Birth Story: Aster
As I sit to write this Aster is 13 days young. She is fresh and new and magical.
And so am I.
I’ve now experienced making, growing and birthing two tiny humans.
I can say with certainty that as I bring a child into this world, I also bring a new version of myself. The experience is transforming on every level. It rocks my physical, emotional and spiritual self to the core. It shakes me and wakes me and makes me feel more alive than I have ever felt in my life. Parts of it break me, too. It breaks me so I can be rebuilt. Molded and shaped and brought back to life. Reborn. And it stays, this feeling. It is not some fleeting state. It sinks into my bones and I am without a doubt a new person.
I’ve got massive sleep deprivation, ballooning/engorged/leaky boobs, a toddler gone slightly AWOL, a stitched up and bleeding vagina, crazy night sweats, baby acne, loneliness, a voracious appetite for any type of calorie and a hormonal pendulum that swings from blissed out to freaked out to ugly cries in the same hour.
I’m in sloppy clothes all day, all night, covered in kids. Touched out but pulling them all in for more. Because of all these things I feel the strongest I’ve ever felt in my life. And the weakest. I feel held in a suspended state of reality and it is nearly indescribable. But I am going to try. Because I know if I don’t capture it now, I’ll remember it differently in a few weeks, months, years. The edges will become blurry. Things will shift. And that’s all okay. But I want to capture this time, the sharpness, the piercing. The magic of pain and bliss and creation all smashed together.
8 november 2020
We stayed home (no shocker here, hello 9 months) and for dinner had an Italian feast from Grato (our 3rd restaurant baby). The Dak pizza, Italian salad, pasta red, chicken Milanese - this could be my Last Supper, I love it that much. But tonight. I couldn’t enjoy it. Which was really upsetting, because at 9 months pregnant one of my most anticipated moments in life was a sleeping toddler, pjs, Netflix and calories. Every way I tried to sit/recline/position myself was completely uncomfortable. I didn’t have a huge appetite because I felt “stuffed.” Like nothing more could fit in my body. The baby (we did not find out boy/girl) was moving like crazy, had the hiccups and I constantly had to get up and pee, so I just gave up on the whole situation and headed to bed. I took a shower, slathered myself in oils + creams + lotions, indulged in my nightly skincare routine. Inserted a few capsules of evening primrose oil (yes, into my vagina -my midwife recommended it when I was pregnant with Sienna - it helps strengthen/prepare the uterus for labor) and tucked myself into bed. Usually this would feel amazing because I love my bed and sleep. But my lower back hurt and I felt nauseous and it took a lot of energy to flip my body from side to side trying to get comfortable (which never happened). I fell asleep but woke (as I’ve been doing for months now) at 3am and never fully went back to sleep before getting up for the day.
9 november 2020
I was up early, around 6am, and spent my ritualistic 45 minutes alone before the rest of my clan woke up. I “wake up” the house, light a candle and get busy in the kitchen with vitamins + smoothies + coffee + daily scripture + prayer.
Sienna got up around 7am. Piper followed shortly after. We stayed in our pj’s and played - then got ready for gymnastics. I showered, Sienna watched Paw Patrol. She’s in her leotard ready to go. The one with unicorns on it. Always that one. While I was in the shower I started to feel what I can best describe as a side ache. Like when you sprint and get a piercing feeling in your ribs. It would last for just a few moments and then, nothing. I did not think much of it. But then it happened again 10 minutes later. I got dressed. Got Sienna’s raincoat and boots out. Packed some crackers, a cheese stick, water bottle and off we went. It was a little after 9:30am.
The side ache/belly seizing feeling happened again twice on our 20 minute ride to gymnastics. Looking back I was still very much in denial that this might be/most likely was labor. This baby was coming. 10am, gymnastics has started and for the first time I admit to myself that I think I am having contractions. I quickly pass it off as braxton hicks practice style contractions. They are not terribly painful, and my water hasn't broken, I wasn’t bleeding. All good. We get home, I make Sienna some lunch. The babysitter arrived around noon to take Sienna to a playdate with a school friend. After hugs + kisses and a happy goodbye, my body intuitively knew it now had the time and space to fully focus on bringing this baby from the inside out.
My contractions immediately intensified. I laid down on our bed and started timing them. I foggily slept/rested in between them. Then I spoke it out loud - the words - I think this is going to be The Day. Piper’s eyes were wide and excited. I got a surge of energy somewhere during this time and pulled our hospital bags out of the nursery. I’d packed them a few weeks prior. Piled them by the door along with two pillows and a soft comfy blanket. I called my mom. I called my midwife. I was calm and peaceful. I think Piper was watching golf. It was quiet and serene in the house. The rain was still falling and the day was a cuddle up and snooze type of vibe.
I hadn’t eaten anything for a while now. I couldn’t eat dinner last night and I hadn’t eaten anything yet today so I forced a small bowl of cereal with almond milk, blueberries and bananas. It was around this time that I started bleeding. At first it was just a little spotting, then it quickly progressed into heavy, clotted bleeding. I dove into my labor/postpartum stockpile and put on a pair of Depends. The full underwear kind. The bleeding was too heavy for a pad, even the ginormous postpartum ones. It was around 4pm when I called my midwife again. Told her about the bleeding. She asked me to send her a picture. I did. She called me immediately after receiving the photo and told me to come to her office. Like, right away. She was concerned about the amount/heaviness of the blood.
Up until this point I had been zen monk-ing it through this day-that-might-be-THE-day. That call was a trigger that propelled me into another state - I started buzzing around the house feeling disorganized and out of body. What should I wear? Sneakers? Rainboots? Pj’s? A dress? Do I have snacks? Have I covered all the details of Sienna’s schedule with the babysitter? Is my mom on her way? This might not even be labor!? Oh my. I started to spin. I needed to settle myself before It All. Before saying goodbye to Sienna. Before what I knew was coming. Leaving the house for the last time as a family of three. I knew everything was about to change. I went into the nursery, closed my eyes, folded my hands and prayed. It was just a few moments, I didn't even sit down. But I asked to be carried and held and guided. I prayed to listen and trust my body. To remember that it knew exactly what it needed to do. I took some deep breaths. When I left the room I was calmer, steadier. I found Piper and when I looked into his eyes I felt the first tears of emotional overwhelm and joy well up into my body and out my eyes. We both knew saying goodbye to Sienna was going to be tough. She was out in the playroom watching A Bug’s Life. I tried to keep my tears inside while hugging and kissing her. I held her close. So tight. She was scared and excited and overwhelmed, too. But we all knew it was time for me and this new soul in my body to take the stage. I had several contractions during our goodbye. Everyone cried. Sienna searched her playroom for something to give me to take to the hospital. To remind me of her, she said, so I would know how much she loved me and missed me. It was a plastic pink bracelet from her dress up box. She put it on me. We left the house at 5:15pm.
It took 5 minutes to get to Kathy’s office (my midwife). My contractions were getting closer and more intense. When she examined me I was 7cm dilated and 100% effaced. Her jaw about dropped. It was very much go time. I knew I had cut it close laboring at home, but this shocked me, too. She called the hospital to request a room. Since her office was connected to Good Samaritan medical center it was just a short elevator ride away. By 6pm we were in our room, with a sliver of an intercostal view. It was directly across the hall from where Sienna was born. The L&D floor was empty. We were given lots of support and attention. My mom arrived moments later. I did not want monitoring or an IV, anything that would inhibit my ability to move and labor. Kathy was supportive of this and knew my wishes but since I had already lost a “more than normal” amount of blood she had them place a hep lock on my arm in case I needed blood after delivery. I also agreed to monitor the baby’s heartbeat so we could make sure the blood loss was not a sign of distress.
The room was dark, all the lights were either off or dimmed. It was quiet. I was surrounded by Piper, my mom, Kathy and a labor nurse who hummed quietly in and out of the room.
I tried standing by the window, leaning over on the sill. At this point I still had the fetal monitor on and it was tight and scratchy and uncomfortable. The baby’s heartbeat was strong so I took it off myself. I tried laying my upper body over a birthing ball placed on the bed. I could not get comfortable. My contractions were beginning to consume me. I felt blurry, like I was floating above my body to escape the pain, the strongest sensation I’d ever felt in my life. The wave of it all felt enormous. My desire was to have an unmedicated vaginal birth. It was what felt the most right for me. I prepared as best I could for this. I meditated on it, I visualized it daily, I continued yoga up until a handful of days before my delivery to keep my body open and receptive and strong, I prayed (a lot). And this time, I knew it was in me, because it was how Sienna arrived. And still. I was totally unprepared for where this labor took me.
Around 6:30pm I went into the bathroom. I didn’t really think about it, it was just the only place to be entirely alone. I sat down on the toilet and hung on to the handicap railing on the wall. The pain was so intense. It was starting to feel scary. A few fleeting thoughts of doubt flashed into my mind. Is it too late to get an epidural? Do I need one? I don’t know if I can do this. I prayed. I came out of the bathroom about 20 minutes later and told Kathy it felt like I really needed to go to the bathroom but couldn’t. She said that maybe I was ready to try pushing. Even though I didn’t think I was ready I decided to try. The hospital bed converts to what looks like a chair - the back is fully upright and the end acts as a seat. I did not want to labor laying down on my back. This was a discussion Kathy and I had many times prior to delivery. Kathy knew. So I sat and pulled my knees up to my chest. It was about 7pm. This is when the experience of labor took a dramatic turn for me. My legs started to shake and tremble uncontrollably. Whatever the next level is after pain, that is what I was feeling. I thought my body was breaking apart. I felt like maybe I was going to die. I was very scared. I started crying. And screaming. And pushing. I kept pushing. But I knew I was holding back. I was truthfully scared that with the next push, if I gave it my all, my baby might come out but I would be gone. Just turned to dust because of the effort and pain and exhaustion. I was also scared that I wouldn’t be gone but that my body would no longer work. I couldn’t feel or see the baby’s head. This made me think that I had a long way to go and I just couldn’t wrap my head around how I was going to survive it. I knew I had to make a decision. I had to decide to do this. The only way out was in. To go through it. No matter what. Even if it broke me. There was absolutely no other way than to fully give myself to it. I felt the mental shift happen. It changed everything, the act of deciding. Deciding that even though it felt like I could not do it. Would not survive it. I was going to do it anyway. I pushed and my water bag broke. I felt hot water gush everywhere. I pushed again and the baby was close. I pushed again and she arrived. Not slow and steady through the birth canal but all at once - head, shoulders, body, legs - she was here. 7:30pm. I was bloody and tear streaked and shaking as I held her in my arms pressed against my chest. She was crying. I was crying. It was primal and powerful. And I was still alive. I felt so high and other worldly in this moment. So close to God and all that is that we cannot see or understand. In that moment I knew that now and forevermore I could do anything. I always could, it lives inside me and you and every one of us. But this purposeful, magical pain tapped into a place that allowed me to really know and trust myself. Maybe for the first time ever.
It’s a baby girl. Here’s your daughter.
I immediately looked around to find Piper. I was in a vortex of concentration and focus. I slowly started to come back to the room and take in everything that was around me. I locked eyes with my husband. My person, my everything. No words were needed. Tears. Smiles. Touch. The moment is saturated with intensity and exploding with love.
And my mom. Nana. Right there by my side. I can only imagine what it must be like to watch your daughter bring her own daughters into this world. Baby’s come from the magical “other side” and you can feel the presence of something so great and incomprehensible enter the room when your baby emerges from you. Aster arrived with an angelic force of greatness. Of power. And she gave some of it to me on our journey together. The pain was the magic. The purpose.
She was still connected to me, the umbilical cord still pulsing for several minutes. It is the craziest, longest purple/black spiral. Nature is so perfect I can’t wrap my head around it. As I was holding her, I started to feel the next wave of contractions. It was uncomfortable, but mild in comparison to everything that had just happened. All that mattered was this healthy, strong and oh so pink baby in my arms. We did it.
I think it was 10-15 minutes later when the placenta was “delivered.” Kathy showed it to me. It was Aster’s life force for 9 months. She could see where the placenta started to prematurely seperate from my uterus in the early stage of my labor - that is what caused the excessive bleeding.
I had some major tearing and Kathy took advantage of the flooding of endorphins in my body to numb all my tender parts and start stitching. This was way way WAY up there on the pain scale. I had not had any pain medication so she injected local numbing agents into the area before starting. This hurt Beyond. And it’s terrifying. I was still holding Aster in my arms. The nurse asked if I wanted her to take the baby, I said no. I never wanted to stop holding her. Right at this time Aster started to hunt for food. Pecking away at my chest, wiggling around trying to find milk. It is such an unreal thing to experience. And she started to nurse. Pain and joy colliding.
Around 9pm they got her weight (6lbs, 10oz) and height (20.5in). Wiped some of the blood off of both of us.
You were so pink. And soft. And strong. Your eyes were open and alert. You cried right when you were born, but barely a sound since. You had long fingers and nails, teeny tiny nostrils and dark straight hair, but not much of it. You had a perfectly round head. Deep blue eyes. I inhaled you and felt my whole being swear to you that I will forever be your soft place to land, your home.
I hugged Kathy and said goodnight, see you tomorrow.
I hugged my mom. Few words. Lots of feels. She headed home, too.
