Ezra's Grand Entrance

First of all, let me just shout it to the rooftops that every time I think of the name Ezra Marcel Clive my chest puffs out in sinful pride and I revel in the sound of it.  "Such a strong and sturdy name!" I tell myself.  Beyond that, the namesakes are incredibly wonderful, but that's for a different post.  Also for another post is "So... why did you choose homebirth?" and "Would you do it again?"  Serious FAQs right there.

I'm just going to jump right in to story-telling mode here:

At 38 1/2 weeks along I was so whiny and feeling so sorry for myself that I would have eaten fish eyes (Clives everywhere are rolling their eyes with how underwhelming that thought is) if there was a chance it would put me into labor.  I couldn't sleep because I was so big.  I was getting nausea again, my energy was so limited that I could only go upstairs once per day so I had to ration it thoughtfully.  And everywhere I went for the last 3 months I had been told how huge I was.  It doesn't normally bother me but it got REAL old this time.
 This is about 5 days before he was born, one of the few pics I allowed.

It was a Saturday and Spencer convinced me to take some castor oil and walk and walk and walk.  I did.  The baby was REALLY low and I had been dilated to a 3 two weeks before, so I figured it was worth a shot. 

Late that night my contractions got really regular and really close together, but not really consistently strong.  Not wanting to get caught unawares, we prepared, just in case things escalated quickly.  Spencer and Wendy (the doula) filled up the birthing tub, the Dragoviches came and picked up the kids, and we called the midwife Lucy to give her a heads up.  At about 1 am, things slowed down.  We went to bed and they stopped.  The next morning I was exhausted and disheartened.  I wanted to have a baby.

The next few days were all the same: life as usual, but with contractions.  They got stronger every day.  Each day would end with them getting stronger but not regular.  On Monday night I had to take the girls to Cadence's gymnastics class, and was so embarrassed to have to work through contractions in public, especially when I had one right as Campbell and Layla ran onto the gymnastics equipment and I couldn't chase them down because I was leaning against a wall and breathing through a contraction.

My body was exhausted from all the work it was doing, and emotionally I was totally drained, trying not to get my hopes up or pay attention to the timing.  Spencer's mom flew in on Tuesday evening and she had to drive the car home from the airport because I was having frequent contractions that were not great driving companions.

On Wednesday, July 10, I met up with some friends at the Tropical Smoothie Café for AJ Cude's birthday, a little lunch I had planned for her.  I was sure by that day that timing contractions was just going to jinx me.

That night, as usual, they got worse.  They were now to the point that I had to get down on my hands and knees or have Spencer put counter pressure on my back.  The kids had learned to recognize the signs and Cadence would instruct her sisters to be very quiet and would turn off any bright lights--so sweet--and they would watch my "belly practice squeezing the baby out".  They would quietly discuss the science as they understood it while I breathed and tried to stay relaxed.

The kids went to bed at about 8 or a little after.  We sat down to watch our summer-time favorite series, "America's Got Talent", and I made Spencer pause it when a contraction came on because it was aggravating to me.  We started timing the contractions and for about 30 minutes they were really strong but they were 8-12 minutes apart, so we figured we had a few hours before any real action happened, if anything at all. 

I told myself that this was a drill, just like every night. Suddenly a contraction hit me like a ton of bricks that were covered with electrical wires. Live ones.  We had, without much prior notice, breached the point where Spencer and I couldn't just work through them and then get back to normal life.  I told Spencer to call Wendy (the doula) because I needed her help knowing how to manage these contractions. At that point they went immediately from 8 or 10 minutes apart to 4 minutes.  I don't exactly remember getting into the bedroom but by the time Wendy got there about 10 or 12 minutes later, I was on my knees with my forearms on the seat of the couch in the bedroom and moaning and begging for help.  Spencer and his mom were filling up the birthing tub and Spencer had only just called Lucy (midwife) a minute or two before.

