Adaline Mae: A Birth Story

Our baby is here.

The baby that I undoubtedly was sure was a he is in fact a SHE.



That's right. We are proud parents of girls.
Sisters.

Words can't begin to describe how natural it all feels, how beautiful every moment has been.
I just love the newborn daze. Where you walk around in a sleepless, yet completely and totally blissful state that feels like a dream where you have no idea what day it is. And it doesn't even matter. Because you are so painfully happy with your snuggly little newborn.

And what they say is true - your love doesn't divide, it multiplies.
And man, are we in love.

Miss Adaline Mae made her appearance on Thursday, October 23rd, 2014 at 6:09 a.m. weighing 8.4 pounds and measuring at 20 inches long.

And this is her story.

{It's a long one. With lots of details. Because those are what are so easy to forget, and I refuse to do so.}

It all started on Wednesday, the morning of Gabe's 30th birthday. I woke up extra early, cursing the fact that I had stayed up too late on my very pregnant feet prepping for a special birthday breakfast. It was worth it though. Because it was just an ordinary day for Gabe. One where he planned to go into work an hour late and come home in decent time so we could go on a birthday movie date. **Don't let anyone fool you. Things get crazy in your 30's. Especially if you go into labor.**

Lyla had been sick for a couple of weeks, and I was really starting to get restless in the evenings waiting on baby. So suffice it to say, I hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in awhile. I was tired and woke up not feeling my best.

We celebrated with swiss and mushroom quiche, pumpkin french toast bake, and pumpkin spice coffee. Then Gabe headed to work, and I went about my day as usual. Although I really wasn't feeling myself, was having quite a few intense Braxton Hicks contractions, and felt a tremendous amount of very uncomfortable pressure. At times, it felt like the baby was about to fall out at any moment. But Lyla and I still made it out for a long walk and a trip to the park for a picnic lunch and some time on the swing.

There were points throughout the day where I had the thought of how funny it would be if I went into labor on Gabe's {and Samson's} birthday. But, I'd had that same thought for the past two weeks and was losing sleep over the anticipation of going into labor. I was nearly two weeks early with Lyla and was just sure I'd be early with this one. But with each passing day, I got more and more disappointed. There was the time I "knew" it was happening that weekend because I had stomach bug symptoms. Same thing happened with Lyla the day I went into labor. But instead, it turned out to be the actual stomach bug. Then, {warning: TMI} I lost my mucus plug on Monday and was absolutely positive labor was imminent because when I lost it with Ly, I went into labor the next morning.

But no signs of labor on Tuesday. And today, Wednesday, I was having some of the same symptoms I'd had for weeks. Besides, I was starting to think this baby was planning to stay cozied up in my belly until Thanksgiving.

I rested a bit while Lyla napped and got ready for our big date night. Decided to snap a belly pic...little did I know this would be my very last. Three days before my due date.

Clueless that today was *finally* the day

My mom came over to watch Lyla while Gabe and I went to our first movie in over a year. I only wish I had felt better. Nevertheless, I was excited for an evening out with my love. I waddled into the Gone Girl theater, and Gabe ordered a beer for himself and a water for me.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, there it was. My first contraction. Now, up until this point, I was going crazy by questioning for the past few weeks, Was that a contraction? Like a real one? Will tonight be the night? How can I not remember when I've gone through this before? Turns out Braxton Hicks contractions can play mind tricks on you. Even when you've had them consistently since 20 weeks.

But the moment a "real one" hit, I instantly remembered. There was no question in my mind.

It's funny how you can go through one of the most can't-be-put-into-words painful experiences of your life and forget what it felt like. I guess that's why many have more than one kid.

Twenty minutes later, I had another. A bit more intense than the last. I began to get excited. Then terrified. Then hit complete denial. Ohmygoodness. Is this it? Could this really be the night? I might meet my baby soon! Well shoot. I'm not ready. I don't want to go through labor. Lord can I just skip that part? Nah. There's no way I'm in labor. It's Gabe's birthday. 

But there it was again. My third contraction in 45 minutes. I began to time them by watching the conveniently lit clock in the movie theater while Gabe watched the movie completely oblivious.

Enjoying his beer and his 30th birthday.

Taken 15 minutes before I went into labor

Sure enough, my contractions were fairly consistent, averaging about every 20 minutes. One contraction stands out specifically as it ironically occured during a super intense scene. I thought I was going to fall out of my chair. After that one was over, I leaned over to Gabe and whispered that I was pretty sure I was in labor but definitely wanted to stay and finish the movie.

