Your Birth Story
My Precious Child,
One week ago to the minute, I was getting ready for my 40 week prenatal appointment, with waves of pain spreading from my back to belly. After experiencing start-and-stop prodromal labor over the 2 weeks prior, I remained unconvinced that this was the real deal. My appointment was at 1:30. If I were in true labor, they'd tell me then. I was fine.
Until I wasn't.
As I got dressed and did my hair, the pains got stronger and stronger... but so did my denial. I swayed back and forth in the bathroom, barely able to stand, as I got ready. It's just another day full of Braxton Hicks, I told myself. No need to hurry. I timed a few of the contractions to get a rough estimate and remember the rush I felt when I discovered they were 3 minutes apart (some only 2).
This could be it.
We loaded the suitcase into the car, just in case, though I kept insisting it may never leave the car. I really don't want to be sent home, honey. Don't get your hopes up, ok? I kept telling your dad. He was less pessimistic. His eyes seemed to brighten at the thought that today could be the day - the day when we finally, finally get to meet you.
On the way to the appointment, I called the birthing center. With my regular prenatal only minutes away, I asked if I should go to that or if I should go straight to the birthing center. The nurse on the line asked me to stay on the line and talk through a contraction with her. We talked about my most recent stats (dilated to 3 cm, 90% effaced) and how I was now past my due date. She was explaining how going to my regular appointment would be a lot cheaper than if I were to be sent away from the birthing center... then I had another strong contraction.
"You know, if it's that much cheaper I'll just..." I couldn't even finish my sentence. She heard my straining and struggling to breath through the contraction and laughed.
"No honey, you're coming to the birthing center. It sound like labor to me."
A flicker of hope! It was starting to sink in that today just might be the day. We left our bags in the car, refusing to be too disappointed if we were sent home, and made our way up to the 6th floor of Essentia Health. When we arrived at the nurse's station in the birthing center, the nurses didn't even take me to triage. They set me up in a room right away, sensing this may be a fast-moving labor, and checked my status. My heart sunk when she told me I was still stuck at 3 cm and 90% effaced.
No. Way. I am not going home without a baby. My heart (and my back) can't handle it.
The nurse encouraged me to get into the tub. If it were false labor, the contractions would likely calm down. If it were real labor, they would likely intensify and progress my labor. I sat in that tub, listening to Joshua Radin and daydreaming about you for about 45 minutes, breathing through each contraction with your daddy by my side. I was in pain, sure, but I was calm and focused. This was the beautiful labor I had hoped for.
But suddenly the contractions became so intense that I could hardly breath. They were coming one on top of another, leaving me no time to rest, drink water, or even pick myself up out of the bath. You daddy helped me up, put my gown back on, and I attempt to move about the room. The contractions grew even stronger, still one on top of the other, and I started to feel dizzy. I tried to get even one full breath in between... to no avail. We called the nurse in to help. She checked me again and I was thrilled to hear that I was dilated to 7 cm now.
I worked up the energy to ask, "She's almost here?" Maybe, she told me. Maybe?! I wanted so badly to have a completely natural birth. I could do this for another hour tops but I was about ready to faint. I swayed my hips and walked with the assistance of your daddy. I took tiny sips of water but just as soon as one contraction mellowed, another intensified.
"More than an hour? 2 or 3?" I asked the nurse in short, choppy breaths.
"I hope not for your sake but we really never know. Each woman and each baby is so different. It could be 30 minutes, it could be many hours."
I felt defeated. I had written in my birth plan not to offer me an epidural. I would ask for one if I wanted/needed one. I had reached that point - the rock and the hard place. After an internal struggle, letting go of my "dream birth" and accepting the reality of the situation, I managed to get out the words - "I think.. epidural?" It sounded like a question.
"Is that what you want?" your daddy asked me, looking at me with the most sincere empathy I had ever seen on his face. He grabbed both of my hands.
"I don't know," I cried. I leaned against him through a contraction, my heart sinking. And, like some sort of perfectly timed angel, your Nana Gail came into the room. I saw the helplessness in her eyes as she watched her own baby struggling to get through contraction after contraction.
