The morning of my 37-week appointment, I took my 2-year-old daughter, Frankie, to preschool; went to work and then headed to my OB/GYN in the afternoon, fully expecting to be home before dinner.
When I arrived at my appointment, the nurse commented on how low my bump looked and hooked me up to the fetal monitoring equipment.
“You don't feel that?” the nurse asked.
“Feel what?”
“Contractions.”
Contractions? “No, not at all,” I laughed.
Soon my doctor was in the room, telling me that I was 4 centimeters dilated. I needed to go next door to the hospital.
My first reaction: excitement. I was so ready to be done with pregnancy. My back hurt and I was exhausted. Plus, I wanted to meet my new baby.
But then the panic set in. I hadn't bought newborn diapers or gotten the bassinet out of the closet yet. My hospital bag wasn't even packed! Most importantly, my mom was still five days away from arriving from Florida to watch Frankie during birth. I had no immediate child care in place.
At first, I simply refused to go to the hospital. I needed to talk to my partner, Jeff. I needed to get home to my family. But the nurse gently reminded me that we live in a rural area in upstate New York — there's no cell signal between my doctor's office and my house, about a 20-minute drive away. This was my second baby and I was having contractions that I couldn't even feel every minute. There was no telling how fast my labor would be from this point. If I tried to drive home, it was very possible that I could give birth in my car, on the side of the road, with only the local sheep to help me.
When Birth Doesn't Go According to Plan
So, I went to the hospital.
I went into a frenzy trying to figure out logistics
I texted Jeff a packing list for my hospital bag, called my mom to ask her to move her flight up and wrote a message to my team at work.
But the one detail that I just couldn't find a solution for was child care. Frankie was born a week late; my mom was scheduled to arrive two weeks early. I thought I had planned it perfectly and that there was no way I would go into labor this early.
And while we have friends who would have gladly taken Frankie for the night, she’s very sensitive and I hadn't prepared her for an overnight stay.
So I told Jeff to come to the hospital with Frankie in tow. But once they arrived, it quickly became clear that this plan wasn’t going to work. It was now dinnertime, and Frankie was hungry and irritable. Like any normal toddler, she wanted to touch everything. She kept pushing the nurse call button and flushing the toilet.
At one point, I had to change a poopy diaper in the middle of a contraction because she wouldn't let anyone else do it. I got her to go to sleep with me in my hospital bed, but when my doctor came to check on me, she woke up and had a full-blown tantrum.
That's when I made what I now consider my first decision as a mother of two. Around 10 p.m., I told Jeff to take Frankie home, so I could bring her sister, Jackie, into the world — all by myself.
I prepared to give birth on my own
I relaxed into a quiet delivery room and just hoped Jackie would arrive overnight so we could all reunite in the morning.
From the stress of the prior few hours, my labor had slowed, so I agreed to let my doctor break my water and start a Pitocin drip. We called the anesthesiologist to place an epidural. I felt empowered and in control — welcome emotions after everything that had happened earlier.
I was sure I was making the right choices. But of course, I was still heartbroken, too. I missed Jeff desperately. He wouldn't be there to bring me ice chips or wipe my brow or cut the cord. I also felt guilty, like I'd stolen the experience from him by going into labor early.
While the anesthesiologist placed my epidural, I cried. My original plan had been to labor without one, but the idea of being in agony and alone was too much to bear. Jeff wasn't going to be there to hold my hand through contractions or do all the partner-assisted comfort measures we practiced, so the epidural would have to do.
Although I had an epidural, I could still feel the pressure of Jackie moving down into my pelvis. The medical staff came in to check on me periodically, but for the better part of the next few hours, I was completely alone in my room with the lights off.
I went inward, focused on my breath, and let out long, low moans when it got intense. With no one else there, I had no reason to be self-conscious. I talked to Jackie, telling her how much we loved her and couldn't wait to meet her.
Around 4 a.m., I felt the famous urge to poop and called the nurse, who called the doctor. I pushed three times before her warm, slippery body was placed on my chest. I immediately burst into happy tears. The nurse took photos for me, while my doctor helped me cut the cord.
Solo birth made me feel so powerful
In a lot of ways, I had a dream birth experience. Jackie was 6 pounds 5 ounces of perfection.
Between my miraculous tolerance of early labor and the epidural, I experienced almost no pain. I pushed for less than 10 minutes. I felt completely safe and confident I could do it, thanks to my amazing doctor. And thanks to Jeff. Even though I didn't have him with me to catch the baby or hear the first cry, he did what I needed him to do most: take care of Frankie so I could take care of Jackie.
When I cut the cord myself, I felt like a warrior. I was so proud of myself for not just getting through it on my own, but for recognizing what I needed and managing it like a boss.
The next morning, Jeff arrived with Frankie after I'd taken a glorious nap. He did some skin-to-skin time with Jackie, while I sat with Frankie in my hospital bed, showing her my “cool bracelets” and how the buttons on the bed moved it up and down. It felt like we'd always been a family of four.
I think I will always mourn the fact that Jeff couldn't be there with me in person. But now that Jackie is 3 months old, I've realized that my birth experience was exactly what I needed to become a mom of two.
When you have one child, your whole world revolves around them. But once another is in the mix, you have to learn how to be adaptable.
During those tough moments when their needs are at odds and I wish I could split myself in two — Frankie stubs her toe and Jackie needs to be fed — I always take a mental trip back to that hospital room. I channel the peace I felt once I let go of how I wanted things to be and just accepted the hand I was dealt. I also channel that warrior spirit I felt while cutting the cord. If I can handle birth alone, I can pretty much do anything.
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