Once the movie was over, I was in denial. I didn't feel it was time to go to the hospital just yet as my contractions weren't - in my mind - completely consistent. So we decided to go home. And on the way home, I'll never forget the suggestion Gabe made, "Well, if you really are in labor, maybe we should go home and try to get some sleep. I mean, it could be morning before you have this baby. "

Ok. It was a good idea in theory. But "If I really was in labor", there definitely would be no sleeping because of: 1. Excitement and 2. A little thing called pain.

We got home to relieve my mom of her babysitting duties, and I filled her in by warning her I could possibly be in labor. She said she'd go home right away and change her clothes "just in case". My contractions were now 15 minutes apart. And believe it or not, I really did try to lay down and rest, but they were too strong and painful. So Gabe made a better suggestion than the previous - that we try to watch a movie. So we began watching Catching Fire. He paused every time I had a contraction and made a note in his phone. We didn't make it very far into our second movie of the night. I was consistently having contractions 8-10 minutes apart for about an hour.

Ok. Time to go to the hospital.

We left the moment my stepdad got to our house to stay with Lyla. Oh my goodness. This really is it! The moment I'd been waiting for for weeks, and it still didn't seem real.

The rest of the night, I had the same thought over and over again: This couldn't be any more different than the night I had Lyla. And as much as Lyla's labor and delivery was one of the most cathartic and beautiful experiences and proudest moments of my life, I kept thinking how happy I was that this one was different.

Like how I had 1 contraction in the car on the way to the hospital in contrast to the 7 I had with Lyla. {Simply because with Lyla, we stayed at home until the last possible minute, with the hope of having a more comfortable and successful natural childbirth}. Or how I only contracted several times in the hospital while waiting for my room {and could actually answer the admittance questions}, whereas I contracted nearly a dozen times and once on the public restroom floor with Lyla.

After checking in just before midnight, the nurse escorted me to my room. Sharing in the entire birth experience with me was Gabe, my mom, and my mother-in-law. Some may find that odd, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I had the very best team cheering me on.

Once we got to the room, contractions were still 8-10 minutes apart - painful but bearable. However the pressure and the labor shivers began immediately. {I would then have chattering shivers for the rest of the entire night}. But oh my goodness the pressure - I'm not sure I could ever forget that feeling. I used the restroom once, and vowed to not do it again because I was sure the baby was going to come straight out.

I got checked and was dilated to 5 cm and 90% effaced. However, the resident wouldn't admit me at least for another hour as they wanted to see if I was progressing. Annoyed, I leaned over to Gabe and said "If this isn't real labor, then I'm just not doing it." Which I'm pretty sure were the exact words I used when I was in labor with Lyla.

After an hour, I was positive I had progressed as I had some powerful gut-wrenching contractions. But what do you know. I sure didn't progress. I was still a 5. However, I was 100% effaced. So they went ahead and admitted me, to which I responded, "Ok, so when can I have the drugs?"

UGH. I had to wait to switch rooms, be completely admitted, and for insertion of the IV lock. As nervous as I was, I was ready for the juice. We hadn't prepared for a natural childbirth like we did with Lyla. All I cared about in this exact moment was for the misery to go away.

At this point, it still hadn't hit me that we were going to meet our baby tonight. I was just focusing on getting through the contractions and not pushing out the baby...yet. I knew the moment a contraction was beginning, starting low and dull and not wasting anytime before exploding into intense gut-gripping torture that literally took my breath away as it wrapped all the way around my torso to my back. The nurse gave me an exercise ball to counteract the pressure. This felt like a little slice of heaven the moment I sat down. That is, until the pressure intensified and I wanted nothing more than to just PUSH. {If you weren't catching on, theme of the night: lots of pressure.}

So happy to feel relief. Even for just a few moments. 

All I really remember during this period of labor was the waiting. And the fact that Gabe was the best support system ever - just like the first time around.

Once we got to my new room, I had progressed to a whopping 6cm. And then more waiting. I finally heard the nurse call anesthesia and ask for someone immediately. I started to tremble as she explained to them that my blood pressure was incredibly low (nothing new there) and that my doctor suggested I get extra IV fluids and receive the epidural while laying down as I have a history of passing out. Well, we got off to a rocky start as the nurse couldn't even get in the IV lock because my veins were "way too small". Poor Gabe, this was the only time he left my side so that he could gather composure and do his best not to pass out himself while the nurse dug at my arm desperate to find a vein while I kept screaming "OW. Stop!!!". This was just as painful as the contractions I was trying to breathe through, and I was yelling at Gabe to come back so I could squeeze his hand. But I knew the moment he turned around that he wasn't feeling well - his face was the color of pea soup.

