Welcome to the world, Baby Boy, Part 4

The midwives offered to check me to see how dilated I was, but I was so reluctant because before, I'd been dilated to 7 cm a whole four days beforehand, and after several hours of contractions, I was afraid to have them check only to find out that I was still at 2 or something depressing like that.  I was afraid that knowing how far there was to go would make me believe I couldn't make it, so I put it off as long as possible, but before long, I started feeling like it was time to push and a quick check said we were at 9 cm!  I was a little nervous about pushing in the tub.  Pushing a baby into the world, opening the gateway for a soul, as some would say, is BIG work and I wasn't sure I felt grounded enough there to manage it, but the time came so quickly, there wasn't much time for doubts.

I'm always baffled when I see doctors telling women not to push or to wait to push.  It doesn't work that way for me and I can't imagine that it does for anyone else either.  It's just something you have to do, even beyond the feeling of having to breathe.  I pushed once, one big long push, and when I stopped, I remember the pain was terrible.  (Well, I remember that the idea of the pain was terrible, but I can't call up the sensation.  Strangest thing.  I can remember, with painful empathy, just what little hands scraped on asphalt feel like, just how it feels to pinch the tip of a finger in a chair, the jolt of pain from a toe stubbed in the dark, but labor?  Nothing.)  Amy, I think, told me that you were right on my perineum.  I remember saying sarcastically, "No kidding!"  And then I pushed a second time and they told me your head was out.  With the third push I remember feeling vaguely frustrated - all this laboring, two pushes, pain, and I still hadn't delivered a baby?  What the heck?!  So, I remembered gathering myself in a disorganized way and pushing one more time.  (I also remember saying, "Get out!" during that push.  Sorry - it wasn't a good place for you to hang out and I was ready to meet you.)  And then, there you were!

I don't remember who caught you.  I think it was Allison and it's in the paperwork somewhere, but I just remember you, all pink and blue and compressed, being put in my arms and warm wet towels being laid over both of us.  I was so stunned to have a boy.  I'd really been prepared for things to go either way and didn't have any "sixth sense" of what you might be, but somehow, wow, a boy!  (I'm delighted, just in case you're wondering.  I love little boys - the rowdy, sturdy gameness that they come at life with.)  It took you a few moments to gather yourself enough to cry and no one else was worried, but I remember asking over and over if you were okay.  And of course you were.  You arrived so solid and centered (I still cannot believe I had a 9 lb. baby) and in a moment or two, you began to "squeak," as your sister says.

Then, of course, there was a flurry of activity.  Delivering the placenta, making sure that there wasn't too much bleed, concern that you were too cold, etc.  (And that last push must have awakened your sister, because she started to cry.  Motherhood is so automatic and it supersedes so much else.  You were only here a moment, I was cuddling you up, and I was giving your dad instructions as he darted up the stairs to check on her: "Tell her everything's okay, but it's not time to get up yet.  Tell her you'll turn on Frances and when she wakes up in the morning, she can meet her little brother!"  As if I didn't have enough to do.  As if he didn't know that.)  Once I was able to think about other things, the water seemed very cold all of a sudden and we all wanted to make sure you were warm enough, so I handed you off to get dried and dressed, staggered out of the tub, dried off too, and we snuggled down in bed with blankets piled on us.