Story: our third baby chick

The first thing you need to know before reading is this… it’s been so long since I’ve been here I couldn’t even remember how to login. Cool. Or not cool at all. I made a promise to myself {and my husband for budget sake} that I must blog at least once a month for the next year or I’m not renewing the site. Keep me accountable because that’s a tough challenge for me. Even though my fingers literally itch to write, it’s challenging to prioritize with three little people running around. I’ll figure it out someday, but until then…

The next thing you must know before reading ahead {and a much more important thing} is this… this will not be for everyone. It’s a lengthy tale {true as it may be} about pregnancy + overcoming birth “trauma” + labor & delivery + a vaginal birth after two c-sections + a very, very special piece of our story that might mean something to someone {believe it or not, there are people out there who just like reading birth stories}. If that someone isn’t you, no offense taken, just click back on home.

Now, for the good stuff.

A little background is always important, especially here, for this third baby’s birth story.

After five years of trying, including loss of babies, money, sanity, hope and many other things that couples with infertility understand, I was miraculously pregnant in May 2015. Now this {our first baby’s birth story and the road to fertility} deserves a post all of its own which will happen someday, but stick with me… we’re going back so we can go forward for now.

May 2015, there was never ever once a question in my mind about what kind of birth experience I would have. I didn’t just want a natural labor & delivery, I was going to have one. And because I felt so strongly about it and did the natural birthing class, I thought for sure it would go that way. Skip ahead through a very normal & healthy 42 weeks {yes, 42 weeks}, and suddenly things got strange. Labor started very slowly, we stayed home until it felt right to go to the hospital and labor stopped. Again, I’m skipping a lot of details here, but all you need to know is this: cascade of interventions. I’ve always said, everything about my first birth experience that I didn’t want to happen {except the worst possible thing}, did, indeed, happen. After 48 hours of labor, we ended with a cesarean and a very healthy, perfect bundle of baby girl love, Finnley. It was hard to process, but as a first time mama, I was smitten with my miracle newborn, so I stuffed the csection stuff deep down inside.

Fast forward with me two years later… another miracle pregnancy in February 2018. This time I did my research. I was going to have a vaginal birth after cesarean {VBAC}. We refreshed ourselves with the birthing class material from last time, practiced some breathing and birthing affirmations and had real conversations with our providers and called it good, called ourselves prepared. Let’s skip ahead another normal & healthy 42 weeks to labor not starting. We panicked. We did all the things {membrane sweeps, acupuncture, sex, castor oil, walking, napping, cleaning, stressing} and kick started a hard labor. This time… I got scared. Scared that I wouldn’t make it 48+ hours in labor again. Scared that it would all end in a c-section again. Scared that I would “fail”… again. And guess what? Labor stopped once we got to the hospital. After 54 hours in labor, we ended with a cesarean and a very healthy, perfect bundle of baby boy love, Beau. It was hard to process, but as a mama of two littles, I was smitten… so I stuffed the repeat csection stuff deep, deep down inside.

One last fast forward to May 2020 {hello, pandemic life}. Pregnant again with another miracle because, hey… it was never determined why I “couldn’t” get pregnant in the first place so many years ago. This time, y’all, I decided to face it. I slowly dipped my toes in the water of possibility… could I have a vaginal birth after two cesareans {VBA2C}? When you first consider it, first look at the research and the “vbac calculator,” it all says, they all say “no.” It’s risky and weird and dangerous and selfish… they all say. But, man, I knew better, right? I had always believed God made my body to deliver a baby naturally, and if He gave me such a strong desire, the least I could do was explore it.

Early on in the pregnancy, I started researching and asking questions, getting connected to other mamas who’d gone before me and having long, hard conversations with my husband. And it didn’t happen all at once, it was more like a ripple effect. The more I learned, the more I believed it was possible. The more I advocated, the more confident I became.

We finally hired a doula, like paid money for someone to support us – yikes! Not only do I worry about finances every second I’m awake, I’m a private person {says the girl literally sharing her life’s most precious moments with the world}, and I never, ever wanted anyone else on the birthing scene with us. This time, though, we knew we needed to do things differently if we wanted different results.

