This photo is from February 11, 2010- the last time a picture was taken of my pregnant belly.
It's taken me a long time to write this, because for many months after she was born, I was really really upset about Scarlett's birth. I felt cheated. At the same time, I want to savor every memory about that week so I can tell her one day, when she's older and maybe having a baby of her own. The message I want to convey is that, in the end, I got the best baby and she's healthy and happy, and how she got here is becoming less and less important with each passing month.
Scarlett's Birth
I had a very easy pregnancy, I wasn't ever sick and I was able to keep running until about month seven. My favorite thing was feeling like I was never alone. I spent a few days in a hotel in Seattle, while Charlie was visiting family in Chicago and I was taking a class. I felt like Scarlett and I were there together, and if I started to get lonely I'd sing to her or tell her about what I was doing. I sang constantly in the car and was always telling her what I was seeing as I drove.
Our plan was a waterbirth at the Andaluz birth center, just Charlie and I and our midwife in the room. He was going to catch the baby. We had all our prenatal appointments there and it felt like a spa- all calm and relaxing, they bring tea, everyone speaks in soft voices and there are lots of pillows. There's a room upstairs where couples in labor can watch movies. But Scarlett Ray, she had other plans. When I was 10 days past my due date, with no signs of labor, I went to get an ultrasound and the results were scary: low fluid, baby isn't moving much and doesn't have much room. Charlie and I went back to work, gathered our things, and didn't return. It was Wednesday. I drank some orange juice and got another ultrasound later that afternoon. She was moving just fine, but that doctor- who I'd met twice before and really trusted- recommended we get that baby out before the weekend was over. Our midwife agreed. So we went home that night and I did something that, in my mind, is even more terrible and disgusting than the act of giving birth. I drank castor oil.
Wednesday:
I drank 3 shots of 2 ounces each. I mixed the first shot with ice cream, per the midwife's recommendation, but it turns out that's a slow and horrible way to ingest this horrible, horrible concoction. It wasn't until my second night of it, that I finally got the mix and process right. It goes like this:
- Gulp something fizzy- in my case, Berry Lemonade Jones soda
- Keep the liquid in your mouth, pour in the castor oil, swallow it all,
- Follow immediately with another shot of soda, then water.
Use a beverage that you're never planning to drink again, in case the taste of Berry Lemonade Soda carries a pungent and unpleasant memory in your mouth.
I was sure the baby would be born. Everyone was sure. Shaggy wrote
a song to commemorate the occasion.
Thursday:
I cannot remember one single thing about that Thursday. I know I was drinking lots of liquids.
Friday:
"Castor oil" the midwives told me "always works." It didn't. Two days and another ultrasound later, we had no progress and even less amniotic fluid. I was drinking water and oj like crazy but my fluid levels were too low. Friday night we did round two of castor oil, a double dose this time. "It ALWAYS works the second time" they said. It didn't work, although it did make me pretty miserable and I just laid on couch complaining for hours. Drinking castor oil is like injecting your body with food poisoning. Our midwife came over that night and said, it's time to go to the hospital. Low fluid paired with no contractions or signs of labor meant we were in a tricky and difficult situation. Charlie and I agreed we'd see out the weekend and hope the labor came on its own, then talk about the hospital again on Monday.
Saturday:
But that next morning, I woke up scared for the safety of my baby. I was crying because I didn't think the decision should be so hard. I wanted to do the best thing for my Scarlett, who I was so excited to meet and hold and kiss. But I'd been preparing for a waterbirth, I had no idea what the hospital had in store for me, and I couldn't let go of the birth I'd been planning. While Charlie was still asleep, I sat on the front porch thinking and crying and trying to figure out who to call for support. I called Amber and she said, in the end, it won't matter how that baby came out, you'll just be glad she's here. And so, off to the hospital we went.
We stopped at the Bipartisan Cafe on the way, Charlie's parents were with us. I cried on the couch there. We checked into Providence, only 2 miles from our house, and watched the Olympics on tv for a long time. At once point, we went on a walk, but I was otherwise strapped to the bed with monitors and an iv bag in my arm. When I finally left the hospital, I'd taken 8 full iv bags. Saturday's progress was minimal, and I was disappointed because I thought going into the hospital meant I'd be induced right away and I'd be holding my baby later than night.
Sunday, Valentine's Day:
They tried two batches of 'ripening' gel....I remember when Amber was going to get induced and she told me about ripening gel and I giggled. It's less funny when it's happening to you. And, for me, extremely ineffective. They tried to break my water but couldn't because I was too tense with nerves and hatred for my surroundings. I wanted to relax and couldn't. Finally, they gave me the pitocin and an epidural, my water broke itself, and things moved quickly. My daytime nurse was Summer, and she said, I know you didn't plan to be here, I just ask that you are open to our way of doing things. I liked her. My night nurses were Katie and Katie, I liked them too. My doctor was a Hawaiian man who lectured me about all the things I hadn't done- the gbs test, the rhogam shot- and I liked him less. I didn't do those things because you don't need them if you're giving birth alone in a room without much traffic.
I started pushing around 6pm. I remember being tired and thirsty, and my midwife sneaking me sips of apple juice when the nurses weren't looking. We joked around a little, because my epidural was still flowing and I wasn't in pain. Charlie and Katherine massaged my legs and made sure my hips were rotated so they wouldn't get sore. I kept thinking Scarlett was almost here, because the nurses would say things like 'she's coming around the corner (also, what corner? ew) and 'I can see her' and I thought that meant she was literally being born at that moment. We had a birth playlist, but ran through it so many times that we eventually had to find something else to listen to.
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright- Bob Dylan
Galileo- Indigo Girls
Oh, What a World- Rufus Wainwright
Silver & Gold- Neil Young
Rebellion- Arcade Fire
Harvest- Neil Young
The Scientist- Coldplay
Follow Me- Paul McCartney (is what it was supposed to be- that's me & Charlie's wedding song. But instead, I ended up with Follow Me by Atomic Kitten. I must not have been paying attention when I was making the list...)
Hallelujah- Jeff Buckley
Lover, You Should've Come Over- Jeff Buckley
The Girl- City and Colour
Comfortably Numb- Pink Floyd
America- Simon & Garfunkel
Ol' 55- Tom Waits
Desolation Row - Bob Dylan
Finally, Scarlett was born, at 10:50pm. She had tons of dark hair and as her first accomplishment in the world-out-side-womb, she pooped in my hand. She was calm with wide open eyes. Whenever I think about the moment I met her, I get a little teary-eyed. But the birth itself wasn't nearly as emotional as I have expected. It was very matter-of-fact. I remember checking her hands and toes, then realizing after a few minutes that I hadn't confirmed her girl status. She was 7 pounds but seemed so, so tiny and delicate. Charlie stayed awake the entire first night, holding her.
THEN:
NOW:
