Birth Story: Sienna
I wrote this when Sienna was 4 weeks young. I’ve left it unchanged. It was exactly who I was at that time and I want to hold space and truth for that girl. That girl becoming a Mother. It is Sienna’s birth story as much as it is mine.
26 July 2015
How do you capture something in words that is indescribable?
I am about to find out. As best as I can, I’m going to put words to moments. To capture the most magical, transformational, and otherworldly experience that is birth. Bringing your baby from the inside out. An experience I had 27 days ago. It is already bringing me to tears. Our sweet angel baby arrived from the heavens. She’s graced us with her presence earthside. I feel like it’s Christmas and I won the lottery all on the same day. Only this is better. Except that I’m also a sleep deprived, milk leaking zombie version of myself. With stitches in my vagina. And I’m wearing a diaper. What a difference a day makes. Here is my version of that day.
Like many mornings I woke up to sleepily place my hands on my belly and rub my sweet baby inside. And then run to the bathroom. It was about 6am, Tuesday, June 30. Something different was happening this time. I just knew. My baby was sending me the message that today might be the day. My water had “broke” but not in the way you think about see in the movies. There was no screaming and clutching my belly as I fell to the ground in a puddle. It was more of a trickle that I thought at first was just having to go to the bathroom, but my heart told me something more was happening. Being pregnant I sort of felt like I was simply going to be pregnant forever. Which is totally ridiculous and also fair, since you have no reference point for the what will happen next part. For labor. For birth. For actually holding your baby and being 100% responsible for a new life. It is difficult to imagine that the baby is actually going to “come out” and truly hard to imagine what that process is going to look like when it does happen. I realized, almost in a surprised sort of way, that I was going to go from pregnant to actually having a baby very soon. It was a lot for me in that moment. So, like any rational person in a state of overwhelm, I went back to bed. I knew this had the potential to be an enormous day on every level. I was not scared, nervous or panicky. I did not wake my other half or call my midwife. I just got in bed and hummed with the knowledge that today might be the day I meet my baby. I immediately went back to sleep for another 2 hours.
The body knows.
When I got up at 8am I knew that our baby was coming. I went to the bathroom and experienced the same “trickling water” situation - a trail following me from my bed to the bathroom. I woke Piper very calmly and my words were something is happening. I immediately saw excitement in his eyes. It made it more real for me to speak those words to him and admit that this was the day. I felt really good. Well rested. I was a little confused because nothing was painful. No contractions. I went outside. It was a gorgeous day. The sun was coming up and it was that magic time between the end of the night and the beginning of this new day. I did some laundry. Got in the shower. I did everything I could think of knowing it might be awhile before I had shower leisure time. I exfoliated, lathered myself in decadent body wash, shaved, shampooed & deep conditioned my hair. It felt so good. This was around 9am. Squaeky clean and still nothing really happening, I called my midwife, Kathy. I was nervous to call her right away because I did not want to “rush” into the hospital only to wait there all day (or my worst nightmare, days). I also thought that since my water had broken they would want the baby to arrive on a clock, not the baby’s clock but a medical one. I was prepared to fudge the truth about what time my water broke to avoid this, but Kathy was great. She said to hang out at home, keep in touch and plan on coming into the office by 2pm.
This is the last picture I took of baby on the inside, it was about 9:30am. I contemplated if I had time to dry my hair. I thought that this could be the last time I do so for awhile. Reluctantly I did. It took a lot of energy and I was tired afterwards. And then it happened. I started to feel contractions. Pressure, pain, discomfort. I could walk and do small tasks during them (empty dishwasher, make my bed) for about the first 30 minutes but they quickly escalated and required my absolute full attention. By 10ish I had set up contraction camp on our living room floor. I plugged in my heating pad, had multiple pillows surrounding me, a pen and paper and iphone to record & time my contractions. Piper was right there next to me. I can’t imagine how difficult it was for him to watch me experience a contraction every 6-7 minutes. They were intense. The only thing that felt manageable was to get on my hands and knees and lean on the seat of a chair during each contraction. Then I would collapse on the floor in between, trying to conserve my energy and close my eyes. I was focused. I tried to consciously surrender to the experience. For me, this did not just happen. It required me to pull from a place deep inside. Breathe, trust, and surrender while simultaneously experiencing the strongest sensations (errrr, pain) of my life . It was already turning into the greatest yoga practice of my life. Piper and I would talk a little but mostly we were quiet and held space for the bigness of what was happening. We got everything in the car (hospital bag, pillows, blankets. I packed very little.) This laboring at home went on until around 2pm. Then it was really time to get to Kathy. My contractions were about 5-6 minutes apart and powerful. I rode in the backseat of the car on all fours, shoving my face into a pillow or the car seat during times of pain. Kathy’s office was 5 minutes away. The car ride is where things start to get a little fuzzy for me – I remember everything very clearly – but my body was releasing its own pain medication that made me feel bobble heady. The endorphin/adrenaline combo had me in an out-of-body like state. By this point I had been laboring for hours and the mental concentration and focus it required was really exhausting me. When we got to Kathy’s office she examined me and I was 3cm dialated. I did not pay much attention to this or focus on it because there was no time to process information. I was so laser present because each contraction just kept coming and washing over me like a tidal wave.
