Wiggles: A Birth Story

Just before midnight on December 27, 2015 (my estimated due date), I told Mike “good night,” shut off the lights, and got into bed. Not a minute later, I felt a little pop and some liquid trickle out. I stood up in nervous anticipation.

“Umm, babe? I think maybe my water just broke?”

“Are you sure?” Just then, some more liquid trickled out.

“Pretty sure.”

“Should I fill the tub?”

“Umm….I dunno. Hang on.” I went to sit on the toilet and called my doula to tell her what was going on. When Sayaka told me to call the midwife, I felt a jolt of excitement. The moment we’d been preparing for had finally come! I was equal parts relieved and terrified with the knowledge that my life was about to change forever. Little did I know, The Moment would not come for almost 2 more days.

Our midwife, Dr. Lori, told me to wait until my contractions were 5 minutes apart before we did anything else.

“Try to get some rest. You’re going to need it.” Was I ever.

We got into bed and I drifted off for a bit before waking to a painful contraction. I woke Mike and asked him to start timing them. It wasn’t long before they were coming 5 minutes apart.

The next 35 hours or so are honestly kind of a blur to me. I remember laboring in the tub a few times before Dr. Lori finally told me that I couldn't anymore because it kept slowing my labor. I remember trying to sleep and waking every few minutes to a contraction. I remember my doula and midwife taking me for a walk and making me climb several flights of stairs through the contractions. I remember them telling me to “just give in to the pain and stop trying to control it.” I remember staring at my birth affirmation cards, willing them to help me get this GD baby out. I remember the assistant midwife coming, checking my cervix after I had been pushing for 2.5 hours, and giving Dr. Lori a look that said “why the F isn’t this baby out yet?”

At one point toward the end, my body expelled some meconium. I panicked immediately.

“Is the baby ok? Please don’t say we have to go to the hospital,” I cried.

Dr. Lori checked baby’s heartbeat for what seemed like the 90th time. And like the other 89 times, the heartbeat was strong. Everyone still looked concerned, whispering in the other room while I labored (yet again) in the shower. When I emerged from the bathroom, Dr. Lori laid down on the floor and instructed me to lay next to her and get some rest.

When I woke to (surprise!) more painful contractions, Lori said,

“Baby is fine, but more than ready to come out. You need to have this baby now or we need to go to the hospital.” She told me she was calling her midwife friend who had been around the block a few times, doing home births for longer than anyone else on the island.

“Just to warn you, she is probably going to make you drink a raw egg.”

At the time I wasn’t vegan, but the idea of drinking a raw egg still significantly grossed me out. At that point though, you could have told me to hop on one leg while rubbing my head and patting my tummy and I’d try it if you said it would make the baby come out.

She arrived at about 6pm to assess the situation, and then she did indeed suggest I drink the raw egg. Mike told me that he would do it with me, which I still think is one of the sweetest things ever.

The 2 midwives, the midwife assistant, and the doula all stood eyes closed in a circle around the glass of slimy egg. Like witches casting a spell, each infused their intentions and wishes for the baby and me, and then handed it to me. Mike and I said “cheers,” and down the hatch (ha!) it went.

Suddenly I was adamant that I rest. I vaguely remember no one agreeing that was the best idea, but I went to lay on the bed anyway. The ringer midwife came and sat next to me on the bed, giving me a pep talk and urgently suggesting I re-think the whole rest thing.

“I need to push. RIGHT NOW.” The next 2 hours feel like they went by in 2 minutes, but it was indeed time to push - for real this time.

I actually didn’t remember this part very clearly, but Mike told me that I would push and the baby would crown, but still couldn't come out for some reason. At this point, the midwives realized that my pelvis was too narrow and baby’s head kept getting stuck. So they did the logical thing and used their hands (yes, hands plural) to physically pull my pelvis apart as I pushed. I’m sure it hurt like hell, but I don’t remember.

I remember them saying this was it and that baby was coming, encouraging me to keep going. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more unconditional love and admiration in one room before. Dr. Lori asked if I wanted to hold a mirror so I could see the head and I declined. I had to focus.

I felt a giant wave of relief as I pushed his head out, but was met with panic from the others. His shoulder was stuck and I had to flip over onto my hands and knees and push again - NOW.

A moment later, on December 30 at 9:13pm (yes 45 hours later), a part of me died as the best part of me came Earthside. Mike pulled him out and said,

“Babe, we have a son!” I was already weeping.

I was relieved, proud, in love, confused, exhausted, and in a complete otherworldly haze. Even as I write this three years later, I remember it like I was watching a movie of my life. I’ve never felt more infinite and connected to my true inner Self than I did in that moment. Which is good, because it means I didn’t even notice when my baby pooped all over me.

The days, weeks, months, years following that moment have been some of the most difficult, easy, transformative, frustrating, meaningful, fun, overwhelming, beautiful, simple, and complicated times of our lives. For a man who wasn’t sure he even wanted children, and a woman who wasn’t sure she’d ever be good enough to have any, we’ve come a long way.

Our son, Matthew a.k.a. “Wiggles,” is the absolute light of both our lives. He is kind, perceptive, bright, goofy, stubborn, snuggly, determined, and positively bursting with love and life. While parenting him proves to be the biggest challenge we’ve faced both personally and as a couple, it’s also the biggest joy. I love knowing that someday we’ll look back on this part of our lives and know just how special it was.

Matthew if you ever read this, know that you will always hold my heart in yours.