt terrible when trying to squat. On my knees was where the party was at!!
But despite the cardio repertoire that labour was putting me through, I mostly and distinctly recall the awesome vibe we had in the labour suite.
Despite trying to find my sweetspot when the surges came, I could still laugh at myself, and we were all making jokes. I would talk to baby too. It really was a happy vibe we had going on. We had cookies and juice, along with the midwife’s seriously awesome trail mix– like some sort of weird cocktail party we had going on in the labour suite. I seem to remember always having a cookie in one hand and a juice in the other. And when the surges came, whilst kneeling on the bed or floor, I would nicely hand my cookie over to my hubby ,and my juice to the midwife, breathe through the surge and then take my cookie and juice back from them. (and then continue with what ever lame ass joke I was busy telling them before. I seemed to be full of them that day.)
What I also appreciated was that the midwife was never too invasive with unnecessary multiple dilation checks – which was awesome. We did, however, have to do constant foetal monitoring. Which to be honest may not have been invasive at all, or terrible in anyway, it was just that I best managed my surges on my knees, and midwife needed me on the bed, dead still for monitoring. Major suck, that one. This is where I really had to focus on something else, and I had found that the APGAR poster on far side of the wall was my perfect meditation spot. I read that sucker over and over. And when the surges starting lasting longer that what it took me to read the entire chart, I started spelling out each and every word on that chart…Very slowly…twice!! Some toe twiddling also came into the mix later on.
We did a quick check, and I was 8cm…whoop whoop…almost there . Or so I thought..
Things were picking up in the surge department, and that’s when the midwife suggested the tub. I was hesitant, as I was really comfy right where I was. The thought of getting undressed, and climbing into the tub wasn’t really invoking much excitement in me. But she suggested I just try it to see if I really don’t like it. I figured, I got nothing to lose, and besides it would give me something new to focus on. Who knew how long I was still going to be here?
The tub was fine, and when the warm water was moving, like a tiny ocean in a tub, it did kind of provide a soothing effect on the pressure that was building up. And then it all kind of just stopped.
The frustration started mounting. Stalling? Really? Now? But Im so sleepy. So I decided to have another chat with baby…And it was almost instantaneous, the surges came in! Rolling in thick, long and fast! And I was like “whoa, perd!”. I really had to fasten my seatbelt, and get my focus goggles back on. I joked about the intensity, when the Midwife piped up with, “well you DID ask her!”. So I guess, it was a clear case of “Asked and answered.”
One really has to be careful of what you ask for, as I then remember sitting in that tub, hands holding the tub rim, forehead resting on my hands… feeling the surges come… and feeling the sheer exhaustion hit me hard right across my whole body, the mental tax of the entire day, (and evening before.) weighing in my mind…and as a particularly long and heavy surge came in, I remember trying to breathe, but my lip just wanted to curl downwards. The tears starting welling in my eyes, and my breathing emotional… My midwife, gently leant in with a few encouraging words, reminding that Im doing well, and that baby is well, and that I have the control here, and not to lose it. She was so gentle, and so encouraging in her manner. Hubby was still gently stroking me.
I remember then realizing just how thin that line between pleasure and pain was, right there in the labour room. I reminded myself of what my mom always said, labour “pain’ is your friend, it is helping you get the baby out, so work with the labour “pain”. With that I relaxed my lips, unfurled my brow and re-composed myself. I let go of whatever was leading up to this mental fatigue…the lack of sleep, the physical exhaustion. All of it. It was what it was and could not be changed. So everytime I felt a surge come, I purposefully welcomed it. Every surge meant that I was closer to meeting baby.
This mindset was really a game-changer for me at such a challenging point of labour. I decided that I had enough of the water and made my exit with the help of hubby and midwife. I truly did just prefer solid land.
I was getting really tired at this point though. Not exhausted in the cardio kind of way, but in the “I seriously need to sleep” kind of way. It was heading onto 10 ‘o clock, and I was still hovering between 8 and 9 cm. My eyes were wanting to close, and my jokes were being replaced with complaints about wanting to sleep. Midwife suggested I then “just sleep”. But at the rate that the surges were rolling in, it didn’t give me much time to even lay down. By the time I managed to get into a comfy nap position, I had to get myself back up onto my knees and breathe through a surge.
