Yesterday was International Midwives Day, and I missed it. But Barbara has a great post with some good links and interesting statistics in it. You should check it out.

It’s hard to believe that a year ago when I found out I was pregnant with Lucas, I was not yet on the midwife bandwagon. I only wish I’d found out how superior the midwife care would be back before I had Tristan and Simon, too.

I’m typing this one-handed, so I don’t have anything more for you right now (and ew, Lucas just spit up down my leg!) but I have a couple of posts in the hopper… hope to get something substantive out soon, but the nanny is gone and Beloved is working late these days so it’s all mommy all the time these days, and Lucas has his first cold to boot. Sigh.

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. Liveblogging labour – part four
2. Back on track – I think
3. Liveblogging labour – part five

It’s taken me more than a month to get this down and out onto the interwebs partly because of the hazy fog that is my brain in these early newborn days, partly because I haven’t yet figured out how to blog without using my arms (which are rarely free these days) but largely because whenever I actually sat down to write this out, the words just wouldn’t arrange themselves properly. Much like trying to get a wriggling, hungry newborn’s leg into a sleeper just a little bit too large for him, the words have been resistant and fussy.

Before I begin, I have to tell you one more time how much I enjoyed your collective company in the long final days of my pregnancy, and especially during the wet – if not terribly productive – day of liveblogging the labour. Who knew captchas could be so much fun? And now, I bring you back to the morning of the induction. If you remember, my water broke Thursday morning but I had been relatively contraction-free all day, and so they called me in for an induction the morning of Friday, February 8.

It’s a mundane start to what promises to be an exciting day. Beloved and I arrive at the hospital with my mother just after 8:30 in the morning. There’s paperwork to be completed, and my vital signs are recorded. Amanda, the almost-certified student midwife who has been my primary contact in these past few weeks puts an IV in my arm, struggling with my small, rolling veins. The midwives work in teams of two, and the presence of Amanda is a nice bonus. My primary midwife, Sandra, is off call, so Denise will attend throughout the day and Stephanie, who I think is the senior midwife on the team, will arrive in time to “catch” the baby. All in all, I have a great team and feel very well cared for.

The hospital’s induction protocol calls for the on-call OB and nurses to supervise the first part of an induced labour, so after hooking me up with the drugs and assuring me they’ll be back when things get exciting – that is, when active labour begins – the midwives leave me in the care of a nurse and a student nurse. The OB breezes in, and I like him immediately. He’s very genial and cheerful, and lays one hand on my belly and says, “Yep, that’s a 10 pounder alright.” (Eeek!) As the pitocin starts to drip into the IV, I’m only 2 to 3 cm dilated, and while my cervix is softening, baby is still pretty high in my cervix.

We settle in to wait. After some nervous playful chatter, my mother, Beloved and I – all cut from the same cloth – pull out books and begin to read. After the baby is born, I’ll go to the page marked by my bookmark (I’m in the middle of Book IV of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series, Wizards and Glass) and realize that I have absorbed exactly nothing of the 40 pages or so I’ll read through that morning and will return to where I started and re-read those pages for the first time. (And, more than a month later, I’m still only half way through that book. I read six novels in the last six weeks of my pregnancy, and only about eight pages in the five weeks since.)

My natural curiousity is thwarted by the fact that the primary language of business in the hospital is French. While everyone speaks perfectly comprehensible English to me, they speak to each other in a rapid and colloquial French that I can’t hope to follow or, more importantly, eavesdrop on. I peek over their shoulders at the computer monitor they keep updating, and realize the interface and all the notes are in French, too. Foiled by my unilingualism yet again.

You might remember way back when I was trying to decide between a midwife and an OB for this pregnancy, one of the things that alarmed me about the idea of a midwife was the reduced amount of fetal monitoring during labour. However, after reading your comments and researching the matter, I realized that continuous fetal monitoring is not only not required or recommended, but sometimes causes more interventions than might otherwise be necessary. It’s therefore quite ironic that as we wait for the pitocin to do its work, I am becoming increasingly agitated by being strapped to the fetal monitoring machines. I instinctively want to move, to get up and stretch and walk. I know that walking will help motivate contractions (even if shovelling the driveway did not!) and my hips and back are screaming for movement. I keep asking the nurses to unhook me, and while they do free me from time to time, they want to strap me back after a 20 to 30 minute interval to continue to monitor the baby. I begin to pine for my midwives almost immediately.

The pitocin works its magic and contractions begin to come regularly, and frequently, but without intensity. Lunch arrives in the delivery room just before noon, and while I decide to forgo the pork stew (seriously, they served PORK STEW to the DELIVERY ROOM!) I do partake of the fruit salad and vegetable soup. Not surprisingly, both my mother and Beloved also pass on the free shit on a shingle pork stew.

I continue to be agitated to be strapped into the bed, and once again ask the nurses to liberate me. We take a few short walks in the hallway, but my hips ache so much from lying in the bed that I’m hardly mobile. Even walking small circles in the delivery room helps to strengthen the contractions and, more importantly, soothes my agitation somewhat.

Shortly after 1:30, the contractions are coming two minutes apart, increasing slightly in intensity but still quite manageable. The nurse checks my dilation again, and I’m still only 2 to 3 cm dilated, but she turns down the dosage of pitocin because she’s concerned about the lack of rest time between the contractions – not so much for right now, I suspect, but for when that intensity finally kicks in. She asks if I mind if the student nurse also checks my dilation, and I concur. I realize, when her hand is wedged deep in my hoochie, that she has no experience whatsoever in checking someone’s cervix. She looks to the nurse quizzically when she cannot “find” my cervix. Feeling magnanimous, I assure her it’s there and encourage her to go ahead and root a little deeper as I suspect I have endured more cervical exams in my lifetime than she has administered, and can tell she is not quite in the right place. To my growing alarm, she spends what seems like an eternity groping my innards. Finally, I politely suggest maybe I’ve had enough, and she gives up.