Then it was me and Piper and our new baby. The hugeness of the day filled the room. Love filled the room. It was time for sleep. I was completely buzzed but exhausted. Aster was swaddled and sleeping peacefully. I did not put her in the clear hospital bassinet or send her with the nurses while I slept. I kept her right on top of me and drifted off to sleep. And then we woke together, every hour or so, so she could eat. And every time I opened my eyes I simply could not believe everything that had just happened.
I didn’t shower or eat that night. I remember the nurse massaging my uterus every 10 minutes and the take-my-breathe-away pain of a nursing letdown - when the colostrum is coming in. I vividly remember going to the bathroom for the first time. A nurse comes with you to make sure you don’t pass out (highly likely). And it’s terrifying, you need someone. I cried when I first went to the bathroom after having Sienna. This time was different. It didn't hurt (it didn’t feel good, either). I just peed, but still. Anything coming out of you at that point is met with a helping of trepidation. And a ton of tools. Squirty water bottle, pat-pat-pat with toilet paper, pain spray, ice pack, a giant pad lined with witch hazel pads inside giant white mesh undies. It’s a whole thing. And you need it.
And I looked. I had too. Kathy stitched me for almost an hour. I knew it was pretty serious. I was very swollen. But I was still whole. Still there. It almost surprised me. To know I could walk through fire. Not just walk, I could burn. I could go through that and still be. It is superhuman.
Piper showed me a video of Sienna saying good night. It pierced my heart in places I didn’t know existed. I looked down at the pink plastic bracelet I still had on my wrist. My daughters. I have two daughters.
10 november 2020
Days, nights, hours, minutes. Everything starts to blur together in these early days. I keep scanning my body. Lifting the covers and touching my legs, stomach, boobs, arms. I’m shocked that I’m still here. All in one piece. To go from one body to two, to multiple overnight seems (and feels) like science fiction. Piper arrived early with coffee and food. I remember having some coffee but I still couldn’t eat. I was nervous. Sienna was coming to the hospital after church. I could not wait to wrap my arms around her but I was terrified of her reaction to this new version of me. To her sister. To all of it. I felt like I was going on a first date - all butterflies and anticipatory. I took a shower. It felt so strange to be with my nakedness for the first time. Everything feels weird, different. The skin, the bleeding, the stitches, the boobs. And I felt so weak. It took all of my energy to get clean, put on new clothes, brush my teeth and hair. I put on some tinted moisturizer and lip balm. I was so exhausted by all of this. I collapsed back into bed to feed Aster and sleep and wait and be nervous.
And then she walked through those doors and it all faded away. The fear of going from a family of 3 to 4. She was all smiles and excitement and love. She was proud to be a big sister. With flowers, stuffed animals, balloons and cake - picked out all by herself. We hugged and kissed and I used all of my energy to “look and feel and act” like Mom always does, but I was running on fumes. And I was different. My mom was holding Aster when Sienna walked in. I fretted about this, of course. Do I hold her? Does Dad? Do I put her in the basinet? Ugh. Nana was definitely the right call. We had not yet officially named Aster at this point. So there was no big name reveal. Just a baby sister that was finally here, bearing gifts. My mom supplied a bag of wrapped goodies “from Aster” that Sienna dug into. She would play and peak at Aster and squeal. I realized that she was nervous, too. And she was taking her cues from me.
Then we all plopped on the (most uncomfortable) bed so Sienna could hold her sister for the first time. It brings tears to write about it now. Aster swaddled up and sleeping. Sienna as excited as a kid at Christmas. A full circle moment for me. We took pictures. And had cake. We celebrated Aster’s birthday and our new family.
The goodbye was terrible. More so than I thought it would be. Sienna was determined not to leave. There was screaming and crying and pleading and bribing. This was a lot for me to handle 12 hours postpartum. When everyone left it was me and my mom and Aster. Whatever comes after exhausted, that is what I was. My mom stayed and held Aster and I crawled into bed and slept. Piper came back that evening with dinner. I was finally starving. He brought beef fried rice from imoto. It may have been the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.
11 november 2020
Monday morning. I was ready to get out of the hospital. I was irritable. Nurses and the hospital doctor and the birth certificate person kept coming in to do various things to me and/or Aster. Piper still needed to sign the birth certificate, we were waiting. That annoyed me. I was packed. Aster was dressed. Car seat was ready. I needed home.
Stepping outside for the first time after delivering your baby is odd. The whole world just keeps churning. Life goes on. But being in the world feels and looks different. Making, growing, and birthing your baby changes you at a cellular level. You are, quite literally, a new human.
This is motherhood. The life I dreamt of, then created. My physical body and the soul, my soul, that lives inside. It means more to me than ever because it is no longer just mine. It is Aster’s, too.