11pm Rolled around, and to my dismay, I was still straddling the line between 8 and 9 cm. My frustration became glaringly obvious, as I piped up with a “WHAT?!” on hearing this.
My go-with-the-flow, “ommm” with the world attitude was nicely being pushed aside by the sleep deprivation monster. Recognizing the massive shift in attitude in my own tone, I gathered myself up again, ‘breathed’ and asked hubby and midwife, “Ok, what is it that Im doing wrong here?” Was I not moving around enough anymore? Do I need go bounce more? Drop and give you 20? What? I’ll do it. Hubby suggested the squat. Again. I was about to snap at him to say it doesn’t work, my body doesn’t want it, blah blah balh, but, I bit my lip. I did ask them. He answered with a worthy suggestion. So I went with it.
I squatted on the bed, I squatted on the floor, I squatted balanced on his thighs (again), and after a whole lotta squatting, and feeling like I just did a whole Body Beat session, and really did give it a good shot, I pulled the plug on the idea. It was too much for my body to bear. I then just re-settled myself into the fact that I had to let go. That there was no way I was going to be able to rush things on. Never mind how much I’d like to just go sleep, it was what it was, and I had to get my head back in the game.However, I did go put in another serious word with baby to say to get a move on already. And just like in the tub, t’was as if she heeded my call, and stepped it up!
I hip swirled, and hummed my way through the surges, and without me even realising it, the pressure was really building up steadily, and the rate of surges became thicker and faster with every wave. I peeped up whilst kneeling on the ball, to look at the clock…It was midnight. Midnight already?! I remember wanting to bitch about it, but reminded myself, that it wasnt MY birth. I already had my own birth. This was baby’s birth, and she needed to do it the way she needed to do it. No matter how long she needed, and as long as she was safe. In fact, natural or surgery – whatever way baby chose. So I accepted the situation, let that peace wash over me through to my bones, and I just breathed my way through.
At my most exhausted, and most physically and psychologically tested point in my life, right there on my knees, being able to surrender to that kind of truth, to nature, and feel absolutely capable and confident about it, left me feeling like the most empowered & rawest version of myself ever.
The waves kept rolling in, and I went with it. I pretty much felt I got this. *cue the empowered woman soundtrack*…That is until, suddenly things just felt incessant, like there was not a chance to even gasp for air…*cue the scratched record on afore-mentioned soundtrack* …I tried to regain my composure, but the thought of just how much strength I required to move over this mental hurdle felt insurmountable. I tried to convince myself otherwise. I’d come so far, but as far as I dug, I just couldn’t find the mental capacity to push further. And that’s when I looked over at my hubby and these words, reluctantly slipped from my lips, in a tired whisper: “I don’t think I can do this anymore”.
There was a slight silence in the room, as my hubby stroked the back of my head, and then the midwife leant in with…“you know…that’s usually a good sign. It means baby’s almost here”. I furrowed my brow, as I started recalling so many books I had read, & yes, that’s right(!) almost every single one of them noted this as one of the signs!!! (When the mother is truly feeling like she can no longer, and says as much!”) And just like that, my energy levels renewed themselves, the smile was back on my face, and as for sleep? Sleep-schmeep! Who cared!? MY BABY WAS COMING!!!!
I flipped over for a quick dilation check, and yip, spot on, I was 10cm fully dilated!! So while Mikey and I revelled in our re- ignited excitement levels of the imminent arrival of our first child, we were oblvious to how nicely the midwife was prepping the room for delivery…right there on the floor where I was. She knew that was where I was comfortable, where I felt most grounded and comfortable, so that’s where she set up. (You’ve gotta love midwives!!)
And then there was nothing. No waves. Nothing. Just peace. I took it and ran with it. Apparently that’s your body giving you a break for the last haul. But to be honest, for me the last haul wasn’t much of a haul at all. After the long wait from Tuesday evening, now in the wee hours of Thursday morning, our little beast decided she was now in a hurry.
