As promised, the birth story of Madeleine Lois, in all its very unexciting details. Because truly, I do not have very interesting or exciting births. But not having anything to say has never stopped me from saying a lot, so here we go! In true-to-me form, I was done being pregnant somewhere around 30 weeks, and already banking on an early delivery. Suffering in silence is not my strong suit, so I started asking my doctor for an induction to be scheduled around, say 12 weeks, and made sure to remind them at every turn that I absolutely did not want to be pregnant a day longer than necessary. I tried the following tactics:
“I’m wondering if we should just go ahead and schedule an induction at, say, 37 weeks, since Etta came so fast and it is such a long drive to the hospital.” (Answer: “No.”)
“You know, with COVID, I’m thinking maybe we should just schedule an induction a couple weeks early so that you can control hospital capacity.” (Answer: “No.”)
“Can we schedule an induction so that I can organize childcare- with COVID our babysitting options are few and far between.” (Answer: “Still no,”)
“I think I should be done being pregnant and I am absolutely certain there is no more room in my womb. Can we induce?” (Answer: “Again- no.”)
But, as happened with both Henry and Etta, I did start dilating by 36 weeks, which kept me hopeful. The tricky think with early babies (ok, or with any baby after the first) is coordinating childcare. We were trying to time my mom coming in such a way that she was here before the baby arrived, but not so long before that she couldn’t stay awhile after the baby was born. And unlike with my two other kids, this time around I was actually having contractions the whole third trimester, every one sending me into mad fits of timing and hoping that I could be done. I was also once again Group B Strep positive, and James was back to panicking that we would have a baby in the car on our long drive to the hospital. As I mentioned here, I woke up a couple days shy of 38 weeks with manatee fins where my feet used to be. I had been having fainting spells with increasing frequency the whole third trimester along with some swelling, but this was a new degree of swollen. While terribly uncomfortable, I was not terribly displeased, as every sign of misery was being added to the list of “Reasons to Beg My Doctors to Induce.” Because I am a crazy person and my brain short circuits during pregnancy. I headed to the doctor for my 38 week appointment (being 37 weeks and 5 days and yes I WAS COUNTING EVERY ONE), having informed the children optimistically that I might not be coming home if they decided it was time to let the baby out. The night before James and I had packed hospital bags because I was just feeling so rotten that we wanted to be prepared in case abject misery meant labor. But alas, still no consistent or painful contractions. Yet when the nurse tasked with taking my vitals had me step on the scales, we both recoiled, as I asked, “Um, that says I have gained 10 lbs in one week and that just doesn’t seem normal.” She mumbled something about it actually being 9.5 lbs and made furious notes on her computer before ushering me into the exam room. The doctor came in and casually asked how I was doing… and I completely lost it. As in, SOBBING. In between sobs, I managed to hiccup out that my feet were huge and I wasn’t sleeping and I was fainting all the time and could WE PLEASE JUST TAKE THE BABY OUT BECAUSE I THINK SHE IS DONE. And people, that merciful doctor said yes. Well to be clear, she said I had dilated past 5cm so we could go next door have this baby, but I would require Pitocin so I would have to be ok with that to which I responded YES LORD I RECEIVE, and then I headed next door in a weepy mess. I just googled “picture of manatee crying” to try to give you a visual, but alas, you will just have to imagine it. I paused outside the hospital to call James and tell him to come quickly, but to first go home and get the tray of homemade chocolate chip cherry granola bars my friend Anna had dropped off yesterday because, priorities and all.
I’m going to briefly gloss over the next hour other than to say that it was not pretty. My emotional stability was not, shall we say, intact, and the poor nurse who had to do all my in take questions basically had to deal with a crazy person, not to mention the COVID test that was shoved up my nose and out my eyeballs, constituting the most painful part of my entire labor. But good news! I was COVID free, which meant that while I still had to labor in a mask, everyone was chill when it came off occasionally. Following the test, James showed up, my epidural was inserted, my Pitocin started flowing and I officially entered my happy place.
Because y’all, I freaking love labor. LOVE IT. As in, long before I was ready to have a third kid I was definitely ready to labor. Some other women feel this way, but typically they are the ones who subscribe to the whole perfect miracle of childbirth/ “this is what your body is designed for” rhetoric. Not this mama. I like my births highly medicated, preferably planned, and in as sterile and medical an environment as possible. And yet, I love them. Nothing feels more empowering than giving birth. And if I may climb on a soapbox for a second, I feel that it is really important to drive this fact home because I feel this way with my pain free and very easy births. There is no prize for labor, no trophy for length of labor or “holding out” against the pain. Motherhood is empowering, so however you get there – tub in your living room, c-section, epidural, stack of adoption paperwork – is worth celebrating and praising. My labors are, historically, fast and easy. When it was time to push I had only been in the hospital a couple hours and a few minutes into pushing, I actually stopped and announced to the room that I wanted to slow down so I could savor it. Yes, they were very weirded out by this. But this might be our last baby. And that powerful moment of bringing her into the world was something that I wanted to really pay attention to, wanted to inscribe into my memory and heart forever. I also informed the room that I felt like a straight up amazonian combo of Beyoncé and Mother Teresa, and they were pretty much like, ok fine just push and maybe keep your mask on.
But I didn’t get to savor it long, because after less than 15 minutes of pushing, she was here – our Madeleine Lois. Our smallest baby, at 6lbs 14 oz, and I wept as they placed her tiny self on my chest. Maddie Lo.
Even thinking about that moment now makes me cry. Because my whole pregnancy, I struggled with her actuality, with really believing that she was real and would be loved and enjoyed. She was an abstraction that I couldn’t connect to. But then she was there, on my chest, her cries filling the room, my tears falling all over her (maybe?) red fuzzy head and the rush of love was so intense that I could barely breathe. My Madeleine, the gift we didn’t know to ask for and could barely wrap our heads around was there and she was absolutely perfect. Now of course, my emotions were not so overpowering that I didn’t place an order for breakfast burrito very soon afterwards, because you know it’s the thing I love only slightly less than labor. I had at least 5 during my stay and every one was as delicious as the last. My low food standards never cease to serve me well in life.
The hospital days are a happy blur. COVID meant no visitors (much to Henry’s sadness), and a third baby meant they pretty much left us alone unless we asked for something. We spent two happy days watching movies and snuggling while we got to bond with our sweet girl. My recovery was insanely easy, a nice respite after the rough pregnancy, or perhaps it felt easy just because I was no longer pregnant and was reveling in my ability to roll over and breathe. Whatever the case, the whole thing just kept on feeling like such a special gift, such a blessing after the hard months that had preceded it. When we brought Madeleine home, the kids swarmed the carseat and Henry, unable to fully process the excitement, just looked up and asked, “Should we sing her a song – should we sing her the Doxology?”
So we did, welcoming Maddie into our house with songs of praise sung- yelled by toddlers over her sleeping head.
Maddie Lo- we are so glad you are ours!