December 6th, 2022 | 8:11 am

Dearest Olive,

Today is a big day for your mama. I can’t believe we’ve had an entire year together already. I’ve cried so much leading up to today, looking through the hundreds of photos we’ve taken over the last 365 days and thinking just how quickly time has gone. I wanted to share with you your birth story. I do wish I’d written it sooner, when my memory was more fresh, but the initial postpartum time was so hard on us and time kept slipping away. So here it is. Documented on the world wide web for us to revel in one day together when you get older.

Pregnancy was overall pretty difficult - I was so sick, with nausea that seemed to stick around until 30 or so weeks and intense vomiting that left me with blown capillaries more than once. Then, it was around the 30th week that I started noticing your position: transverse, or laying sideways in my belly, like it was a cozy little hammock for you to snuggle in for the rest of your days inside. I did so much positioning work but nothing seemed to help until the very last day before our 37 week appointment, where I was expecting to make the decision of whether an external cephalic version (ECV) was necessary. To my relief, you had flipped head down and rested your back on my left side. As a birth worker and anxious expecting mom, this had me overjoyed. Two days later, I went in for a followup appointment to confirm you were there to stay. You were, but my blood pressure started showing signs of being elevated. From there, I began routine at-home blood pressure monitoring and it wasn’t long that I was diagnosed with gestational hypertension. My labs confirmed no pre-eclampsia was imminent, and I felt comfortable continuing self-monitoring at home, but the doctors suggested an induction at 39 weeks at the latest.

The weekend before you were born, your Papa and I had plans with our friends - video gaming with the guys and prepping the house and freezer with the ladies. It was a perfect way to take our minds away from the anxiety of the impending induction process and prepare for your arrival home.

The day before you were born, I woke up at 5am with the subtle hints of early labor: lots of cramping that differed immensely from the braxton hicks I was used to and the initial release of my mucus plug. I was so encouraged and relieved my body was starting do things on its own, even if just these few baby steps toward actual labor. And in hindsight, it’s these baby steps that I credit such a swift onset of labor to. I had an adjustment and massage scheduled to occupy most of my day, and spent the rest of the day anxiously packing and repacking my bags (instead of napping like I very well should have been) and grocery shopping for a ridiculous amount of snacks for what I thought would be the many days of hard work ahead. I was so scared and nervous, having witnessed hundreds of births beforehand and yet having no idea what laid ahead for your birth. And when the time came, I cried the entire way to the hospital while I gripped your Papa’s hand, knowing our lives were about to change forever no matter how it was all about to unfold.

We got to Methodist at 8pm and took some time settling in. Your Papa had to make multiple trips to the car to bring in all the bags and coolers and pillows and blankets we had packed. In my clients’ experiences, inductions can take multiple days and I wanted us to be as cozy as possible for the long haul I had anticipated.

Once all was said and done, the initial dose of medication was started around 10pm. We chose cervadil as the best option for my body after our doctor did a cervical exam. I was maybe half a centimeter dilated, and I can’t even remember the other measurements they gave me, but that you were still sitting high in my pelvis and my cervix was somewhat firm yet. I had also asked for some vistaril to help me sleep and put on some HypnoBabies tracks to calm my nerves.

Around 12:30am I felt like labor was getting started. I was still able to lay in bed and rest between contractions, but I was having to vocalize through them and rest was getting harder and harder. Looking back, active labor was underway at about 2:30am, though in the moment, I was convinced it was just the induction medication making things seem more intense than what was happening internally. I was leaking fluid and the nurse removed the cervadil. Contractions were 2 minutes apart and I had to get up and move with them. It was so intense, I felt the need to start exploring comfort options. I started with the nitrous, but was surprised to really dislike the way it made me feel nauseous. I then hopped in the birth tub and it gave me the relief I was hoping for, but really only for 5 or so minutes until the intensity came roaring back, with contractions close together again. It was about 5am at this point, and I asked for an epidural and Joe texted our doula, Gina, to join us. I thought it was far too soon for both, “just the medication making things seem more intense.” Though, at this point, my body was doing everything on its own for a full 2 hours, but labor is no place for rational thinking and what I really needed was to get out of my head. I had initially been against taking the IV fentanyl, but I simply could not wait another hour or more for the epidural to kick in so I requested that to provide me with a much needed 30 minute break. Once that wore off, I remember spending a lot of time in the bathroom, alternating between sitting on the toilet and standing. I braced myself in the doorway, and kicked my legs back behind me - something I was intuitively doing as I started to feel the urge to push with each contraction. “It’s too soon, I can’t push on an incomplete cervix, my baby is likely just in a position where they’re pushing against my sacrum,” anxious thoughts rushed through my brain. Back and forth I went between labor land and intuitive movement, and getting stuck in my head again. But I couldn’t help but give way to the pushing urges and it made the contractions much more tolerable.

It took some time to get the epidural started, as they had to take my labs due to the hypertension, and getting the results back was delayed for some reason or another. Around 6:15am the anesthesiologist walked in and I couldn’t have been more relieved to see her. The epidural was placed and my doctor did a cervical exam. I was absolutely shocked to learn I was 10cm and the pushing had already positioned you low in my pelvis. I was so exhausted from the intensity of the last 7 hours and was hoping to “labor down” to let the epidural kick in before pushing but my doctor and Gina told me it was simply time to meet you. I pushed for another hour in lots of positions - on my sides, hands and knees, and loved how much control I had. At last, you were born at 8:11am. You had a short cord (likely why you were in a transverse position for so long) so you had to snuggle on my belly for a moment until your cord stopped pulsating. I announced the sex and your name and then cut your cord when it was ready. I remember looking into your Papa’s eyes feeling overcome with love and this feeling of alertness that made no sense given the intense evening we just endured - oxytocin is such a powerful hormone.

We spent the next several hours skin to skin and trying to nurse, though you had already shown us a glimpse of the oral restrictions that were to burden us for the months to come. We watched Christmas movies as you slept on my chest. During our childbirth education class, Gina had asked us how we would define a successful birth for ourselves, and it was that we’d be open to having another baby after your birth. It was between those Christmas movies that I looked at your Papa and exclaimed how excited I was to see you as an older sister one day. A successful birth, indeed.

I love you so much, I’m beside myself at how it’s possible to love you more with each day. We’ve had an amazing first year together navigating the highs and lows of postpartum and parenthood together. May this year bring us more laughter and joy, and maybe even a younger sibling for you!

A note to others reading this:

Every birth is different and requires its own set of care, comfort, and attention. And every induction medication and method can contribute (or not) to labor progress differently from one person/pregnancy to the next. Whether it be more natural induction techniques at home, a castor oil smoothie recipe given by a birth center, or one if the various medical induction methods at a hospital, each one may play a different role. In no way is this blog post to be used as medical advice. It is simply our story, recalled as I remember it. This also doesn’t impact the ways in which I support or advise others going forward. I’ve been to enough births by now to know that this is one of literally hundreds of ways in which a baby can be born, and it is unique to each individual birthing experience.