I changed providers to an OB/GYN known for her VBAC success rates {I later found out I was one of the last to become her patient that year}.

I connected with a support newtwork called The VBAC Link, and I soaked up every single thing they had to offer – birth stories, podcast episodes, research, blog posts, community members, everything. I wanted to hear from real people what this experience looked like, what it might look like for us.

I went to a chiropractor for the first time in my life. I changed my exercise routine. I did weird stretches and listened to a lot of VBAC-specific affirmations, made playlists, journaled and prayed. I chose who to share specific details and plans with and who not to. And… I started therapy. Long over-due therapy. Y’all, it was uncomfortable and scary and strange… and life-changing because it made me realize that my job was not to have a natural vaginal birth, my job was to make educated, empowered, confident, intuitive decisions. And believing that, I could let go of the past and be present this time around.

All of that to say, we said we were going to do things differently, and we did. And it felt really good the whole way through. Now, let’s get to the actual birth story already…

Once again, we were very blessed with a healthy & normal pregnancy. Given our history, we were prepared for another 42 weeks, which I’ve always been comfortable with. I know not everyone feels this way, and there’s no right or wrong, BUT pregnancy feels like life’s greatest privilege to me, and I try to embrace every single second of it. Plus, the thought of induction scared me. I had been down the cascade of interventions road, and I didn’t want to go back there. We also had a very good, typically abnormal, understanding with my OB that we would take things day-by-day. I was so nervous that history would repeat itself – we’d get to 40 weeks, providers & the world would start pressuring, we would get stressed and panicky and try to naturally induce labor. So, we had a plan to just wait. I came to trust my body and my intuition so much, and I just wanted to wait.

Forty weeks on the dot {Monday}, I went to the chiropractor. I remember so vividly leaving that appointment, going to Bath & Body Works and feeling cramps with so much excitement. They stuck around for a couple hours every evening for the next couple days. At my 40-week appointment {Wednesday}, I had an abnormal blood pressure reading, which had never happened before. We did a non-stress test {NST} and labs to make sure things were normal. And after much consideration, I decided to have a cervical check and because I was already dilated to a three, a membrane sweep as well. I didn’t come to this decision lightly {remember, cascade of interventions scared me so badly}, but my OB felt that if a repeat BP was high on Friday, I would be treated as hypertensive and have to be induced, so this felt like the safest route.

I went home and kept doing normal things despite my nerves – eating dates, walking, curb walking, inversions, more chiropractic care, sex – but nothing drastic. Rest, calm and patience. Rest, calm and patience. Nothing happened over the next 48 hours except some very mild contractions each evening. My labs and repeat blood pressure & NST were normal {Friday}. I praised God so big in that exam room, praised God so big that I could just go back home without a worry.

I woke up Saturday with some cramping in the middle of the night. I’d heard several stories in which labor starts that way, and I didn’t want to miss anything {as if that’s possible in labor, ha!}. I went for a big walk Sunday morning, including some curb walking, and started doing an abbreviated Miles Circuit {this is a series of movements and activities that can help induce / keep labor moving}. I remember FaceTiming with my parents, in all their curiosity, that afternoon. They were on-call to drive the seven hours to be with our big kiddos while we were at the hospital. I told them nothing was happening, but in hindsight… contractions were just becoming regular at that exact time {about 2pm}.

I was so hesitant to call it “labor,” but I called my husband at work around 4pm and asked if he would come home. I wanted the ability to just be, to just work through contractions without distraction. He came home and took Finnley & Beau to Target {they were overjoyed to actually be going somewhere}. As I sat at home in the quiet, the contractions continued and the emotions flooded me. I started feeling so worried about my two babies, sad that I’d be leaving them and coming home with another little one to fill my time. I put on my playlist and colored pictures for them, wrote them notes and just kept working through that Miles Circuit.