At this point, the resident checked me and I was still 6 cm. I'd only progressed 1 cm in the span of 2 hours. Not the most encouraging. But I was so relieved once anesthesia walked in. It was a young, and quite adorable gal named Kate. This somehow made me feel some relief. I told Kate I was very nervous as I'd never done this before, and she was so patient as she guided me through the whole process.

It took a bit longer than I expected for the juice to kick in, nearly 40 minutes. I contracted 5 or 6 times, a few very long and intense contractions, while waiting. But finally, I began to feel some relief, AND I could still move my legs. I had no idea that was possible! And once I no longer felt the contractions, I teared up and was overcome with emotion. NOW, I was able to focus on the fact that it was almost time to meet my baby. And I'm pretty sure I told everyone who came into my room how amazing epidurals are and asked if I could have one everyday. I couldn't believe that I was able to relax, breathe, chat with Gabe and our moms, and even laugh.

The resident came in and checked me again. Still a 6. I nearly cried. So, they decided to break my water in hopes that I would begin progressing a bit more quickly.

Then, this is where things get a bit foggy. I remember my nurse and the resident storming in. The nurse put oxygen on me, when suddenly 6 or 7 other hospital staff members, including the anesthesiologist, came barging in. Our moms got up out of their chairs. Gabe sat there patiently rubbing my hand. I just remember everyone staring at the baby's heart rate monitor. I began to cry. I begged for someone to tell me what was going on. No one said a thing. So, I asked again. Finally, someone told me (I have no idea who) my blood pressure dropped quite a bit as did baby's heart rate. They began putting me in different positions. When finally, the baby's heart went back up to a normal rate.

Talk about a scare. All I could picture was them unhooking all my monitors and rolling me out into the OR for an emergency C-Section.

Instead, the resident checked me and I was a 7. I was actually progressing. Woo-hoo!

Because I was no longer in pain and the feeling of pressure had subsided *woo-hoo* we all decided to rest as we really had no idea how much longer it would be. Gabe turned on Law and Order SVU and our moms tried to take cat naps on the incredibly uncomfortable couches. I remember lying there thinking "I can't believe I'm actually relaxing during labor. And that this is actually somewhat enjoyable."

At 5 something, the nurse came in, checked me, and exclaimed that I was AC ("Almost Complete") just like I was with Lyla. I was dilated to 9.5 cm! I couldn't believe it, we were going to meet our baby soon...and even better, we were going to find out the sex!

When out of nowhere, down went my blood pressure again. And down went the baby's heart rate. This time, we didn't have the entire crew come in as baby's heart went up to normal much quicker. But still scary nonetheless. At this point, the intensity of the pressure was so great, I told the nurse that I wasn't sure how much longer I could wait to push. So she checked me, and things were sort of a blur, but I vividly remember her nonchalantly saying that I had reached 10 cm - fully complete!

I got so excited I couldn't see straight.

...Until she told me we had to wait on the doctor.

I'm sorry. What?

So for 30 *miserable* minutes, I willed my body not to push as badly as it wanted to. And I waited. Some moments felt like the baby was going to come out on it's own - push or not. When the nurse checked me again and said she could see the babe's head.

Ah. So that's why I felt the sensation to push.

She got back on the phone with doctor who told her to have me begin pushing. So, I pushed through one contraction and the nurse abruptly said, "Ok. We're not going to push anymore. We're just going to wait on doctor." You know, because baby was ready to come out at that moment.

But alas. My doctor finally arrived around 6 am and immediately began coaching me on what to do. She let me know every time I had a contraction, and I pushed with every bit of strength I had. I no longer had patience. I just wanted to meet my new baby. As fuzzy and blurry as those intense moments are, I remember the cheering and the "you're doing so good, keep it up". I remember hearing the mom's cry and yell out, "Aww. There's the head!" I remember reaching down and feeling the warm head of hair on my baby who was almost, but not quite here. And I remember internally reciting "I CAN do all things through Him who gives me strength" with every single push. I was so ready to get that warm dewey newborn on my chest.

After 10 minutes and 3 sets of 3 pushes, there it was. That beautiful, long-awaited and coveted cry. The moment I heard it, I began sobbing uncontrollably. My baby was here! I looked over at Gabe who was beaming. And after a few moments, he casually said, "I won".