Apparently it’s neither walking nor shovelling nor pitocin that stimulates contractions, but having an unexperienced student nurse wedging her arm up to her elbow in your hoochie certainly seems to do the trick. Within 15 minutes or so, I have abandoned my book and any thoughts of wandering the hallway as I breath through the rapidly escalating contractions. My assessment of the pain goes from a three to a five to a seven in about six contractions, and I gasp for the nurse to call the midwives back. I also begin to seriously doubt my decision to experience this whole act without the benefit of drugs.

My mother has been skeptical all along of my tentative desire to birth this child without the epidural. To her credit, she remains respectful of my wishes, but a few times during the morning she has asked me if I’m sure, telling me it’s okay if I want to ask for the drugs. When I assure her that I won’t be shy about asking for them if I feel I need them, she seems mollified but still obviously perplexed by my choice. As the contractions intensify, I begin to panic and want to make sure that the epidural is in fact available if I want it. The contractions are bearable, but I’m afraid that eventually they won’t be. The nurses ask me to sign some sort of release form, and I’d love to see exactly what my signature on that form must look like. This is the handwriting of a person who is beginning to freak out.

As the pain of the contractions ratchets up, my awareness of the world contracts as well until I am barely aware of the activity in the room. There is a steel bowl on the table beside the bed, and as I lie on my side and try not to give in to abject panic, I finger the smooth coolness of the steel between contractions and find it oddly comforting. I don’t want to be touched or spoken to as the contractions escalate — I just want my midwives, or the epidural. Or a wormhole to open and rescue me from my delivery, perhaps depositing me somewhere about three days into the future, babe in arms. I’m in the bathroom trying to time a pee between contractions when the midwives finally return at approximately 2:30 pm.

As I stumble out of the bathroom and lean on the bed into another contraction, the newly arrived midwives are trying to evaluate how far along I am and how long we have until baby makes his way out. They’re trying to convince me to try the bath for some relief from the contractions, but I’m thinking that the bath is a poor substitute for drugs at this point. I find myself leaning against the wall, barely able to speak or think coherently, and manage to say, “I might be able to do this for an hour, or I can do this for ten more minutes. But I cannot do this for an hour and ten minutes. I just can’t do it.” They laugh, and I tell them, with teeth gritted, that I am not joking.

The midwives finally convince me to try the bath, and I remember pulling my socks off and muttering curses about their stupid bathtub under my breath. They check my dilation again, and it’s now around 5 cm, which is promising but still a long way from 10 cm. I find myself standing up again – I must have been on my way to the infernal bathtub to placate them – and leaning against the wall for support. The contractions are now so intense and so close together that I can barely communicate my admittedly truncated thoughts. What I want to say is, “The contractions are really REALLY intense right now, and while I can handle them at this point, I’m afraid I won’t be able to if they get stronger than this or if we go on for hours like this. Is there some way to judge whether they will get more painful, or how much longer this might go on?” What I actually say is, “Please — I need the epidural! NOW!” That’s all my mother needs to hear. If I want that epidural, in the name of all things holy she will see to it that I get that epidural. Beloved later tells me he begins to fear for the safety of the midwives if they don’t capitulate to my mother’s formidable will. I can hear her arguing rationally discussing the issue with the midwives and advocating for some sort of pain relief for me, but I am powerless to join the conversation at this point. My eyes are closed and everything happening around me seems oddly distant.

As I stand there against the wall, shuddering with the intensity of another four or so contractions with barely any respite in between, I become aware of a new sensation. Once again, my brain and my mouth are in disagreement as to the sentiment to be expressed. What I want to say is, “I’m aware from my previous birthing experiences that pressure that feels like a bowel movement may in fact be the baby making his way down the birth canal. But, that can’t possibly be – it’s much too early for that.” What I manage to gasp out is a rather alarmed, “Um, I feel like I have to poop. I don’t think I have to poop.”

I stumble back to the bed and this time when Amanda (or maybe it was Denise – really, the whole thing is a giant blur by this point) checks my dilation, in just a few minutes I’ve dilated to 8 cm. I’m teetering on the edge of panic, but Amanda’s warm hand rubbing the small of my back through each contraction keeps me grounded, and in that moment I am happy with my choice of a midwife-attended birth. The nurse had been hands-off through my contractions and tended toward being reactive instead of proactive. Where the nurse simply crouched in my line of view to ask me if there was anything I wanted (the answer being, “DRUGS!”), Amanda does not wait for me to ask for help but uses her words and her touch to reassure me and guide me through this panicked fog of escalating pain.

I begin to realize that the time for epidurals – and, for that matter, baths – has passed. Barely two or three contractions later, and I further realize that my conscious brain is no longer running this show. With a feeling that is vividly reminiscent of a manual-transmission car stuck in first gear, my body shudders into push mode and I manage to gasp out that I have to push, which terrifies the small functioning part of my rational brain that realizes this is all going far too quickly. I am astonished at the primal intensity of this urge, and how my body is now working completely independently of my brain. Amanda checks my dilation one last time, and finds me fully dilated save for a small lip of cervix, which she reaches in to ease over the emerging baby’s head.

The desire to push is overwhelming and I am powerless to resist it. While I’d heard women speak of how much a relief it is to finally be able to push, I’d never felt that sensation before. When I push, it’s as if all the pain dissipates instantly in the act of pushing. It’s blissfully sweet relief. Unfortunately, a 10 lbs baby crowning carries it’s own set of pain triggers, and I’m surprised to find I’m not nearly as stoic as I have expected myself to be. As the baby’s head emerges, I let out a primal yell, and that too feels surprisingly good. An oxygen mask has been slipped on to my face at some point, but I have no idea how long ago, and I have vague recollections of someone telling me to calm my breathing. And suddenly, I am out of steam. With his shoulders left to emerge, I find the concept of pushing completely alien. Push? Push what? What is this “push” thing you speak of? I must have said something like, “I don’t want to push anymore” because Beloved is at my shoulder talking me through it and encouraging one last burst of energy. Listening to him and only him, I find another reserve and with a few final pushes, Lucas’ shoulders emerge and the rest of his body slips out. He is born at 3:23 pm, on Friday February 8, 2008. I hold out my arms and open my eyes just enough to confirm that he’s safe and perfect as I wrap my arms around the warm, slippery bundle that is my third son.

