the midwife is in and out of the bathroom, where i've offiicially settled into the bath. she's checking the baby's heartbeat with her doppler and asking if she can check how dilated i am - 2 out of 3 times, i don't even answer. i just resume my position on all fours and let the contractions overcome me. she resumes her position of knitting quietly and respectfully on the terrace. she's letting us do our thing - yann is patiently sitting by the bath. what i don't realize is that he's in and out, too. making pot of coffee after pot of coffee and smoking just about a quazillion cigarettes. he even manages to brush his teeth after each one, about a meter away from me, without my even realizing it. i'm in the zone. i don't mind being alone at this point - i know my support system is there. i can feel them. (also yann mentions afterward that at one point i started fixing my hair, putting bobby pins "back in place" and so he kind of took the cue that i was ok...) the only thing that snaps me out of it, is when he tells me his ass hurts from sitting on the side of the bath tub. i say nothing but in the back of my mind i'm thinking, "excuse me?! your ass hurts?!!" but i just go right back to the contractions. they're pretty close together and quite intense but i take them one at a time. no need to rush things, my body is doing exactly what it needs to be doing.
somewhere between 8:55 AM and 9:25 AM i've reached 10 cm but those numbers mean nothing to me anymore. i've been pushing since 9:00 AM and i didn't need anyone to tell me to do so... or count to 10 and tell me to stop pushing. i didn't feel the need to reach the infamous 10 cm to start pushing. i push when my body tells me so. i push when my baby needs me to. i push because it's the only thing that feels good at this point. it's the only thing that's relieving me of the pain from the contractions. i can feel my baby getting closer and closer, i can feel the top of the head starting to show. it's 9:45 AM. the midwife has gotten a small stool and she's sitting at the far end of the tub. her assistant, whom i remember very calmly greeting stark naked in the halfway an hour so before, is standing in the doorway and taking notes. she asks if she can check the baby's heartbeat. i don't even move, in fact i barely let myself hear her. i don't want to be touched. i don't want to be bothered.
i can't find a proper position anymore. i'm squatting. i'm on all fours. i'm on my knees. i can't seem to find a good grip and it's like i want to push harder than my body is allowing me to. in between urges to push, i sit back down. i'm beginning to become exhausted and i'm not seeing the end of the tunnel. i know the baby's right there but given that time no longer means anything to me, it feels like the baby's been right there for an entire day. the midwife checks the baby's heartbeat - 120 beats per minute. i'm back on all fours and i push with all my might. i push knowing it'll bring my baby in my arms. she checks the baby's heartbeat again - 80 beats per minute. i can tell by the look on her face and the tone in her voice, she's worried. she does one more reading. at 10:05 AM, the normally very calm, soft-spoken midwife suddenly roughens up and with so much assurance she could of convinced me to eat soap, she tells me, "you need to get out of the bath. now." she rushes into the room to prepare everything - she takes out the oxygen tank, lays down the disposable medical pads on the bed, sets her dopppler on the side of the bed - while i try with all my might to get up and out of the tub. yann tries to help me in vain but my knees buckle under me. i just don't have the strength to move. he repeats those damned instructions, softly in my ear, "chérie, tu dois sortir du bain." and all i can do is look up and give him a look that ressembles an abandonned puppy dog. he takes my hand, pulls me up and reassures me that it's for the best and that in about 7 steps, i'll be in our bed.
it's now 10:14 AM. the midwife quickly explains that the baby's done its fair share, its been engaged for quite some time now (too long, but she doesn't say that) and that i need to give it my all. she tells me that even though this is exactly the opposite of what i wanted, i need to lay down on my back, put my legs up and push. what she doesn't tell us is that the last heart monitor reading she did came up empty. the baby's heartbeat can no longer be heard. she remains calm and keeps giving directions. she instructs yann to take my legs and pull them over my head, putting some pressure on my stomach - think an empty tube of toothpaste that you're trying to squeeze out the last few drops. she reassuringly tells me, "you need to push with everything you've got and don't stop." yann's holding my legs, the assistant is frantically taking notes and trying to take one more reading of the baby's heart while the midwife is gently but firmly helping the baby's head crown. 60 hearts beat per minute. i can feel it. the ring of fire. the baby's head had crowned. she encourages me to push again. it's 10:20 AM and i give up for the second time. i tell them to leave me alone. that i can't do this. the assitant manages to sneak in another heart reading - empty. the midwife instructs yann to pick up my legs again and tells me that i can. that i need to. for my baby. i just lay there. inert. exhausted.