I had completely forgotten about the sex. I was just so happy to hear my baby crying. "REALLY? It's a GIRL?"

I couldn't believe I was so wrong. Our gift was a GIRL!A beautiful, healthy, girl. And a SISTER for Lyla.

I sobbed even harder.

And they placed this new life on my chest while I continued to cry and cry. "Thank you Jesus," I said over and over. I felt so much love for this stranger - our newest family member, and I felt even more love for my husband. Together, we brought this miracle into the world.

I was on my usual after-labor happy high for the next few hours. The hours when nothing else in the world mattered except sitting in my bed, skin-to-skin with my new daughter. Dreaming of the girly fun we'll have.

Ah. Those magical hours of bonding. It's just you, your partner, and the new life you brought into the world together. Nothing comes close to comparing. Absolutely nothing.

And then we spent the next 12 hours very much awake with our new baby. There was no chance of sleeping as we wanted to spend time with our new little friend. So many cuddles, smiles, and lots of happy tears. Plus, we couldn't hardly wait to share the news and show her off.

Adaline stole our hearts the moment we heard that first little cry. And it was time to begin our new life as a family of four.

I was so happy, I couldn't see straight.

**Up next: Meeting Big Sis and Addie-Mae's first day in the world!!!**

Transitional State of Mind. {And thoughts on natural childbirth}.

Since I turned 27, I've been in a constant state of transition.

Never quite comfortable in my current state of mind.
Always prepping for the next stage of something.

Cross-country move.
New job.
New master's.
First house.
First baby.
New job.

But after three years, I finally feel settled.
And more content than I ever have been.

Yet still in a transitional state of mind.

I will never forget a conversation I had with two friends a few months back.
Both were in the process of building/completely renovating homes.
I giggled as they began throwing out home design terms by pegging one another's home styles as modern and contemporary.
So, I asked my personal experts what my home style was.
They actually seemed...puzzled.
They went back and forth, throwing out over a dozen terms.
But the only word I kept hearing over and over was transitional.

I nonchalantly pulled out my phone and googled transitional: passage from one form, state, style, or place to another.

So I'm basically in between styles.
My friends finally concluded that I'm transitional-contemporary with a hint of shabby chic and eclectic.

Huh?

What I did take from the conversation is that I am, in every sense of the word, transitional.

I can't make up my mind.
I like too many things.
I can't make decisions to save my life.
I quadruple guess the decisions I do make.
And I'm always in between...everything.
{Like pant and bra sizes}.

Take this exact moment in my life, for example.
I am at a definitive transitional time.
Stuck in between.
Between loving the idea of a sibling for Lyla and equally loving the idea of how easy our lives are right now...with one child.

It doesn't help that everyone all around me is pregnant, just had a baby, adopting, or trying for a baby.
My recent visits to see friends and their newborns at the hospital haven't helped either.
A place where snuggling these sweet newbies scratches my baby itch plenty, yet not quite enough.

After these visits, I usually leave with a slight twinge of panic.
Like holy smokes can I handle all of that again right now?
Sleepless months nights, breastfeeding, pumping, dozens of dirty diapers, crying *and lots of it*, and nothing but laundry and dishes all day every day.
Oh my goodness, but then I immediately remember the constant cloud of mommy-bliss for the first two months, the middle of the night snuggles, the intense bonding, the abundance of love, the teachable moments, the laughter, the fun.

And then I'm bombarded with the reminder of good ol' labor.

They say you forget all about labor after a year.
That way you are willing to actually go through it again for another.

Mmm.
I sure haven't forgotten.

The consecutive contractions one on top of another for what seemed like an eternity at home.
Contracting multiple times on the way to the hospital. Then again in the garage. Then again on the public restroom floor.
The uncontrollable shivering.
The point when I lost my mind. {Which was about the time I shoved Gabe's face out of mine and told him he had bad breath. Don't take it personally, Babe.}
Losing control of my body and being told not to push, even though my body was forcing me to - for three hours straight. *Which ironically was the "transition" phase of labor, in which case I learned after the fact that I had a much longer than normal transition phase. *Go figure*

But I also vividly remember feeling like Superwoman when it came time to push.
Hearing the resident say, I see a head...with lots of dark hair!
Going to a place mentally that I've never gone before.
Digging deep to find an inner strength I never knew I had.
Depending on my husband in a way that has made our marriage unshakable.
Holding my daughter skin-to-skin for the first time.
Eating an entire box of peanut butter crackers immediately after giving birth.
Discovering a kind of love for the first time that can't be described in words.