Beloved later tells me that although this was the quickest of all my deliveries, it was also the most harrowing for him. The sheer speed of the delivery has unnerved him as badly as it unnerved me. The midwives later tease him lightly, telling him it’s been a while since they’d seen anyone pace a delivery room so frantically.

My mother, who I’m told watched the whole delivery over the midwife’s shoulder, cuts the cord. Here’s what she said in the comment thread to an earlier post:

I WAS THERE!!! Thanks to Jen and Papa Lou for babysitting. I can tell you that Dani is a very strong woman!! With “Beloved” by her side, she brought into the world another beautiful baby boy. Although I have birthed two of the best – I have never seen a baby being born. It was an awesome experience that I will never forget. I was honoured to be asked to cut the cord!!. How lucky I am to have such a loving and caring family – 5 grandchildren in 6 years.

After a lingering cuddle, they take Lucas over to the warming table to clean him up. Although he scored a 9 on his first APGAR test, they are worried enough about his chalky white palour to call in the on-call pediatrician for a consult. (This, to me, represents the best of both worlds – midwife care in a hospital with on-site doctors.) They fit Lucas’ wrist with some sort of oxygen monitor, but find his levels acceptable. The ped says the chalky palour is likely from shock, due to his rather rudely abrupt delivery, and that he is otherwise fine. (He will show other signs of his speedy delivery as well: he will spend the night spitting up mucous that did not have a chance to disappate, nearly scaring me to death the first of many times he seems to choke on it throughout the first 24 hours, and he will have small bloodblisters in his eyes and a bit of a fat lip from where his poor face smacked into my pelvic bones on the way out!) Stephanie, the second midwife on the team, arrives around this point and I realize that the delivery went much more quickly than even the midwives were anticipating.

As they tend to Lucas, I am dealing with my own residual shock issues. With a very low blood pressure of 80-something over 50 something I am shaking badly and having weird visual hallucinations that give everything in the room bright and dark auras. Amanda gives me a few stitches – not nearly so many as with Simon, who was born with his hand raised above his head in victory – while Denise and the ped minister to Lucas. Finally, after what seems like an eternity and in which time I am becoming even more agitated than I was to be strapped in the bed earlier, Lucas comes back to me. As I hold him and then let him latch on for a well-earned snack, Denise keeps her fingers ringed around his wrist to hold the oxygen monitor in place.

After a while, my own vision has cleared and Denise takes Lucas back to weigh him, administer some vitamin K and put the antibiotic drops in his eyes. While she does this and I eat the cold vegetables and mashed potatoes of my salisbury steak dinner delivered some time in the last hour or so, Amanda takes my mother and I on a “tour” of my expelled placenta while Beloved tries to ignore us. If you ever find yourself with the opportunity to tour a placenta, I highly recommend it, even if you do it while you are eating cold mashed potatoes and congealed gravy. Though I had read about everything she showed us in years of (obsessive) research, it is still fascinating to see Amanda hold open the amniotic sac and show us how all the parts work together. More reasons to recommend a midwife-attended birth!

After the tour, my mom heads out to relieve Papa Lou of Tristan and Simon, and Beloved and I have more chances to cuddle with Lucas. The midwives are laughing as they complete the reams of paperwork required by the hospital. “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t want that labour to last longer than an hour, were you?” Amanda asks. No wonder Lucas and I were both feeling a little shocky after the fact! Turns out the active labour clocked in at 58 minutes.

Surviving the labour and delivery without the epidural was an incredibly empowering act. It truly was a completely different experience from my deliveries of Tristan and Simon, and I’m so glad to end my childbirthing experiences with this one. I don’t think I’d recommend a medication-free delivery for a first labour, but I’m glad I was brave enough to try it. (Yes, I am claiming the victory that was actually forced upon me by the speed with which Lucas arrived. It’s my story and I can spin it as I see fit!)

Even at its most intense, the pain was not unbearable. It was almost unbearable, though, and what frightened me was the unknowable: will it get worse, and how long will it last? My recovery from the delivery was also nothing short of amazing to me, and I can only assume the lack of drugs contributed to that. Despite the stitches from a tear, I was able to sit relatively comfortably to feed Lucas that first night in the hospital, and I didn’t even need to take the Tylenol and Motrin that the nurses provided. I felt physically back to normal within just a few hours, even though I had residual issues with my, erm, digestive system a week or so later.

I had more or less planned to stay at the hospital as long as they’d let me, and joked that it was more of a hotel than a hospital stay – free meals delivered to your bed, does it get any better than that? – but with Lucas’ arrival, I was beginning to waffle and think maybe I would prefer to go home after all. Unfortunately, I needed an IV drip of pitocin to assist the contraction of my uterus until after midnight, and the hospital protocol for babies larger than 10 lbs requires a heel prick to check his blood sugar a few times in the first twelve hours. Even more unfortunately, there were no private rooms available, so Lucas and I spent his first night on earth rooming with Shania, the newborn who wails like a stuck pig (I swear, I’ve never heard such an unpleasant sound uttered by a newborn) and her inconsiderate parents. They didn’t bother to turn down the full volume of the DVD player they were watching when I arrived; around 10 pm, they decide to shower – together! (ick!!) – for more than 20 minutes, leaving me with such a full bladder and so desperate to pee that I had to drag my IV pole and the baby in the plastic bassinet out into the hallway in search of an available toilet; and, the mother allowed the baby to build up to a full wail before tending to her in the night. It was a very long, very unpleasant night. I was not overly impressed by the nursing staff, either. When my IV pole ran out of battery power at 12:45 am and an alarm began to beep, no one responded to my call button and after 15 minutes I wandered out into the hallway and to flag down a nurse to silence the infernal thing. After an endless night, I called Beloved early in the morning and begged him to “come and rescue me”. I couldn’t get home fast enough!

And that’s how Lucas Sawyer made his way into the world, one full week after his due date. Oh, and the reason he was so stubborn and waited that extra week, and dilly-dallied a whole extra day after my water broke? Well, Tristan was 9 lbs even and Simon was 10 lbs even but Lucas topped them both at 10 lbs 1 oz. I’m quite sure that Lucas was waiting for that extra ounce to accrue, just so for once in his life he could be the big brother, too.

