The Tale of Adeline

With Addie turning 22 months old tomorrow and her second birthday rapidly approaching, I'm feeling inspired and (most of all) ready to talk about my pregnancy and birth story with her. Since I am completely unable to summarize the entire story in one post, I'll tell it in a several parts...praying that I actually finish the story with where she is now. Brevity is not my forte, folks.

Also, I officially give warning to the squeamish. There will be talk of vaginas. And midwives sticking hands up said vaginas. And many hours of excruciating stabby-knife contractions. And mucus plugs which are sometimes called BLOODY SHOW. And moo-ing and swearing and some crazy-ass primal shit. So if you can't handle aaaallll of this (::waving hands::), then stop. reading. right. now.

Ok. Take a deep breath. And on with the (bloody) show!

Part I: 23 And Pregnant

I've always been terrible about taking the Pill. After some time, I finally switched to the Nuva Ring to accommodate my laziness/forgetfulness and called it good. Except I forgot to pick up some more from Planned Parenthood when I ran out. Because birth control still works when you're thinking of getting some more, right?

I was in the middle of a Bikram yoga class when during an inverse position where your legs are sticking straight up into the air, the teacher calls out, "Those of you who are pregnant or menstruating, do NOT attempt this position."

And I thought, "Hmm. Wouldn't that be funny if I was pregnant or menstruating and I'm doing it anyways? Wait a minute, should I be menstruating? When was my last period? What if I was pregnant, hahah!"

The class ended and a very sweaty me ran into Nob Hill on the way home to pick up some pregnancy tests. As soon as I picked out a box from the aisle, I swore that EVERYBODY was looking at me (paranoid much?). And then I started to get a little nervous.

Of course, it was positive. As soon as I saw the two pink lines, the world seemed different. I, the dysfunctional, newly sober, child-wary young woman, was with child! Oh, and I hated when people used that phrase. But I wasn't upset. I wasn't worried. I felt a swell of excitement, like tiny fizzy bubbles were running through my nervous system.

Zach came home that night, and I stood against the wall with the test behind my back.

"Guess what?"

"You're pregnant."

"Hey, how did you know?"

"Because whenever anyone says, 'Guess what', they're pregnant."

"Oh, ok. Well, I'm pregnant!"

He was happy, of course. And then, I subsequently lost my mind. I delved head-first at high-speed into the perilous world of first-time pregnant woman. These people will spend ten hours straight researching any and more of the following subjects: co-sleeping, epidurals, SIDS, car seat safety, infant stimulation exercises, amniocentesis, birth stories, swaddling, bassinet vs co-sleeper vs pack n' plays vs cribs vs oh-my-God-what happened to the brain that used to read Kafka and discuss Fauvism?!!!!!

The next nine months were like this.

A week after we found out I was knocked up, we watched the documentary, The Business of Being Born. It can basically be summarized as: HOSPITALS ARE PURE EVIL. Your body will be hijacked by menacing doctors who will pump you full of narcotics and epidurals and then it will snowball into a terrifying series of INTERVENTIONS which will inevitably lead to the dreaded C-word. Cesarean.

Another week later, we signed a contract agreement with a well-respected, home-birth midwife. No law-suits if I die, blah, blah, blah. And then I delved even deeper into the underground culture of...home-birth women. This sub-culture followed many ideas that were new to me: exclusively breast-feeding, attachment parenting, co-sleeping, baby-wearing (in slings), cloth-diapering, raw-milk-feeding, home-schooling, nature-lovin' DIRTY HIPPIES! Sorry, I had to go there. I kid. It was actually very fun to learn all about this new religion through my mid-wife and like-minded folk. But I was so very blissfully ignorant.

I skated through the pregnancy with no morning sickness, zero annoying pregnancy symptoms, and a perfectly engineered plan of how Addie's birth would play out. I maintained my yoga and hiking regimen. I kept my weight down for the first two trimesters until my body simply demanded that I eat a carton of Ben & Jerry's every single night for the last three months.