at, 10:22 AM the monitor shows we're back at 60 heart beats per minute. the baby is alive and well, but also very exhausted. 10:24 AM i hear the midwife use a word i'm unfamiliar with: episiotomy. i feel like things are going too fast for my control. a few seconds later, i hear a word i am familiar with: scissors. i realize that they are about to cut me, in order to ease the baby out. something else i don't want. i'm not a believer but some power from above - or was it my baby or the hormones doing their thing? - give me the strength i need, the strength i thought i no longer thought i had in me, to do what needs to be done. up my legs go, and i just start pushing like my life depends on it - little did i know, my baby's life did depend on it. i push. and push. and push. i barely stop to take my breath. all i know is the assistant now has the scissors in her hands and if i stop pushing long enough, she'll cut. i hear her tell yann, "talk to your baby, tell it to come and meet its parents". i almost burst out laughing. my eyes are closed but i can just imagine yann's dumbfounded face. that's the release i needed. one more push at 10:26 AM and the head is out. sweet deliverance. i take a breather and i know the best is yet to come. one more push and i can finally hold my baby in my arms. i can feel general relief in the room. the midwife tells me to ease the baby out, that its just right there. i push slowly but with intent and out the baby comes... from the midwife's hands to yann's.
september 2, 2011 - 10:28 AM
i've officially become a mother. there it is: my baby. barely any vernix, pink, coneheaded, breathing and as beautiful as they come. perfection, if i can say so myself. i feel like i'm in another world, high as a kite. yann gently places the baby on my abdomen - how fitting to have it lay on its home; to see my empty stomach and the product for those 9 months and 8 days laying on top of it. the midwife notes the time. yann cries. i just take it all in. one moment, one second at a time. i wish i could stretch out the time but the best i can do is observe the scene and soak in every little instant. i think to myself: this is my baby. our baby. i can't really see its face and yet i already know i love it more than life itself. that it is my life. an extension of our love. in that instant it all makes sense. every single moment has had its purpose: the nausea, the back aches, the incessant need to pee, the blocked sciatic nerve, the kicks in the ribs, the tingling, numbing sensation in my fingers, the white dots, the contractions, the pain - it was all part of my journey. each event had its role to play in my preparation for this moment. somewhere between the love i feel for this child and the hormones kicking in, i suddenly forget the 8 hours of pain i just went through. it's all behind me, yet it'll follow me forever. it was all worth it. i look into yann's eyes, and we kiss the longest, most meaningful kiss we've ever shared. everything that means anything to me in this world, in that instant, lays in this bed. the bed where we shared our first kiss. the bed where we first cuddled. the bed where we conceived this child. again, how fitting...
10 minutes have passed - or is it 10 seconds? - and i realize: we still don't know what it is. 9 months and 8 days of wondering. of betting. of arguing. we were so eager to know who was right and frankly, when i finally ask yann to tell me what it is, i don't even care anymore and i can barely remember which sex i was rooting for. "je sais pas" he answers, bends over and keeps crying and hugging us. we just lay there for another 5 minutes - or is it 5 seconds? - and i try bring the baby up higher so i can take a gander myelf. curiosity is getting the best of me, even though, no matter what it is, we already know its name... funny thing is, the umbilical cord is too short. i can't bring the baby any higher. i turn to yann for the second time, ask him to confirm what my heart already knows: it is a she. the most beautiful baby girl i've ever laid my little eyes on. almost 20 minutes have passed, the blood has stopped pumping through the cord and we are finally seperated from each other. yann picks up the odd looking scissors (gosh, i hope that's not what they were planning on cutting me with?!) and tries in vain to cut the cord. much harder than he had anticipated. everyone kind of laughs and he shyly looks over at the midwife. she explains that he'll have to do better than that... with a shaky hand, more strength and a little help from her father, élie geo david becomes her own person at exactly 10:43 AM.
i'm so excited and nervous to finally meet her face to face. we just lay there together. skin against skin, with yann laying next to us. i appreciate the moment of tenderness we get to share. my instinct is to put her to my breast and try to feed her. i'm so into it, i barely hear the midwife tell me i need to push out the placenta... when the phrase sinks in, all i can mutter is, "will this hurt? cause i don't think i have any more energy left in me..." she assures me that on the contrary, it might actually feel nice. and she was right. the warm, gush of placenta comes out with one push and it just feels so wonderful. at 10:48 AM, i am once again alone in my body. it feels a little lonely but i know that as long as i have her by my side, i'm complete.
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