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. Liveblogging labour – part three
2. Liveblogging labour – part five
3. Lessons learned from a post-due baby

I’ve told the story here before about how when Tristan was born almost six years ago, although we knew his first name from the time we found out we were having a boy, we had some trouble deciding on what to do for a surname. Beloved and I couldn’t leave the hospital until we completed his health card application, and of course his health card application needed a surname. In the end, we hyphenated our surnames.

This time, when we left the hospital we left behind a health card application that showed the same hyphenated last name that he’ll share with Tristan and Simon, but in the space designated for his first name, we simply put “Baby Boy.” We had a name in mind, had been 60 to 80% settled on it for months, but we just weren’t sure. And for the longest time, we had absolutely no idea about a middle name.

About two weeks ago, we decided on a middle name, and then toyed with that as a first name for a while. Then, yesterday morning when Beloved came to rescue us from the hospital and bring us home, he reintroduced a name we had been toying with a few months ago and I found myself caught between two names I liked very much. We went from no name to too many names!

So we spent the first 40 hours or so calling him Baby and Baby Brother and Little One, and testing out all the name combinations we could think of. After spending the first night in the hospital trying out one and the first night at home trying out the other, we’ve finally (oh how I hope it’s FINALLY) come to a decision. My apologies, Nancy, because he was very nearly Benjamin. I love love love the name Ben, and it’s only the fact that we have a recently deceased and wickedly mean cat named Ben (who really never did stop hating me in the 10 years we lived together) that made us finally decide against the name Ben.

And so, with no further ado (and hopefully, no further changes of heart!) I am actually tearing up just a little bit as I introduce to you the Player Now Named:

Lucas Sawyer

(And he already has his own photo album on Flickr!)

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. The naming of Tristan Louis and Simon Francis
2. Naming the Player to be Named Later
3. I swear that’s not what his birth certificate says

HE’S HERE! 10lbs. 1oz and 23 inches long.  All done without the aid of an epidural. Take a look.

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. Thoughts on induction and actually having this baby
2. Plan B: Week two update
3. The littlest enforcer

Just one last post before we head out to the hospital for the induction! The hospital called to have us come in for 7:30, but when I called the student midwife she called the hospital back to delay it until 8:30 to give the other midwife time to sleep after their long day yesterday. Just waiting for Granny and Papa Lou to arrive, and for my last cup of coffee to percolate.

Can you believe this agreeable little baby of mine actually let me sleep somewhere around seven hours last night? It took me a while to fall asleep, which never happens, but I slept pretty well in two and three hour chunks and was fast asleep when the hospital called at 6:00. I had a few contractions on and off, but nothing regular and nothing painful. (I’m sure I’ll be having those soon enough!)

By the way, the title of this post was inspired by my mom, who started reciting the lines of the old poem at the beginning of the week when we were first facing a Tuesday’s child (full of grace). I’ll admit that when I thought my water broke at 1:15 on Wednesday morning, one of my first thoughts was “Oh no! Wednesday’s child is full of woe!” But Friday’s child is loving and giving, and I can confirm that because I’m a Friday’s child, too! *grin* What day were you born?

At least, this child BETTER be born on Friday!!!

Unfortunately, I won’t be bringing my laptop to the hospital (no wi-fi, darn!) but I’ll have my notebook and my camera… and lots of juicy details for you in the next couple of weeks. Thanks again for playing along with me yesterday, I can’t imagine a more fun way to pass a very strange but ultimately memorable and enjoyable day!

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. This may turn out to be a very long day
2. Liveblogging labour – part five
3. Again with the pregnant stuff

The midwife has come and gone. One of my favourite memories of this labour, if not this entire pregnancy, will likely be Tristan and Simon, clad in their pyjamas, creeping down the stairs to see what the midwife was doing, and having them and Beloved sitting on the floor together across the room, listening to Baby’s heartbeat on the doppler. You can’t buy memories like that!

Still not much in the way of contractions, but the Player to be Named Later and I continue to fare well. Assuming I don’t go into active labour some time overnight (which would hardly surprise me, given his to-date propensity for nighttime shenanigans), we’ll head out to the Montfort tomorrow morning between 8:30 and 9:00 for the induction. The midwife said I could actually continue to wait it out, as long as FOUR DAYS!!!! That is just not going to happen, if for no other reason than the leaking would in fact make me lose my mind. The midwife checked with the hospital on her way over, and though they have five people on a list for induction tomorrow, they will make room for me and my ruptured membranes.

So I guess I’ll watch LOST and then just go to bed. (On a really thick stack of towels and waterproof crib pads!) Seems ridiculously anticlimactic after this very strange day, but I don’t know what else to do! As if I’ll actually get a decent night’s sleep, but I’ll give it a good try anyway. Lying calmly in the darkness, being grateful for a bountiful life, is almost as good as eight hours of sleep, right?

This has been a blast today — thanks for coming along for the ride!!

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. Off again. On again? Off again. On again?
2. In which her baby continues to refuse to be born
3. Lessons learned from a post-due baby

Okay, seriously? This has to be one of the weirdest labours ever. I was just playing Wii Bowling with the boys, trying to stimulate some contractions (hey, it’s not in the literature as a contraction-inducer, but you never know!) when the student midwife called. My new primary midwife is on her way home from the clinic, and is going to stop by the house to check on me and the baby. I can’t imagine THAT ever happening with an OB!

Gotta run, I’m up….

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. Liveblogging labour – part three
2. Liveblogging labour – part five
3. Friday’s child is loving and giving

Coming up on 4 pm, seven hours since my water started breaking (and breaking, and breaking). It was a nice, quiet afternoon but now everyone is home. Beloved and Tristan are playing The Incredibles on the computer, Simon is watching TVO Kids and I’m wondering exactly when the contractions will begin in earnest. There have been a few more recently, but still very mild and sporadic.