People often ask me if I plan to do another natural childbirth with a second babe.
I'd like to think that I will, but I also like the idea of a significantly more relaxed, pain-free childbirth.
But then I have a friend e-mail me with questions, telling me of her plans and reasons for a natural birth.
And I get excited about it all over again.

Every moment of my labor, no matter how painful, was absolutely beautiful.
Each contraction, a reminder that we were bringing a blessing into this world.
And there was just something cathartic about experiencing birth in a completely natural way, the way our bodies were meant to handle it.

And I love hearing others' birth stories.
I love how every labor is different, each birth unique.
All absolutely beautiful.

One of my long-time blog friends Kristin agrees as she has recently launched a new website dedicated to new mamas. And I was honored when she asked me to contribute Lyla's birth story.

The best day of my entire life. 

Go check out my featured story and other fellow mamas' stories here !!!

To post, or not to post...

I have thought. And stewed. And brewed. And felt sad. And mad. Then guilty for feeling sad and mad.

So, I must post. To vent. I am not looking for comments. I truly just have to get this off my chest.

I don't like to post negative things on le blog. Who wants to look back at that? But this is real life. And sometimes, you just gotta be real.

Now. It takes a LOT for me to get offended. I may be sensitive, but you really have to get pretty personal to offend me.

But I have been deeply offended. And hurt. By others who will never know they upset me...and it was never their intention. They do not read this blog. 

And I have also sat and reflected and thought how I at times have made the same mistakes they did...and it makes me cringe to think that I may have hurt others by my words (even if unintentional) at one point or another.

I am VERY big on accepting others' differences. At least I really, really try. I don't like to push my views or beliefs on others. I REALLY try not to judge others' lifestyles/views/decisions/how to raise children/etc., but of course I do at times. We all do. It's something I must work on.

So what is all this about? 

The very personal decision I made to have a natural childbirth.

Now. I had made several references throughout my pregnancy that I was planning to have a natural childbirth. But I also explained that I did not like to share this decision with others for two reasons:

1). Because I got SO many unwanted opinions: "No drugs? HA!"(accompanied with a smirk that said, "yeah right".), "Oh honey, you'll get the epidural. Trust me", or "Don't be a martyr, Angela".

2). Because I did not want anyone to feel as though I thought OTHERS should have a natural childbirth as well. Again, this was a personal decision. For personal reasons. I in NO way look at other births and think mine was "better" because of my decision. Period. Every labor and delivery is completely different. And every labor and delivery has the same end result - a little miracle!

But I must say. Now that I've actually gone through the extreme emotional, mental, and physical intensity that comes with the decision for a natural birth, I am proud. And I SHOULD be proud.

Does this mean I go around updating my FB status or telling everyone who meets Lyla that, "HEY GUESS WHAT? I HAD A NATURAL CHILDBIRTH. NANNY NANNY BOO-BOO."

No. That's silly.

But if someone asks, I'll tell them. Proudly.

It was not easy. At all. I did not have an easy labor by any means. In fact, it was textbook average: 20 hours total, 13 hours of medically defined "active" or "hard" labor. So, when others find out I had a natural labor (not even from me), and their response is, "Yeah. Well her labor was short and easy" - that COMPLETELY undermines the hard work I put into it.  Or when someone's response is, "Well, her baby was only 7.7 lbs...", it cheapens the extreme amount of work I put into my decision.

It says that I was lucky.

Yes. Labor could have been far worse. And I realize that sometimes, interventions are required to protect mom and baby (or simply to make us more comfortable, which is important too!). And I realize bad things happen - unavoidable things. But, I worked HARD to prepare. I worked even harder and learned exactly what I could do to try to avoid any interventions. I worked hard prior to labor to actually have an easier labor. 

• We took a 3-month Bradley Method course with homework every night. (90% of Bradley couples go through with a natural birth - even those with big babies, who have had C-Sections before, have a posterior baby, extra long labors, etc.)
• We practiced positions, did mental and emotional exercises as a couple, and read, read, READ about natural childbirth. 
• I tracked every single thing that I ate - I had to eat 100 grams of protein a day and a specific amount of greens, vitamin C, dairy, etc. 
• I worked out every.single.day. Even the day I went into labor!
• We practiced relaxation techniques to help prepare for the intensity of labor. This is DEFINITELY what helped. And this is a very learned technique. 