"I want an epidural," I told her, sounding like an admission of guilt more than a genuine request. She looked at me in the way only a mother can and told me to stop feeling one bit sorry about that. With my mom on one side and my husband on my other, I realized that the only person in the whole world I was disappointing was myself. And for what? Pride? Bragging rights? I would never judge any other woman for her decision to get an epidural so why was I judging myself so harshly? My mom told me I was strong and powerful and just as courageous as she had been 20-some years ago. I started to sob but realized very quickly I didn't have the energy for that. The tears stopped. It was time to have a baby.
The anesthesiologist came to administer the epidural around 4:30. The process takes about 20 minutes to set up and another 20 minutes to kick in. I had fully expected to be in labor another couple hours, at least, but soon after he walked out the door, my body told me I needed to push. Everything from that point forward felt like a complete whirlwind. Robby texted the birth photographer (making it there just in the knick of time), I made my way into the bed, the midwife checked my status (now 9 cm and fully effaced), and I began to follow my body's messages. I let go of any guilt or disappointment I had felt the hour before. I thank God the epidural had not fully kicked in yet because I could still feel the entire process, though probably much less than I would have without it.
It sounds silly to say this but it wasn't until I was pushing (for only 10 minutes, I might add - go me!) that I knew for sure that you were actually coming that day. Denial is a powerful thing and I was in it. In it good. But when the nurses put out a mirror for me to watch, as I held your daddy's hand and pushed harder and harder through each contraction, as the midwife and nurses cheered me to push just one more time, as I saw your head full of brown hair, your shoulders, your body enter the world - there was no denying it. At 5:28 pm on St. Patrick's Day, March 17th 2014, there you were. It was the greatest rush of pain and joy and shock and unexplainable love that I had ever felt and will unlikely ever feel again until I deliver your siblings.
The entire Essentia birth team was an absolute dream. Christa Howell delivered you with the help of a midwife intern and a room full of med students, nurses, and specialists of all different kinds. Afterwards I realized they should have brought some bleachers in but, in the heat of the moment, I didn't even notice them.
You were beautiful. You are beautiful. Josslyn Rain Trefethren. We had been uncertain if you would be Josslyn Rain or Josslyn Lyric but with the tragic accident of a close friend the day before, Rain seemed to fit. We need rain. We need the rain to flourish, to become exactly what we were intended to be. We may wish it away, but without it we would never grow. You, my little love, have already helped us grow so much. You weighed in at 7 lb. 14 oz. (a tiny peanut - whodathunk?) and 20.25 inches long. They placed you on my chest, your perfect little face snuggled right up against my skin, and you absolutely took my breath away. I have never loved anything even half as much as I love you. It took just one look at you, one single moment, for me to know that I would die for you. Your have a head full of your daddy's hair and my little mouth. Your daddy was speechless. I had never seen him so in love with anything, not even me on our wedding day. You completely stole his heart the moment you came out. He couldn't stop staring at you, tears rolling down his face.
We spent a day and a half in the hospital before heading home, where your Nana Gail was the most helpful assistant/chef/maid/counselor for me. Family, friends, and mere acquaintances showed an outpouring of love like we had never experienced before in our lives. We are still in awe of just how loved you are by so many and you are only a week old! You are good natured and peaceful and genuinely happy - we swear you smile for real, though psychology textbooks would say it's just gas. What do they know anyway? says your psychology minor mommy. ;)
You are now snuggled in your Rock 'n Play, cooing and sucking on your fingers. I know what that means. You're hungry and mama duty calls. I have never been prouder of anything in my entire life. Your entrance into this world was even more beautiful than anything I could have dreamt up on my own. You are the absolute best thing that has ever happened to us and I can't wait to fall even more in love with you - is that even possible? Mmm. This is going to be such a wonderful life.