I’m kind of bummed about the midwife situation. My primary midwife goes off call at 5 pm, so she won’t be there for the birth, and the secondary (who I really, really like) is currently attending a long first birth with the student midwife I have also come to like very much. The student, Amanda, has promised to try to make an appearance at my labour, depending on how the other one goes.

The good news is, I think we’ve found a way for my mom to be there. If I go tonight, Papa Lou will stay with the boys until the nanny comes to take over for the morning, so we should be covered in any case. I’m so pleased that my mom will be able to be there!

And now you have to give kudos to Beloved, who not only went to the drugstore to restock my supply of feminine hygiene products, but did so without complaint. Does he rock or what?

And so we wait. And wait. And wait. Any thoughts on what I should make for dinner? I’m thinking anything heavy on garlic, onion or spices is probably not the best idea, but since the baby has dropped into my pelvis and given me a little bit more room near my stomach, I’m STARVING!

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. Liveblogging labour – part four
2. Liveblogging labour – part five
3. Sploosh!

If only you could have seen me. I got annoyed at the lack of contractions (two between 11:30 and 12:00, then nothing) so I decided I was going to take the dog for a walk. But, I’m leaking like friggin’ Niagara Falls. So I took a page from Ingrid and Allison’s book and stuck a washcloth in my underwear along with the pad and pulled on my coat and boots. But as soon as I opened the door, I saw all that fluffy white snow that has been falling all morning, and knew that’s what I had to do.

Shovel the driveway.

And with each push of the shovel, more water leaked out. I shovelled the entire driveway, and soaked my pants to the knees.

And still nothing.

Gonna be a long day….

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. If I don’t blog soon, I’ll burst
2. The case of the missing mittens
3. Some random thoughts on snow

Okay, so my concentration is a little shot and I keep wandering back to the computer after every half task or so. I’m all by myself here, and not doing anything productive anyway — might as well keep y’all posted!

First, I forgot how much I hate the leaking. Hate. The. Leaking. I can’t concentrate on anything, can’t get anything done, because every time I move I can feel more leaking and it’s toying with the frazzled remnants of whatever sanity I have left at this point. (TMI alert, consider yourself warned! I’m on my second pair of underwear, something like my seventh pad, and I’ve abandoned my pants entirely. Send Depends!!)

Second, I just called Beloved to let him in on our little secret. (Hell, I could barely hold of on telling the Internets about the positive pregnancy test before I told him, so you got this scoop first.) He’s teaching this morning, and I thought I had waited long enough to catch him in between classes, but when he answered and I asked if I could talk, he said he just had to step out for a moment. There was a loud and raccous cheer from his students, who have been expecting my call right along with him for about the last, oh, four weeks or so. The cheer was so loud and heartfelt it actually brought tears to my eyes! (Heck, who am I kidding, they’re just happy because they’re getting out of class this afternoon!)

Third, I am LOVING your captchas!!! Remind me to send links to these posts to the guys who created that app after all this is done – I don’t think they ever expected anyone to get so much enjoyment out of them!!

STILL no contractions.

Ugh, the leaking… I can’t believe I was actually looking forward to this!!!

Related posts (automatically generated):

1. Liveblogging labour – part two
2. Liveblogging labour – part five
3. Snack time

Hey, guess what? Breaking news – or should that be breaking water? I’m leaking. Really leaking. A lot! Even women gestating elephant calves don’t have *these* kind of bladder control issues!

Waiting for the midwife to call back… still no contractions.

And you know why my water is breaking as we speak? Because tonight is Survivor Fans versus Favourites AND the new episode of LOST, and they’re on back to back on different channels and I don’t know how to set the VCR to tape both of them. (Yes, I’m about to go into labour and my biggest dilemma is which show to tape and whether I have enough time to learn how to set the VCR. I’m just that shallow.)

Edited to add: the theme of this pregnancy really is turning out to be “hurry up and wait.” Since I’m still not having any contractions (but there is absolutely no doubt in my mind – nor my soaked pants! – that this is the real deal) I’m just supposed to hang around here and wait for something else exciting to happen. The midwife will call me around lunchtime to see if contractions have started and talk about next steps, which will likely include another 40 km round-trip drive to their office this afternoon for another assessment.

Really, I’m sure there are more important things I’m supposed to be doing right now…

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1. Liveblogging labour – part three
2. Off again. On again? Off again. On again?
3. Liveblogging labour – part five

Okay, I admit it: it’s been fun dragging y’all along on this crazy ride with us. While I tend to never do things the easy way, I had no idea there would be this much suspense and drama in awaiting the arrival of the player to be named later — and you’re right, I’ve been milking it for all it’s worth!

But suddenly, I’m thinking that maybe I’ve been a little bit too forthcoming with every excruciating little detail. Maybe there is such a thing as “too much information” after all. You are all dying of curiousity, I know, and I find myself in the unenviable position of having to admit to the Internets that apparently, um, er, well, I just peed my pants last night after all. No amniotic fluid. No water breaking. No pending labour. Oh, the indignity of it all.

So now we know one thing at least: apparently there is no level to which I won’t stoop for good blog fodder. That, and this is one stubborn baby.

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3. Liveblogging labour – part one

The last 24 hours have gone something like this:

6 am Tuesday: been awake for two hours. Waiting for hospital to call with time for induction.

7 am: Midwife calls. Induction is canceled.

9 am: Send boys to nanny’s house. Spend large part of the morning sulking, then decide to shake it off. Haul out sewing machine to finish receiving blankets. Watch episode of House on DVD. Read book. Try to nap, but startled awake after 10 minutes by sound of cat falling into the toilet.

2:30 pm: Call midwife to enquire about afternoon appointment for stretch and sweep and possibility of ultrasound this week. Told to come in for 3:30 pm.

3:30 pm: Midwife gives me appointment slip for ultrasound at 6 pm. Does stretch and sweep – I am now 3 cm+ dilated. Tells me the hospital is so overbooked that three priority inductions have been bounced until tomorrow. My induction is rescheduled for NEXT TUESDAY!!! We discuss various options, but decide to await ultrasound results. If baby is fine, no reason not to just continue waiting it out. We joke about how ridiculously healthy I am — blood pressure is low and steady, urine test is clean, there is nothing we can manufacture to elevate me on the priority list. There remains the possibility that I get bumped next Tuesday as well. This may well turn out to be a Valentine’s Baby after all.