By the time my three loves came home, I was resting in bed, breathing through each contraction. I tried to eat dinner with them, help with bedtime and read books, but it was tough. Real tough. Once my husband got them tucked in, he found me in the bedroom, and I needed help focusing, breathing and believing through each surge. I felt sick, hungry, cold, thirsty… but all I wanted, all I could actually do was lean over and hold on to him as things progressed.

This lasted for a little over an hour, and he decided to call our doula. She listened and talked us through some contractions and suggested it might be time to go to the hospital. This was SUCH a big decision for us, for me. Again, all I wondered was if history would repeat itself. Would we get to the hospital and labor would stop? Would I be too nervous to keep progress going? Would I have to get a COVID test and an IV and be bothered by everyone? I always regretted going in too early with the other two labors, so it was my main goal to stay home as long as possible this time.

It really didn’t take long, however, to decide it was time to go. We were planning on a really long labor, so we had nothing prepared… no bags packed, no parents on their way, no one to watch our kids, no car seats rearranged. We had a lot to get in order, so my husband told our doula we’d start getting things together and head to the hospital. And, I say “we,” but by this time, I had all I could do to breath. Doubt was creeping in, and I was struggling.

As he was packing the car and finding someone to come stay with the kids, my water broke on the bathroom floor… oh my word, I had never experienced this literal gush before! I don’t know if I was scared or relieved or both, but it felt like things were actually getting real, things were actually different this time! We moved to the car {as a snowstorm began}, and I couldn’t sit, only kneel backwards over the passenger seat. I remember him saying to me, “This might be the worst part of the whole thing!” About half-way to the hospital, I started screaming that I had to push, but inside I didn’t think it was possible, not yet. He just stayed calm and told me we were almost there. We pulled up to the emergency room, some poor security guard helped me get into a wheelchair, on my knees bent over the back. It was 9:50pm.

As they were wheeling me back into triage, it seemed like a dozen nurses were there to help, I remember seeing glimpses of my doula with us, too. After we told them I felt like pushing, someone did a cervical check as the wheelchair was moving, and she yelled, “She’s complete! She wants to push!” Those were the best words I could imagine hearing. It meant history wasn’t repeating itself.

They wheeled me up to a delivery room, moved to a new bed and into whatever position was comfortable. I stayed on all fours. I could hear bits and pieces of what was going on around me… my husband still with me, as they told him he didn’t have time to park the car. My doula asking me if I needed water, if I wanted my hair pulled back. Nurses asking to give me a saline lock, which I eventually agreed to. The OB on call talking about VBAC, forceps, vacuums, repeat c-section and putting a monitor on the baby’s head. The midwife on call telling me my OB was eight minutes away. They were giving me oxygen between pushes. I remember feeling like I had to just keep pushing… I knew that as far as we had come, a c-section wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, so I had to just keep pushing.

My OB made it there for the last 10 minutes and really helped me through those final pushes. I heard them tell me the baby’s head was birthed, which felt like such relief, and then as I pushed her little body out, I pulled her up to my chest to smell her sweet head. It was 10:28pm.

It became so totally and completely unreal. I flipped over onto my back right there and set her on my chest. The rest isn’t glamorous… having some significant blood loss and being pumped with pitocin, being stitched up from severe tearing, getting two COVID tests, whatever. I was there, wholeheartedly present {totally in shock}, holding my perfectly healthy, naturally and quickly born baby girl, Rosie. And thanking God {my husband, my doula and the whole birth team} for this absolutely miraculous and redemptive experience.

It was unreal for days, and I think to some extent it still is. But the part about it all that I catch and hold a beat of every now and then is this… my intuition was right. The desire that God so lovingly gave me and saw to fruition was right. And that, as my husband said in the delivery room that night, has changed the trajectory of my life forever.

Friend, if you’re reading this because you’re in the very same situation, wondering if a VBA2C is a possibility for you, it is. It so is. If you’re reading this because you like birth stories or you like blogs or you like me or.. whatever, know this: you deserve to trust your intuition, you deserve to feel and process past emotions and move forward. You have been given the desires in your heart for a very specific reason. Trust them and trust the one who has given them to you.

Until next time,