Wendy hunched down next to me and immediately started coaching me through a contraction. By now the contractions were only rising and falling but never stopping.  I asked Wendy if she thought I was really having the baby this time and she assured me that this was definitely it. I was so relieved, in theory, although there was no real relief at hand.  I wanted to get into the water, but I had instructed Spencer and April to make the water pretty warm, not wanting it to be cold in an hour or two when things got crazy (still in denial, I guess).  So now there was a frenzy as Spencer and his mom tried to cool the water enough for me to get in, while Wendy and I were working through transition.  This was all within a couple of minutes of Wendy's arrival.  And just then, my water broke.  On the carpet.  It was such a weird sensation (I've never felt it before!).

Spencer and April were throwing in ice and buckets of cold water to get the temp right for me.  The sound of the ice was such a racket and I yelled out for that to stop. 

Transition was no fun at all (can you believe it?) and all the methods of approaching natural childbirth that I'd read were NOT coming to me.  The only thought I could grab hold of while my whole world was spinning out of control was one line in the blessing Spencer had given me a couple of nights before: You will know that the pain you feel has a good purpose...  Even that thought I could barely keep in my head.

Wendy asked me to move my arms and head to the floor and raise my bottom up as much as I could.  She then instructed me to only exhale in short, quick, low grunts.  This kept me from pushing, the impulse to do which was so strong I could only barely resist.  As I assumed this position, she pushed on my back side as hard as she could and told me that she wasn't here to catch a baby. 

I told Wendy I couldn't do this.  I told her and I meant it.  She reassured me that I was doing great and that I was so much closer than I knew.  Somehow that helped.  I wanted Spencer to come be by my side but I wanted the water even more.

The water was soon declared ready and I directed Wendy to gather my tank top and my swim-skirt, so that I wouldn't be fully exposed.  She told me not to be silly and to just take off my night gown and get in.  I agreed immediately because the thought of changing my clothes while I was in so much pain was completely overwhelming.  Luckily I was already wearing a black sports bra.  That got to stay on. 

As soon as I lowered my huge, exhausted body into the water, I relaxed in the way I couldn't get myself to earlier.  The contractions still sent me reeling out of my mind, but I could get back into my mind and gather my wits just a little, and the weightlessness helped me to get more comfortable.  WATER IS THE WAY TO GO, PEOPLE.

Once I was in the water, Spencer and his mom were able to come be with me again (not in the water).  The lights were dimmed and the peripheral rushing around had stopped.  Soon after, Lucy appeared and checked my progress.  The baby was knocking at my door, so to speak.  I asked her what now?  She said, if you feel like pushing, go ahead, and if you don't, then don't.  That's all you got?!?  I've always had somebody tell me when to push, how long to push, and how to push.  I was sitting in the water, Wendy at my shoulders, Spencer supporting my right arm, and April supporting my left.  I felt such relief when I was told I could push if I wanted because DANG did I want to. 

The next contraction came and I gave it a good push.  I've got to tell you, I was loud.  Not screaming, but loud moaning and grunting and yelling.  So loud that I was hoarse the next day.  I wasn't expecting that.

I pushed slowly and steadily for about 5-7 minutes, I think (time is really non-existent when you are in this state of mind, apparently, so it's really hard to know).  I felt the ring of fire, (when the head begins to crown and there is a burning sensation as things are stretched beyond normal capacity) which I had always feared.  It hurt but compared to everything else that was going on, it was just another drop in the bucket.  I was afraid of panicking and pushing too fast or too slow but with the reassurance of my team, I went as steadily as my body told me to.

 I kept saying, "Spencer, help me!"  I knew he couldn't actually help.  But that was the way I put words to what I was feeling, I guess.  Poor Spencer was like, "I can't!"  But he did great.  Having him support my arm and being able to feel him and see his face really bolstered me. I noticed that his presence was a reassurance and comfort that I hadn't necessarily been in the hospital. Wendy and April reassured that I was doing exactly what I should, and Lucy, who was the only one facing me, looked calm and happy.  I wasn't calm, but everybody else was and that was key for me.