4:00 pm: During the half-hour drive home, I go from being comepletely demoralized at the idea of having to wait for another week to cheerful and relaxed again, thinking that if more waiting is the worst news of the day, I can handle that.

6:00 pm: Ultrasound shows baby is perfectly healthy. Lots of fluid, placenta looks strong. Tech measures baby’s femur and takes a long look at Beloved and I and asks how tall we are. She says this will be an exceptionally long (but likely skinny) baby. Still in the 9 to 10 lbs range, in her estimation, but tending toward long and lean (like Tristan) rather than round (like Simon). I feel very much reassured and settle in to wait it out.

10:00 pm: I go to bed, read for a few minutes, and fall asleep.

1:15 am Wednesday: Wake up with hips locked (as usual), needing to pee desperately (as usual). As I turn over, there is a gush of — something. I get up to pee, but can’t tell if it has been a urine leak or my water breaking. I go back to bed, thinking if it really is my water breaking, it will make itself known soon enough. Suddenly, I am having very strong, very real contractions, and have about five of them over the next hour. Before they fade away to nothing.

2:00 am to 6:00 am: Try desperately to go back to sleep. Use relaxation techniques, visualization, deep breathing, walking around the house, but nothing works. No more significant contractions, but baby is hyperactive all night. I vacillate all night between “that was my water breaking” and “go back to sleep, it was nothing.” Each time I start to fall asleep, restless legs twitch me awake again. It’s hard to believe that I will be *more* sleep deprived than this after the baby finally arrives.

6:15 am: Simon arrives and crawls into bed with me. I give up on sleeping. Will call midwife after 7 am to check with her. Mild, sporadic contractions continue.

Edited to add: Another appointment this afternoon after 3 pm to check the nature of the fluid. Will just hold out and hang around to see what the day brings, I guess!

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Okay, seriously? This is not so funny any more.

My induction was canceled. Tomorrow doesn’t look very promising, either. And of course, there is a stunning absence of any sign that this baby might make his own way out into the world.

I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry at this point. I’m not even sure what my more rational options are. The midwife will call this hospital again this afternoon to see what the situation looks like for Wednesday and Thursday, but she sounded pretty doubtful. Because I’m not a “priority” (and only a baby way overdue or in distress will make me one, despite his massive girth) there’s not much to be done. She said I can come by the office later this afternoon for another “stretch and sweep” but since the first one didn’t do much, I’m not holding out much hope there.

She really surprised me by saying that if I’m desperate for the induction, she can transfer my care to an OB and they can schedule the induction at one of the larger hospitals in town, where the midwives don’t have privileges, but I’m just not sure that’s the right course. At least, not right now.

I’m only worried about the health of the baby at this point. I can wait it out if he can. The only thing I’m going to push for today is an ultrasound to make sure he’s still doing alright in there, as I haven’t had one since just before Christmas. (With Simon, they deemed me ‘high risk’ because of his size when I went past 40 weeks, and I was having ultrasounds every second day. I realize the high risk designation would also take me out of my midwife’s care and into an OB situation, but I think one ultrasound is a reasonable request. She said we could discuss further this afternoon after she’s had a chance to talk to the hospital again and when I go in for the SNS, but said their ‘protocol’ definitely calls for one when I’m 41 weeks. I don’t think I want to wait for Friday for this, though. Wait for the induction, fine if I must, but I want the reassurance of that ultrasound. They’ve got me too freaked out about his size — not getting him out, but just his general well-being in there.)

Sigh. I guess y’all get to enjoy yet another couple of days of me bitching about my uncooperative uterus. Lucky you.

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So it looks like I’ll be induced after all. Am I surprised? No. Am I disappointed? Yeah, a little bit. I have been looking forward to the surprised delight of that moment when I really *knew* I was in labour — the escalating contractions, the surprise water breaking (not, as I had feared what seems like years ago, on the bus!), the phone calls to summon family and labour partners, the excitement of spontaneity. Simply packing up and driving to the hospital as if for a regular old appointment is rather anticlimactic after the endless scenarios I’d been envisioning over the past few weeks.

Induced labours are also a little harder on the body, with more powerful and intense contractions. I had been non-commitally thinking that maybe I’d try this labour without an epidural. Third labours are supposed to be shorter (gawd, after 27 and 23 hours, it couldn’t possibly be longer!) and in both previous labours the anesthesiologist had such a hard time getting the damn epidurals to work that I was practically drug-free for Simon anyway. (For Tristan, I ended up dead numb from my ankles to my rib cage after the second epidural, because the first one wouldn’t ‘take’.) So because I am feeling no fear right now, and because I know I can do this, I’m considering a drug-free birth… in the cool calm of the penultimate evening, at least.

I’m surprisingly calm about the idea of the labour and delivery. This may in fact be some form of denial on my part. Honestly, I’m actually looking forward to it. Knowing this is the last time I’ll ever be going through this, and having absolute relatively strong confidence in my ability to birth babies, makes me look forward to the whole thing with anticipation. The midwives have helped me hone this attitude, too. I feel confident that they’ll be there to help me navigate the pain in a natural sort of way, and as long as we get things rolling tomorrow as planned, my favourites of the midwifery team will be there. I’m curious to see how different the experience is with them. They know I’m willing to try med-free, but I’ve also said that I reserve the right to change my mind and that it’s important to me that they respect my decision if enough time remains for the epidural and I change my mind. Since I’m already around 3 cm dilated, who knows how long we’ll have? (Then again, given my current inability to sustain a set of contractions, who knows how long this induction might take?)