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
One week ago to the minute, I was getting ready for my 40 week prenatal appointment, with waves of pain spreading from my back to belly. After experiencing start-and-stop prodromal labor over the 2 weeks prior, I remained unconvinced that this was the real deal. My appointment was at 1:30. If I were in true labor, they'd tell me then. I was fine.
Until I wasn't.
As I got dressed and did my hair, the pains got stronger and stronger... but so did my denial. I swayed back and forth in the bathroom, barely able to stand, as I got ready. It's just another day full of Braxton Hicks, I told myself. No need to hurry. I timed a few of the contractions to get a rough estimate and remember the rush I felt when I discovered they were 3 minutes apart (some only 2).
This could be it.
We loaded the suitcase into the car, just in case, though I kept insisting it may never leave the car. I really don't want to be sent home, honey. Don't get your hopes up, ok? I kept telling your dad. He was less pessimistic. His eyes seemed to brighten at the thought that today could be the day - the day when we finally, finally get to meet you.
On the way to the appointment, I called the birthing center. With my regular prenatal only minutes away, I asked if I should go to that or if I should go straight to the birthing center. The nurse on the line asked me to stay on the line and talk through a contraction with her. We talked about my most recent stats (dilated to 3 cm, 90% effaced) and how I was now past my due date. She was explaining how going to my regular appointment would be a lot cheaper than if I were to be sent away from the birthing center... then I had another strong contraction.
"You know, if it's that much cheaper I'll just..." I couldn't even finish my sentence. She heard my straining and struggling to breath through the contraction and laughed.
"No honey, you're coming to the birthing center. It sound like labor to me."
A flicker of hope! It was starting to sink in that today just might be the day. We left our bags in the car, refusing to be too disappointed if we were sent home, and made our way up to the 6th floor of Essentia Health. When we arrived at the nurse's station in the birthing center, the nurses didn't even take me to triage. They set me up in a room right away, sensing this may be a fast-moving labor, and checked my status. My heart sunk when she told me I was still stuck at 3 cm and 90% effaced.
No. Way. I am not going home without a baby. My heart (and my back) can't handle it.
The nurse encouraged me to get into the tub. If it were false labor, the contractions would likely calm down. If it were real labor, they would likely intensify and progress my labor. I sat in that tub, listening to Joshua Radin and daydreaming about you for about 45 minutes, breathing through each contraction with your daddy by my side. I was in pain, sure, but I was calm and focused. This was the beautiful labor I had hoped for.
But suddenly the contractions became so intense that I could hardly breath. They were coming one on top of another, leaving me no time to rest, drink water, or even pick myself up out of the bath. You daddy helped me up, put my gown back on, and I attempt to move about the room. The contractions grew even stronger, still one on top of the other, and I started to feel dizzy. I tried to get even one full breath in between... to no avail. We called the nurse in to help. She checked me again and I was thrilled to hear that I was dilated to 7 cm now.
I worked up the energy to ask, "She's almost here?" Maybe, she told me. Maybe?! I wanted so badly to have a completely natural birth. I could do this for another hour tops but I was about ready to faint. I swayed my hips and walked with the assistance of your daddy. I took tiny sips of water but just as soon as one contraction mellowed, another intensified.
"More than an hour? 2 or 3?" I asked the nurse in short, choppy breaths.
"I hope not for your sake but we really never know. Each woman and each baby is so different. It could be 30 minutes, it could be many hours."
I felt defeated. I had written in my birth plan not to offer me an epidural. I would ask for one if I wanted/needed one. I had reached that point - the rock and the hard place. After an internal struggle, letting go of my "dream birth" and accepting the reality of the situation, I managed to get out the words - "I think.. epidural?" It sounded like a question.
"Is that what you want?" your daddy asked me, looking at me with the most sincere empathy I had ever seen on his face. He grabbed both of my hands.
"I don't know," I cried. I leaned against him through a contraction, my heart sinking. And, like some sort of perfectly timed angel, your Nana Gail came into the room. I saw the helplessness in her eyes as she watched her own baby struggling to get through contraction after contraction.