So. Let's just say you accomplished something you were very proud of. Something you worked VERY hard for. A marathon. A job promotion. Your first house. Something you worked for, trained for, put in effort for. 

And then I went and said, "Well easy for you because: you were born a runner/the boss favors you/you got lucky with your interest rate". Instead of realizing that you WORKED to reach that accomplishment. 

So. I did not just get lucky. I worked really, really hard throughout pregnancy and during labor to reach my goal. And, my body has bounced back AMAZINGLY. Not because i have good genes (well...maybe a little to do with genes), but because I worked my BUNS off. (Not to mention, I avoided McDonalds and Taco Bell, even when I wanted it.)

Phew. Ok. I feel better now. I really just needed to vent. Because I was nervous that if one more person made a snide comment, I might absolutely snap. And they wouldn't know where my crazy came from. 

Plus, this helps remind ME not to be so critical of others...simply to make myself feel better.  

Mmmk. Rant complete. Let's end this on a positive note. 

Breakfast on the patio with my FAVORITES:

P.S. Promise, promise this is not directed at readers at all! You all have been so encouraging, supportive, and really big SWEETHEARTS all around. Thank you SO much!!!! :)

Our Birth Story

Ok. I have to warn you right now. Just a year ago, the following post written by someone else would have been quite revolting to me. However, our birth story is just too important to me not to share.

So, stop reading now if you do not want the gory details of birth. ;)

It's a long one. (And I've even shortened it as my"personal" birth story was 8 pages typed. YIKES.)

I went into this pregnancy hoping for a natural childbirth, which for me, meant that I wanted to deliver drug-free and with the least amount of interventions possible (meaning I wanted to try really hard to avoid being induced or delivering via c-section.) At first, delivering naturally was something I thought would be great, but I was also okay if it didn't happen. Then, we took a 12 week course called The Bradley Method, and I became fully committed half-way through the class. After learning the benefits and understanding that our bodies really were made for this, I became quite motivated and determined to make a natural birth happen. And both Gabe and I were very educated and very prepared by the time I went into labor. But overall, the most important thing for us was to deliver a healthy baby - no matter the method!

As of Tuesday last week, I had been checked at the doctor. Although I was dilated to 1 1/2-2 cm and 70% effaced, my doctor told me, "You are definitely not having your baby this week." I was still carrying way too high.
Ha.

Friday, after completing my first week back to school, I lost my mucus plug. And people kept commenting on how I must have dropped overnight. Didn't think much of it.

Saturday morning (38 1/2 weeks pregnant), I woke up to my alarm around 7:00 a.m. Gabe was just getting off the night shift and going to bed. I went to my favorite exercise swim class. During swim, I had two pretty significant contractions. I'd been having Braxton Hicks contractions the entire last half of my pregnancy, but these two were completely different. I had to stop what I was doing and sort of focus on them. Still didn't think much of it.

Felt pretty crampy and sick all morning, sort of flu-like. This made me a little concerned because in class we had learned how one major sign of early labor is feeling like you had the flu. But I ate breakfast. Got a phone call from one of my best friends in Atlanta. Had 3 contractions during this conversation. Laughed about it and told her, "How crazy if I go into labor today...but that's obviously not going to happen because I KNOW I'm having this baby late".

Things continued to be sporadic like this all early afternoon. A contraction here and a contraction there. Then 2:00 p.m. hit. Things started to get a bit more intense. Contractions were coming on stronger, and it finally crossed my mind that this really could be it. I remembered from class to continue on like any normal day during early labor. So, I decided to let Gabe sleep...because if I was in labor I was going to need him bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. We had work to do.

So, to pass the time, I went to my parents. Within an hour, I'd had 5 contractions. Strong, intense, and I couldn't talk through them. But I could walk through them.

At this point, I was still in denial. I truly thought I was experiencing "false labor". I think I was freaked out because I'd had several friends who went to the hospital too early due to false labor. But my mom thought otherwise. She encouraged me to start timing contractions.

So although I began labor early Saturday morning, I consider around 3:00 to be when things got real. Labor was in full force. The contractions were painful, intense, and were following a pattern. I had one every 20 minutes. Then by 5:00, I decided to head home to wake my husband because I was at 10 minutes apart.

I woke Gabe up by saying, "Well, I'm pretty sure you're going to meet your daughter tonight." He groggily looked at me...and I'm not so sure he took me seriously. Contractions kept getting stronger and closer together. We had a birthday party that night, and I still got ready to go. I mean, if I was going to be in labor for a super long time, I figured I should have fun, right?