So the deal, as I understand it, is that the hospital will call me some time very early tomorrow morning with instructions. I imagine they could tell me anything from “be here in an hour” to “come in for 8 pm” to “we’ve just had a baby rush, we’ll have to put you off until tomorrow.” I’m only 40w4d as of tomorrow, and baby is in no distress, so the only thing that puts me on the priority list is the fact that he’s enormous and growing by the day. My fundal height is already way over 41 weeks, so he’s a big’un. Tristan was 9 lbs and Simon 10 lbs, so another 10 lbs-er isn’t out of the question. If they induce me during the day, my mom and Beloved will both be able to attend the birth as the boys will be with our darling nanny, but I can only ask her to look after them until dinner time or so. I’d really like my mom to be there, but she’ll have to take care of them for the evening and overnight, so I’m hoping for a daytime labour and birth!

Whatever time I’m summoned to the hospital, they’ll try cervadil first, and break my water if the baby is low enough. (Simon was minus 3 station even after a dozen hours of induction intervention at the hospital and so high up my cervix that they simply couldn’t break my water without risking cord prolapse.) Pitocin is the absolute last resort, and with Simon they had cranked the drip up to the maximum through the endless induction and still he almost didn’t come out. We were just discussing the possibility of a c-section (at which point I cried like a baby in fear and disappointment) to go in and get him when my water broke and he came barrelling out within an hour or so.

After all this time, it seems kind of surreal to be sitting here thinking about the fact that I’ll likely (but not definitely!!) be having this baby tomorrow. I’m sure there are things I’m supposed to be doing, and I have been extra cuddly with the boys this evening, but I just can’t wrap my brain around the fact that the time is actually nigh!! I’ve been teased so many times by the potential of his imminent arrival that I just can’t believe that it is actually going to happen — talk about cry wolf!

(Speaking of cry wolf, just as I am about to hit “publish” on this long and rambly post, there goes the first contraction I’ve felt in about eight hours. O treacherous uterus, you do vex me so…)

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I wish the last three weeks of this pregnancy could have been as blissfully content as the last four days or so have been. Starting with a quiet day to myself on Thursday, each of the last couple of days – even including the snowstorm – have been such a nice contrast to the constant low-level tension I’d been feeling in the back-and-forth, hurry-up-and-wait anxiety of the days since I finished work. I honestly can’t remember the last time I felt so calm, so centred and so content. Calm before the storm? Probably, but I’ll take it!!

Yesterday, the midwife did the “stretch and sweep” and I went from 2 cm to just over 3 cm dilated, which is great. With Simon, it took about 12 hours of medical intervention at the hospital to get that far, so I’m quite pleased. Still no regular or significant contractions, but tonnes of pressure. Today, tomorrow, Tuesday — it’s all good!

The midwives would really prefer that I go into labour on my own, rather than waiting for the induction on Tuesday. I think they’re more anxious than I am at this point! They suggested I try one last level of ‘natural’ induction before Tuesday, so after my appointment yesterday I headed out to the homeopathic chemist to get some Blue Cohosh or Caulophyllum. I waited until this morning to try it (I take a couple of tiny tablets every hour for three or four hours, and if nothing happens by then, it won’t work) and so far I’ve had some more mild contractions but nothing notable.

By now, I’m a walking encyclopedia of induction techniques! Here’s what I’ve tried:

• sex (fun, but awkward while gestating an elephant calf)
• spicy food (not much of a stretch for me – they make up a regular part of my diet. I also tried Chinese food for lunch one day last week. Nothing!)
• driving down a bumpy road (this one was not intentional, but Riverside Drive – the road I take to get to my midwife appointments – is a mess of frost-heaved pavement and potholes, thus quite the bumpy ride!)
• exercise (I spent more time in the gym last week than I did in the past six weeks. Funny how I could do 25 minutes on th elliptical trainer, but not walk for 10 minutes.)
• red raspberry leaf tea (I gave up on this mid-week last week.)
• evening primrose oil (swallow one capsule at bedtime and take the other as a pessary)
• nipple stimulation (very effective for bringing on immediate contractions, but ultimately ineffective unless your body is really ready to give birth. That’s what happened to me last Thursday with the all-night contractions.)
• accupressure on a point in the webbing between thumb and index finger, and just above the ankle (same as nipple stimulation – effective to bring on immediate mild contractions that stop pretty much as soon as the pressure stops.)
• having the midwife strip my membranes (uncomfortable, and marginally useful in increasing dilation. Left me with an achy kind of cramp for most of the day, and only sporadic contractions.)

The midwife also asked me how I felt about castor oil (no thanks) and accupuncture (too cheap to spend the $50+ on something that I’m not sure would work, and am relatively sure would be unpleasant!), so those are the only suggestions that I haven’t tried so far.

By this point I’ve had 12 continuous hours of false labour (10 days ago), lost my mucous plug (five days ago), and had a huge burst of nesting energy (three days ago).

The final analysis? You can neither predict nor induce labour on your own. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING will encourage a baby out of a comfy uterus before he is ready to move. And given the fact that I’m now three for three on overdue babies, I must have one hell of a comfy uterus!

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1. Liveblogging labour – part five
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Hey, that’s not right! The counter on my baby countdown ticker went to zero yesterday and is now going in reverse, showing one day to go. No no no, I EARNED that “due date plus one” designation. What do you think of these tickers instead?

(Cutesy overload, I know. Good thing I’m not having glucose issues with this pregnancy.)

Regardless, I’m quite grateful to the Player to be Named Later for holding off yesterday. Aside from Simon’s birthday, we received about 30 cm (12 inches) of snow, and I don’t think the commute across town to the hospital would have been pleasant. It’s clear and blue this morning, and looks to stay that way for the next couple of days.

My darling midwife called yesterday and asked if I could come in for an off-hours appointment today. She’ll likely do a “stretch and sweep”, where she’ll stimulate the production of prostaglandins by separating the bottom of the amniotic sac from the wall of my uterus — hopefully, inducing labour. She also suggested a castor oil cocktail, but I just can’t bring myself to go that far. Feel free to violate my nether regions, but don’t make me poop this baby out. Even I have my limits!

And, here’s the really exciting news: my official hospital inducement has been scheduled for Tuesday, February 5. It is, of course, subject to operational capabilities of the hospital (meaning I’ll be delayed if there is a sudden baby rush) but safe to say that baby will be making his big debut by the end of next week at the very latest.