"I want an epidural," I told her, sounding like an admission of guilt more than a genuine request. She looked at me in the way only a mother can and told me to stop feeling one bit sorry about that. With my mom on one side and my husband on my other, I realized that the only person in the whole world I was disappointing was myself. And for what? Pride? Bragging rights? I would never judge any other woman for her decision to get an epidural so why was I judging myself so harshly? My mom told me I was strong and powerful and just as courageous as she had been 20-some years ago. I started to sob but realized very quickly I didn't have the energy for that. The tears stopped. It was time to have a baby.
The anesthesiologist came to administer the epidural around 4:30. The process takes about 20 minutes to set up and another 20 minutes to kick in. I had fully expected to be in labor another couple hours, at least, but soon after he walked out the door, my body told me I needed to push. Everything from that point forward felt like a complete whirlwind. Robby texted the birth photographer (making it there just in the knick of time), I made my way into the bed, the midwife checked my status (now 9 cm and fully effaced), and I began to follow my body's messages. I let go of any guilt or disappointment I had felt the hour before. I thank God the epidural had not fully kicked in yet because I could still feel the entire process, though probably much less than I would have without it.
It sounds silly to say this but it wasn't until I was pushing (for only 10 minutes, I might add - go me!) that I knew for sure that you were actually coming that day. Denial is a powerful thing and I was in it. In it good. But when the nurses put out a mirror for me to watch, as I held your daddy's hand and pushed harder and harder through each contraction, as the midwife and nurses cheered me to push just one more time, as I saw your head full of brown hair, your shoulders, your body enter the world - there was no denying it. At 5:28 pm on St. Patrick's Day, March 17th 2014, there you were. It was the greatest rush of pain and joy and shock and unexplainable love that I had ever felt and will unlikely ever feel again until I deliver your siblings.
The entire Essentia birth team was an absolute dream. Christa Howell delivered you with the help of a midwife intern and a room full of med students, nurses, and specialists of all different kinds. Afterwards I realized they should have brought some bleachers in but, in the heat of the moment, I didn't even notice them.
You were beautiful. You are beautiful. Josslyn Rain Trefethren. We had been uncertain if you would be Josslyn Rain or Josslyn Lyric but with the tragic accident of a close friend the day before, Rain seemed to fit. We need rain. We need the rain to flourish, to become exactly what we were intended to be. We may wish it away, but without it we would never grow. You, my little love, have already helped us grow so much. You weighed in at 7 lb. 14 oz. (a tiny peanut - whodathunk?) and 20.25 inches long. They placed you on my chest, your perfect little face snuggled right up against my skin, and you absolutely took my breath away. I have never loved anything even half as much as I love you. It took just one look at you, one single moment, for me to know that I would die for you. Your have a head full of your daddy's hair and my little mouth. Your daddy was speechless. I had never seen him so in love with anything, not even me on our wedding day. You completely stole his heart the moment you came out. He couldn't stop staring at you, tears rolling down his face.
We spent a day and a half in the hospital before heading home, where your Nana Gail was the most helpful assistant/chef/maid/counselor for me. Family, friends, and mere acquaintances showed an outpouring of love like we had never experienced before in our lives. We are still in awe of just how loved you are by so many and you are only a week old! You are good natured and peaceful and genuinely happy - we swear you smile for real, though psychology textbooks would say it's just gas. What do they know anyway? says your psychology minor mommy. ;)
You are now snuggled in your Rock 'n Play, cooing and sucking on your fingers. I know what that means. You're hungry and mama duty calls. I have never been prouder of anything in my entire life. Your entrance into this world was even more beautiful than anything I could have dreamt up on my own. You are the absolute best thing that has ever happened to us and I can't wait to fall even more in love with you - is that even possible? Mmm. This is going to be such a wonderful life.
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
Soo soo amazing! I am convinced that EVERY woman that goes through labor, no matter how "natural" - is a warrior, so powerful and so strong, and it's all so magical! I love your story, your love the overflows, and the beauty of your family!! So happy!!!!
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