Being only 3cm dilated didn't seem to match with the level of pain I was experiencing. I started to bleed so I took off my bottoms and laid/sat/stood over one of those large medical pads. I could not get comfortable. I tried wrapping my arms around Piper’s neck and letting my body just sort of hang there. I tried sitting on a birthing ball (terrible). Nothing felt good. Kathy said this phase of discomfort means things are progressing. She checked me again and I was 6-7cm dilated and it was time to go. It’s a short elevator ride from Kathy’s office to the causeway that leads to the labor & delivery floor. Marie, her sweet as pie office manager, went with me to check-in to my room. Kathy called the nurses to let them know I was coming. The room was ready. Piper moved the car to the hospital valet. Kathy was wrapping up a few offices things and everyone was going to meet me in the room within 15 minutes. As Marie and I were waiting for the elevator I had a contraction that brought me to the floor. There was a small group of people waiting, too. They were alarmed and uncomfortable - witnessing another persons pain. Even in my state I could sense this. People were taken aback by me in this primal, vulnerable, unpolished version of humanness.
We made it to the room. Moments later Kathy and Piper arrived. My mom, too. It was almost 5pm.
The most tolerable position was kneeling on the plastic couch and holding on to the back of it through contractions. Then collapsing in between. But the in between time was almost non existent. They just kept coming. Suddenly I felt an overwhelming need to push. I crawled onto the bed. Kathy scooted me way down to the bottom, knees bent and pulled back by my face. Piper on one side, my mom on the other. I think they were helping me hold my legs back. The back of the bed was slightly raised but I was on my back. With every push Kathy told me to imagine my body curling around my baby. For some reason these words really connected with me. It gave me a visual and kept me entirely focused on my baby, less on the pain. I was not talking, screaming or asking questions. I was calm. The only voice was Kathy’s as she guided me. The lights were low or off, it was quiet. Peaceful. Calm.
Then she said she could see the head. She asked if I wanted to feel it. I did. I was secretly devastated when I could only feel a small half dollar size patch of head. She seemed so close but so far away. Kathy was massaging coconut oil all over my parts to help prevent tearing. To help the baby slide out. I was getting tired. Then Kathy said the baby’s head was fully crowing. She used the words “ring of fire.” Not exactly what you want to hear during labor. But it meant we - me and my baby - were in the home stretch. And a push later, I could feel every part of her body - head, shoulders, torso, legs - emerge from me. Surreal.
I reached my hands down and scooped the baby up as Kathy helped place her on my chest. She was not crying. She was so warm, almost hot. Alert. Curious. Wide awake. She was holding her head up away from my chest and looking into my eyes, right at my face. I was just amazed. I thought babies arrived eyes closed, screaming, looking like aliens. She was the opposite. She was immediately interested in the world around her, little head bobbing up and down, taking it all in. She were covered in vernix, a chalky, creamy white. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. It was 5:52pm. Less than an hour after getting into our hospital room.
It was several moments after the baby’s birth that Kathy said do you want to know what you had? We were held in the magic of the moment. The sex of the baby was secondary to all that had just happened. But when I head the words, you have a daughter, tears streamed down my face. The whole room was in tears.
I just kept staring at my daughter. Hugging and kissing her. Inhaling her. The moment is a suspension of time, place, body.
And then. Kathy started massaging my belly to help deliver the placenta. A critical part of the birth process but one that I was not prepared for. I started to experience contractions again as my uterus was pushing out the placenta. Thankfully it did not take long. It’s like delivering another baby, it’s about the same size and the contractions are intense. She also examined the umbilical cord and found a perfect knot. She showed it to me. She said it was a miracle that it didn’t cause any issues during my pregnancy. I agreed, as this whole thing was precisely that, a Miracle.
She started to nurse within the hour. Another surreal moment.
And then there is the issue of the gaping hole my baby just came out of. Previously know as my vagina. I needed stitches from natural tearing. This was almost more painful than birth. She injected numbing medication first. The pain almost made me pass out. I have no idea how long the actual stitching process took, but it seemed a lifetime. The pain was scary and the fact that I needed sewn up even more so.
And then. Once the baby was out and in my arms. Placenta & umbilical cord out. Vagina stitched. Blood and bits all cleaned up. Then. Everything is the same, but everything is different. It is shock and awe at its finest.
We spent the next 48 hours obsessing. Her little body with long arms and legs. Long fingers and big feet. Her hair looked dark but it was actually just oily from the coconut oil used during labor. We were still processing that we had a daughter. Her name was still a mystery to us. We had a girl name list but we were just waiting to see who this little being was.