So whilst still sharing smiles and chatting with hubby, I felt a sudden urge to ..errr (ahem)…poo. (Just keeping it real, ladies, ’cause that is how it feels. Really. You don’t actually, dont worry, but it’s the same nerves being touched.)…I even made a mental note to myself, I was like, ahh, this is what they mean “the urge to push”, ok…And my body just did it without me doing anything.
Then I recalled some people saying you’ve got to push with it (But in hindsight, you actually don’t. Your body does it all without you). So I breathed out and as I was about to take a deep breath in, boom, another wave came to push baby out! And there I am, with no breath in me. DOH! So silly me, nicely out of breath trying to regain my proper breathing pattern, only to once more to be caught off guard with my breath again. And with that third wave, out shot our little beast, landing safely into the gentle hands of our midwife. I peeped over my shoulder and looked bang into her eyes, as she looked straight back at me.
This pink little lonnnng bundle, frowning back at me, just moaning a little. Hubby had the top down view, and said she smoothly whirled out of me like a snake.
Welcome to the world, Morgan-Lee!!! Born in the wee hours of a Thursday, at 12:40am, 19 May.
Midwife passed her through my legs to me, and I took her in my arms. She was so warm and beautiful, all I wanted to do was bring her up close to me. I looked down at this gorgeous little babe, with her small little voice, and I just wanted to nuzzle her with kisses. But her cord was too short (30cm), so they helped me back up onto the bed, where I could inspect her a little better. Such a beautiful child, with gorgeously thick mop of black hair, and a wide face.
Just like that, in less than five minutes (probably more like 3 minutes), and only three surges, out popped this gorgeous little human being, no problem.
I couldn’t stop looking at her. The cord stopped pulsating, and Mikey came to cut it, but it was so damn thick, that both he and the midwife were struggling to cut it. But their little struggle faded into the background, as I took in my daughter’s face, her pudgy arms, and tiny hands and feet. Everything was just…perfect. She was even trying to do the “crawl” up my belly, but the cord kept her back.
Eventually Mike cut the cord through, and they took her away to be weighed. A healthy 3.36kg, and 53 cm tall. Mikey did skin to skin with her and I remember watching her crawl up his torso too. Amazing sight.
Thereafter, back in my arms, Morgan-Lee started mouthing…I was like, oh, oh oh, its that thing…ummmm…How do I breastfeed again? What do I need to do? But midwife just smiled at me, popped my breast in baby’s mouth, and baby did the rest. (Their instincts are strong straight after birth) And that’s where she stayed for pretty much the rest of the time. And boy did the two of us have quite the breastfeeding journey!
(For a glimpse of it, read this and this.)
Midwife gave me a shot in the thigh, and I delivered the placenta pretty quickly. I was keen to check it out. Obviously. Odd? Noooo, not in the least. I mean who wouldn’t right?! 😉 But seriously, if you’ve read my earlier posts you’d know Im fascinated by the human body. So I had to look. (Not quite what I had expected. It actually looked like a massive organ. Like a liver of sorts. It was red and whole. Curiosity satisfied.)
Thereafter midwife checked me out and gave me a clean bill of health. She even called in a second midwife who was from next door (with the screaming lady), and happened to be available. There we were, just the three of us, the air thick with euphoria, having a laugh at all our moments, and sleep being the furthest thing from my mind.
25 hours 40 minutes later, spanning over from Tuesday evening to Thursday morning…so I guess I kinda was over 3 days.
By the grace of God, everything went off wonderfully, even with all the unknowns as first parents that we faced. It was such a beautiful and exciting experience for us and we couldn’t have been happier! We are forever grateful and in awe of the kind of support that midwifes offer. They are a special breed, as it takes a certain kind of tenderness and strength to offer the varying support that each birthing mother needs. AND the fathers! Marcha never crossed her boundaries with Mike as my birth partner, instead provided him with peace of mind and offering cues as to what and how to support me, when he felt lost. (It was his first time too, you know) Instilling the confidence, and calm in us, and providing us with her unwavering professional manner and expertise to set us at peace. Marcha Izatt will forever have a special place in our hearts.
So, in the space of only two weeks, we fired our old gynae, waded through the provincial resources and tracked down a new and fantastic gynae and midwife, prepared our home for baby and became parents! Boom.
Don’t let anyone tell you it’s too late. For anything. “All things are possible through God.”