When you're pregnant, the fetus is the only subject people are interested in discussing with you. How's the baby? How are you feeling? Are you finding out the sex? How far along are you? What vegetable is Baby Center comparing it to now? A rutabaga, you say? Your stomach becomes public property and people become emboldened to criticize the items in your grocery basket. Baristas proffer advice on how you should not be consuming caffeine because her sister didn't drink it when she was pregnant and it's bad for you, you know?

24 weeks

I openly shared with anyone who asked that I was planning a natural (drug-free) home-birth.

"Yes, we live in a one-bedroom apartment."

"Why yes, it IS on the third floor of the apartment building."

"No, I'm not afraid things will go wrong because I'm actualizing my perfect birth, you see. I meditate and send positive thoughts out to the Universe. IT CAN'T GO WRONG."

As the due date drew near, we began to prepare. We bought a waterproof mattress pad and home-birth supplies. I borrowed baby-items and hand-me-down clothes from the only friend I knew that had a baby. I read books by the revered natural-hippie-home-birth-advocate, Ina May Gaskin. I meditated and put headphones to my stomach, blasting everything from Pink Martini to Daft Punk to Beethoven.

Zach, preparing for the baby and looking

utterly confounded by the baby carrier

My midwife held a "birth-preparation" class, which I imagine was quite different from the normal Labor and Birth classes given at hospitals. It pretty much consisted of watching video after video of indigenous women from various South American countries breathing serenely and then popping out a baby on their front porch. Another video showed a woman who was having her second home-birth WITH TWINS, laboring on the toilet while her three-year old suckled at her teat (yes, Zach and I felt a leetle uncomfortable at that point). Her midwife was apparently stuck in traffic so she delivered them by herself, the second one being in a breech position (head up=kinda dangerous), and she literally reaches into her vag, grabs the baby's foot, and pulls it out of her like it's no big thang.

"Grab a shoelace so I can tie off the cord, honey!"

Oh, I can SO do this, I thought.

At my baby shower, about 6 weeks before I was due

At my 37-week appointment, my midwife was smooshing my stomach around to feel for the baby's position and she frowned.

"I think this little bugger may be breech. Go see my friend at the ultrasound office and check."

Sure enough, the "little bugger" was head up, butt down, with her feet up against her face. Like a pike position (called a frank breech). This meant that: a) I could try to find an old-school doctor who was open to trying a breech delivery in a hospital, b) Sign ANOTHER super-strict agreement with my midwife that if we attempted a breech birth at home and things went wrong, we couldn't sue her blah, blah, blah, and c) I could do everything in my power to make the baby turn to the proper position before I went into labor. I chose c).

I did everything, I mean EVERYTHING, to get Addie to turn around. Not only did I do the acupuncture, Chinese moxa stick, chiropractor, handstands in the pool, laying on an ironing board with my feet up on the couch, yoga positions, and squatting, but I meditated, talked, begged, pleaded to my baby, "Please, baby, please. Please turn around. You are messing with MY PLAN. Here, follow this flashlight I'm annoying you with." Nothing worked. And I was 38 weeks along.

We finally tried one last resort: the external version. This is when a highly skilled doctor handles the baby from the outside and physically turns it around. It's normally done from weeks 32-34, when there is still plenty of amniotic fluid and space in the womb. Not at week 38. I know, I know. In hindsight, I was a little insane. But I would not give up the idea of having a home-birth. My child DESERVED to be born in a calm, loving home where she wouldn't be suctioned and poked and prodded right away. It was my duty to protect her, I thought.

The version worked. And it hurt like a motherfucker. It feels like someone is jabbing and twisting you in your vital organs as hard as they possibly can. I think it was almost worse than labor contractions. I have a high pain threshold and I was listening to meditations on my ipod and there were tears streaming down my face. It took 25 minutes, and just as the doctor was going to throw in the towel, she turned around. God, she was stubborn from the very beginning.

We were back on track, and I was incredibly happy and relieved. Now, she just had to STAY in that position and the rest would be easy-peasy.

Or so I thought...

...to be continued...

Go to Part II