As the head was born I was relieved at knowing he wasn't stuck.  I was really worried about that for some reason.  With the next push, out came his body.  What I didn't know was that his cord was wrapped around his neck, so Lucy gently flipped his body around next to my thigh to unwrap the cord as soon as the body was out.  She lifted him and put him on my chest, while somebody got a clean towel to cover him to keep him warm. 

Meanwhile, he was silent, and hadn't yet taken a breath. Wide-eyed, but silent.  Lucy worked quickly with a calm expression, turning him face-down in her hand, then back up, lightly smacking his (adorable) buns, flicking his feet, and rubbing his chest.  I was audibly begging the Lord to help him, let him breathe, please please.  I wasn't in a state of panic but not calm, either. All three of the people behind me were silently panicking (saying nothing so that I wouldn't freak out), but Lucy stayed calm.  I was taking my cues from her and so I didn't panic.  Lucy instructed Wendy to get the oxygen mask from the driveway, and then Lucy put her mouth on his and gave a couple of quick, tiny breaths.  He cried out just a little, and then continued to breath.  He lay calmly on my chest after that.
  He didn't pink up for a long time, but he was breathing, and looking around fully alert.   He was clean and calm, and nobody was in a rush to take him from me.  There was no contest there vs. the hospital experience.

Ezra and I sat in the water together and just rested.  Spencer snapped a few pics and sent text messages to my parents and his dad, including his awesome name, which we hadn't really told people.  April went to check that the girls were still asleep.  There was discussion of, "did anybody think to look at the clock when he was born?"  "Yes, I made sure to look--10:47", Spencer said.  Phew, we were all glad he had thought of that because it happened so fast that most of us were not in that state of mind.

After a few minutes of rest, I decided I wanted to get out of the water, so they helped me up and onto my bed, and I nursed him for the first time.  The placenta came out with a mighty relief and some help from Lucy, since I had no desire in me to push even one more time. 

Next came the herb bath.  Lucy's apprentice Dana helped me get in, and Spencer got his chance to hold the baby for the first few minutes.  Then Spencer handed the baby back to me, in the tub, and I asked Spencer to stay next to me while I rested in the water, which was infused with herbs that help with healing and to prevent infection.  If there is ever a moment when some pampering is deserved, don't you think that's it?  It was awesome.

All along, everything went according to my timetable.  Nobody rushed me into anything.  When I was ready to get out of the bath tub, which, by the way, isn't the same as the birthing tub, they helped me back to my bed.  The baby had been born for about 2 hours before anybody took him from me, other than to hold him while I got in or out of something.  I rested while Spencer and his mom held him and then Lucy and Dana took him to give him an exam, which didn't consist of any poking, and minimal prodding.  They weighed him, 7 pounds 9 ounces, my biggest baby by 3 ounces.  They had to scramble for a way to measure his length because in their rush to arrive, they'd both forgotten their measuring tapes.  I believe somebody found a string and a measuring tape (the construction type that is rigid) and he measured 20.5 inches.  Oh, and ridiculously cute.

By about 3 in the morning, maybe 4?, everything that needed doing had been done, and Spencer, Ezra, and I were left in our bed.  I nursed him again and then held him on my chest in the dimness.  We gazed at each other a long while, and then eventually got some sleep. 

The next morning was one that will not be forgotten in Clive family Lore.  Spencer and I woke up to the sounds of the girls in the kitchen with Mammaw (Grandma Clive). They had no idea that while they slept the night away, our family had grown. Spencer got the camera ready and then went out and told the girls to come back to our room, he has somebody he wants them to meet.  Their eyes grew wide and bright and they ran back to my room to see a tiny little bundle in my arms.  The climbed onto the bed and met their brother.  Can you imagine the magic of that moment?  It couldn't have been more special.

The girls practiced saying his name and took turns holding him.  The dad took care of us all. The baby slept and ate and slept and ate.  And our new journey had begun.

 

 

 

This was him keeping me company as I began writing this, about 2 months old.