Wrong.

I decided last-minute we should just go get pizza. Like a last meal, just the two of us. But we made it about 1/2 block down the neighborhood street and I yelled at Gabe to STOP THE CAR. I contracted. Then, I looked at him and told him there was no way we were going to get pizza. So he dropped me back of at home and went and picked one up. I scarfed down 3 pieces in between contractions.

By 7:00 p.m., I hit the "serious" emotional signpost (Bradley Method term meaning you are heading into active labor). My contractions were now anywhere from 3-5 minutes apart. Very painful. Some absolutely intolerable. I was rating them between a 6 and a 9 on the pain scale. But Gabe helped me relax through them. We spent about an hour in our living room. Right on a chair with pillows. He was timing with his iphone and recording in a little black notebook. I asked him if he thought I was having false labor, and he just looked at me and said, "Well, you're not due for another week and a half, so let's just wait this out." Thanks for the support, babe.

I told him if this was false labor, then I wasn't doing "real labor".  Just wouldn't happen.

An hour passed. Now, I was contracting anywhere from 1-3 minutes apart. We moved throughout the house. We tried to go for a walk, but couldn't make it out the door. We spent much of this time "dancing" (where we both stand and I lean on Gabe to contract). I got on the exercise ball. I got on my hands and knees on our bed and on the floor. Nothing felt good at this point.

Another hour passed. Some of my contractions were right on top of each other - no break in between. We debated whether to go to the hospital. You are typically supposed to go if you've contracted for an hour straight every 3-5 minutes. This had been going on over 2 hours now.

Gabe decided to call Wendy, our Bradley instructor, just to pick her brain. She coached me through 2 consecutive contractions. She told Gabe this was definitely NOT false labor. This was it! She advised us to try the bathtub, but if this pattern continued for another 30 minutes, we needed to head to the hospital asap.

I got in the tub. It felt amazing in between contractions. But that was only 1 minute reprieve at this point. Actual contractions were unbearable. So, we decided to go to the hospital. Gabe ran around the house like a mad man...because he hadn't packed his hospital bag like I'd been telling him to do for weeks. But he had to stop what he was doing about every minute to come and help me contract. I'm sure it was quite the sight to see.

As he loaded stuff in the car, I contracted on my hands and knees...in the front seat. He ran back inside to grab a few more things. Later, we would find out, in the chaos of everything, he left my purse on the front porch. All.night.long.

I contracted 7 times in the car on the 12 minute car ride. Not fun at all. Then, while waiting to be checked in (even though I had filled out the pre-admission paperwork), I contracted 4 or 5 times. I even went to the hospital bathroom to just keep moving. I ended up contracting on my hands and knees...on a public bathroom floor. Ugh.

We got to our room. Right in the middle of the nurse change-over. This was the biggest blessing ever because we ended up with Nettie. Most amazing nurse of all time. She was so supportive all night. It was about 10:15 p.m. She checked me. She yelled, "You're a 6, Girl!" We fully believe that at this moment, the hospital staff knew I meant business and completely respected our wishes for a natural birth.

My mom arrived and was the best little delivery/support person ever. She provided water and ice chips for me. She would rub my leg from time to time and tell me "you're almost there", but I would ask her not to talk or touch me. Sorry mom! :( And I know, even though Gabe was doing the coaching, my mom was standing there praying her heart out for her own baby who was in desperate pain.

After about one hour, I felt like I was starting to lose my mind. But I was dilated to a 7, which meant I was progressing.  I really believe I was progressing because I was able to "relax" through contractions. It's amazing what the whole relaxation technique can do. Nettie the nurse told me that even during my strongest contractions, my blood pressure was lower than she'd seen and sometimes she couldn't even tell I was in pain...even though the monitor was jumping off the scale. I assured her I was absolutely in pain, just trying to relax through it.

It's funny. We brought our "bag of tricks" to help us get through labor: rolling pin, tennis balls, towels, for massages, etc. and we never used one. At one point, I asked Gabe to turn on some music, he did. And I immediately told him to turn it off. We stuck to two positions pretty much all night: me sitting on the edge of the bed with my hands on Gabe's thighs (who sat directly across from me), and then switching places with him to be in a chair and he on the edge of the bed. The thought of lying on my back (which is how most people labor) made me want to die. The only times I had to lie on my back is when they had to check me. And it was by far the most excruciating part of labor. I would get up immediately when they were done. I HATED being on my back.