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I had another appointment with the midwife yesterday. The synopsis: Yep, still pregnant. Yep, still huge – baby continues to be in the 90th percentile for size, meaning he’s bigger than 90 per cent of babies at this gestational age. Yep, mommy and baby still healthy and hearty, if not a little stressed (he’s fine, I’m a little frazzled). Yep, we’ll see you at your appointment next Wednesday — if we don’t see you before that.

I was telling her what I posted about yesterday, that the waiting is not the worst thing but the false starts and rather nauseating pattern of raised expectations and dashed hopes. She smiled knowingly and with sympathy and said, “Oh yes, the third child syndrome.”

The what? There’s an actual SYNDROME and nobody told me? Apparently third babies tend to do this. They toy with mother’s sanity, playing these coy games. She assured me that fourth babies do not do this. I said it’s a wonder there ever ARE any fourth babies, after all this!!

She also made me laugh when she observed that the midwives say there is a certain “look” in the eyes of near-term mothers. At first, I thought she was meaning that there is some sort of ephemeral sign they can read, meaning the baby’s arrival is pending. But no, this is more of an emotional barometer, maybe a little bit too much white showing around the edges of mom’s eyes, or a bit of a twitch, that indicates a woman has had entirely enough of being pregnant, thank-you-very-much. And yes, she was reading hints of *that* look in my eyes. Snicker. I coulda told you that for free!

Not only is tomorrow baby’s official due date, it’s Simon’s birthday AND they’re forecasting a winter storm. I figure after nine months of desperately hoping that I don’t actually deliver on February 1, this combination of circumstances virtually guarantees that he will in fact arrive tomorrow. Murphy’s Third Child Law or something like that! And if he doesn’t come tomorrow, I’m thinking we’re going to have to go in and get him. I signed the paperwork yesterday to start setting up the induction for some time late next week. Damn stubborn babies who don’t listen from BEFORE day one — sheesh!!

So, I’ve been rather self-centred lately — but very much enjoying all your comments and kind words. It’s a beautiful sunny (if not a little frigid) morning here in Ottawa, and I’m about to drop the boys off at the nanny’s house for the day. Life is really not so bad, ya know? What’s lovely in your corner of the world today?

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I’m trying to be patient, I really am! But it seems like every time I settle in and convince myself that there is nothing to do but wait it out and enjoy these last few days, my body throws something new at me that gets me all excited again — for nothing!!!

While my labours with Tristan and Simon were quite different in a lot of ways (with Tristan I went into labour spontaneously two days past my due date, and with Simon I was induced 10 days past my due date) in the end they were both fairly linear in their progression. Once labour started, it moved, albeit at differing speeds and stages, pretty much unerringly toward birth.

Not so much this time around. Believe it or not, I’m fairly content with the waiting. At the most, this baby will be here sometime in the next 10 days or so, and that seems perfectly reasonable to me. It’s the “Ohhh, I think this is it, here we go!!” excitement, followed by the letdown of “Oh, never mind, we’re back to waiting again” that’s really starting to fray my nerves. First there was the 12 hours of progressive contractions last Thursday, after which it took me about three days to get my head back into a place where I was content to wait it out another week or more. Then yesterday with the lost mucous plug, I really thought we were good to go, until my midwife confirmed that in the absence of other symptoms, it really doesn’t mean much more than “Baby could come any time in the next couple of days or weeks.” Whimper.

You might remember my sweet bloggy friends in Toronto and environs got together and chipped in for an absolutely gorgeous hand-made baby blanket and pillow for the Player to be Named Later. Yesterday, just as I was trying to wrangle my excitement over the non-progress of the lost mucous plug back into perspective, the doorbell rang. It was the postlady, with a package from Marla.

In the package were the blanket and pillow and an equally adorable little taggie blanket for baby to play with, and there was also an extra little care package from Marla and Josie.

Look at these and tell me they are not the most adorable things you’ve ever seen!!

Marla has predicted that Baby was simply waiting for his care package to arrive, and would make his grand entrance within 24 hours of me receiving it. So Canada-Post-As-Oracle dictates that he has until shortly after noon today to arrive. Hmmmm, unless this is a *really* sudden and fast labour….. but I’m secretly hoping she’s right!!

Thank you again to Ann and Andrea and Jen and Nicole and Kate and Nadine, and especially to Marla and Josie. I love all of you!

Or, maybe the Player to be Named Later is just waiting to see the outcome of the Canadian Blog Awards. Today is the final day for voting, so if you haven’t done so already, this is your last chance to vote for us! Don’t do it for me, do it for Baby! (Shameless, aren’t I?)

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My brain is moving even more incrementally slowly than my cervix. Two days ago, I posted about a song that made me think of the end of pregnancy. Yesterday, I posted about my iPod. Today, how about suggestions for a playlist for labour?

A while back, I had a post about the best pregnancy songs, and y’all had some great suggestions. Labour is a different creature altogether. You want some loud, harsh music to drown out the contractions, some soothing songs for those quiet lulls, and some high-energy music to inspire you through to the finish. (At the very least, I’ve gone through and made sure all the Christmas music has been removed from the iPod once and for all. I can only imagine how irrationally irritating it would be to be labouring along and suddenly have the Twelve Days of Christmas stuck in my head!)

Any thoughts on what you had or would want on your delivery-room playlist?

I’ve had a Twitter account for half a year or more, but never actually got around to using it. For those of you who don’t know it, Twitter is a way of broadcasting what you’re up to, in 140 characters or less. It reminds me of the “status” feature on Facebook. So, rather than sticking up random blog posts, I can keep y’all updated through the Twitter badge over there in the sidebar, just under the (really rather annoying and kind of creepy) Babywatch ticker. If I wasn’t so embarrassingly technologically inept, I could probably figure out how to send updates from my cell phone. But I am, and besides, Beloved is carrying the cell around like a talisman these days, waiting for his summons!

So, as long as I’m within arm’s reach of the computer (and those of you with whom I’m currently playing Scrabulous know is most of the time!) I’ll post an update at least every couple hours. All DaniGirl’s Uterus All The Time — does it get anymore embarrassingly narcissistic exciting than that?

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