It was around 8pm when the room had cleared and it was just the three of us. And I was starving. We were a few blocks from Whole Foods so Piper tackled the food mission and came back with a bounty. I ate everything. What I remember the most was how insane the hot, cheesy pizza tasted. Heaven.
Now it was late. And I was euphoric but exhausted. Piper headed home to get real sleep in our own bed. The hospital sleeping situation is not exactly ideal. Plastic couches, glowing/beeping machines, nurses coming in every hour. I don't think I slept much. I gazed at her, swaddled and sleeping on a pillow right next to me. I can look back and realize how in shock I was. Maybe still am.
That first night was overwhelming. I barely remember nursing her, but I know I did (right?). I don’t remember actually sleeping, but I must have (right?). I do remember waking up and being wet. I thought it was blood and I panicked. I was confused and immediately pressed the nurses call button. She came right in. I said I’m not sure what’s happening, but I woke up to go to the bathroom and I think I’m bleeding.
Ah, nope. Apparently I had just peed in my sleep. The nurse explained it was normal and can happen after labor. All that pelvic floor trauma. Whaaaaaaaaat? Nothing I read or watched mentioned this. No friend shared this not tiny tidbit when discussing labor. Not my midwife, my mom, sister. Nobody. I had a thousand questions but not the energy or bandwidth to dig into it at that moment. She changed the sheets. I crawled back into bed with my baby. It was at that point that I focused on myself for a moment. My body was in major recovery mode. It was scary and new and different. It is intense going from a full 9 months pregnant to nothing over the course of an afternoon. When my baby came out, she took a lot of me with her. I almost immediately looked like my pre-pregnancy self. I know this sounds dreamy, but it was frightening. I felt frail. Like a shell of myself. But also strong. I know myself and my body in an entirely new way. I can do a miraculous thing. I can do anything.
The next day was the first time she left the room. The nurse started to wheel her out in the clear basinet for some test, I don’t remember what. I nearly had a panic attack. My instinct was to run after her. I started to cry. Piper immediately followed and stayed with her while I sat in the room. Alone for the first time. It was a consuming feeling. It felt as if my very own heart walked away outside of my body. I physically ached and yearned for its return. Human connection at the level of parent/child is next level. Chemical. Biological. Powerful.
And we named her. Our sweet baby. It was not a name on our list. Piper looked over at us in the bed and said - I think she is Sienna. Yes. It just hummed all through me and I knew, our daughter’s name was Sienna.
I initially thought I wanted a home birth. But when I met Kathy I knew that she was going to be the woman that helped me bring my baby into this world. And she didn’t do home births. So that made the decision easy for me, and it was the right one for us. I was so grateful to be surrounded by women who helped me through It All. Especially those first few days. But now, I wanted nothing more than Home. We were packed up and ready by midday Thursday. Putting on her first outfit, getting her in the car seat. Everything was humbling. The love for her was so strong. I wanted to make sure she was happy, safe and protected at all times. I could not believe that suddenly every decision regarding this tender new life was ours to make. I felt overwhelm and a surge of anxiety.
We drove the handful of miles home. Getting in the car was the first real-life moment I had in understanding how much healing I had ahead of me. I was going home in white mesh undies stuffed with pads, ice packs and Tucks. I had to sit my butt in the car first and then swing my legs around. I couldn’t open my legs and go vagina first like I’ve done for my entire life up until right this moment. gulp. It was summer and hot. We snapped a few pictures and headed right inside to the embrace of AC and the smell of home. Tears flow down my face as I write this because it was such a special moment. That we were given her. A gift that can never be matched. It is something my mind can’t wrap itself around. It is much bigger than something to understand or process. It is magic.
We took her up to the nursery. To actually see our baby in this space that we had meticulously and lovingly created. Blows my mind up. While she was growing in my belly I would sit in her room and talk to her. When I was in labor at home I sat in her room on the floor and poured my heart out to her, praying for us.
We all just hung out in her room. I was a lot of things at this point: I really needed to take a shower, I was starving, I felt weak but strong, my body was pumping adrenaline and so many hormones. I am sure I cried a little. I had an almond butter & banana toast while lying on the floor of her room. I felt banged up. I forced myself to get in the shower, where I let the tears pour out of me. I cried for happiness, fear, the unknown, for how deeply grateful I was to have a healthy baby. I also cried for my body. It felt so traumatized physically. The stitches, the swelling, the bleeding, the exhaustion, the weakness. Giant boobs. Milk. At that moment, crying in the shower, I felt like a total stranger to myself. It was scary.
But as I’ve journeyed into these first 4 weeks as a Mother, every day I’m a little less scared. I figure one thing out only to be totally confused and humbled by something else. I’ve never worked harder in my life than the past month. I’ve cried, laughed, and connected at levels deeper than I knew were possible. With my daughter, my husband. With my own mother, my sister. As overwhelming as being a first time parent seems to me right now, I’ve never felt more complete. Like this was always the thing. The Thing that was meant for me. The Thing I was born to do and become.