Then the resident came in to check me. Still a dang 7. And my bag of waters was "bulging" and completely intact. My heart sank. I grabbed Gabe's face and told him I wanted an epidural. Yep. I said it. More than once. But he and my mom reminded me that is not what I wanted and that I was almost there. So, I pushed through it. And an hour later, I was an 8!!!

This is when things got really dark and grim for me. (However, this is a sign that you're almost there!) I began to completely lose control of my body. I was shaking uncontrollably, and I felt the desperate urge to push and/or go to the bathroom. Nettie wouldn't even let me go to the bathroom on the toilet for fear I would push out a baby. The problem? I still had 2 cm to go, and she kept telling me, "Angela, you CANNOT push". Little did I know I was in the transition phase of labor (by FAR the worst, most awful part for me). I swore I would not yell or make weird noises while laboring. HA! I had absolutely no control. Some contractions forced me to scream, push (against Nettie's and the resident's orders), and groan so loudly. One time, I contracted so hard, I fell out of the chair onto the floor. During contractions, I can remember apologizing to everyone in the room for "being so dramatic." The residents all kept saying, "Are you kidding me? We NEVER see this. You are doing amazing." But I still felt so embarrassed for all my noise.

This continued for what seemed like an eternity (3 hours in reality). And I later found out that this is unusual as an average transition time is 1 to 1 1/2 hours. My body kept pushing, and the doctors did everything they could to make me not push. Sorry. No control there. After what seemed like days later, the resident came in to check me. I heard him say something about being "AC" - Almost Complete. This means that I was a 9 1/2. One half cm to go...are you kidding me? I told him to just stretch my cervix to get to a 10. He smiled and said he couldn't do that.

I think at this point I told everyone I was done. I just wasn't doing this anymore, and I'm leaving! But Gabe and mom cheered me on and reminded me the baby was almost here. Everyone said I was doing such a good job, but I kept telling them I wasn't doing a good job. At the time, I felt like everyone was just saying I was almost there just to make me feel better. But I really was almost there.

I somehow made it through transition. And I was finally a 10. Ready to ACTUALLY push. I did this with my mom and Gabe holding my legs up to my chest during contractions while I pushed. I pushed HARD for an hour. I have to admit. I thought this would be the "I'm in the clear" part. I had focused so much on the first part of labor, I was totally not prepared for how hard pushing was.

At one point, the resident said, "She has a FULL head of hair". I got so excited - "So, you can see the head?" He told me yes. I told him he was lying. He told me to feel it. I got scared to feel anything. But he encouraged me to, and I felt my baby's head. And that's all I needed. I pushed with all my might. And my water FINALLY broke.

But the look on the doctor's faces told me this wasn't a good thing. My baby had a bowel movement. This can be very dangerous. So, they told me I would not be able to do skin-to-skin immediately (this was my #1 on my birth plan). I began to cry. Gabe and mom encouraged me this was the best thing. To make sure baby was safe. So, I kept pushing.

After an hour, the doctor told Gabe that baby's head was too big and I was about to have a really bad tear. So, I got an episiotomy. Something I did not want to do. However, now, I am SO happy with that decision.

After the episiotomy and a few intense pushes that made me feel like I was going to explode, there she was. Our baby. Our sweet little angel.

To be honest, I was so exhausted. So relieved. I had given every ounce of myself. And I just remember being amazed the baby was out. And that we created her. But then they took her away. And I just watched from my bed. Exhausted and emotional. I didn't even realize (which turned out to be a good thing), that the umbilical chord was wrapped around baby. Another reason why they had to take her from me.

After about 2 minutes of checking her out, they brought her to me. And we did skin-to-skin for one hour. She immediately crawled (literally) to my breast to nurse. It was amazing. I was in awe of her. And I never wanted to let her go. So I didn't. This hour was so peaceful and calm and intimate. I truly felt like I was in a dream. And then they transferred us to my recovery room. Baby girl didn't sleep for 12 hours. She was so alert, so with it. She couldn't wait to explore the new world around her.

I will probably never, ever experience something as mentally, physically, and emotionally trying as natural childbirth. Ever. So, now that it has been 5 days, and I've had time to process...would I do it all over again? Absolutely. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. And yes, I will try to do it with Baby # 2. It was a beautiful experience, and I am SO happy I did it. And what I experienced with Gabe is something unexplainable. The teamwork, determination, and encouragement bonded us in a way that can never be broken. And now we have a perfectly healthy and beautiful baby girl that is part of US. And I'm not gonna lie. I feel like a champion.