The Day You Were Born

Father and son. I love them.
Doula and Baby
The wonderful, patient doctor who delivered Penn
The sweet and charming Scottish nurse who stayed past her shift to see Penn into the world.

Little Charlie Penn is already 2 weeks old, and I have yet to post much of anything about the story of his birth. So, here it goes...

His due date came.

And his due date went.

And I was still pregnant.

Mom flew in the next day, and I started through the list of old wives tales...I did try castor oil, and it got things moving...just not the baby. I took evening primrose oil. I bounced on the birth ball so much that Mom was afraid I might give the baby brain damage. I ate spicy food. I drank raspberry leaf tea. I hiked four miles.

And still nothing. Of course, I had been dilated to 4 cm for weeks. We had scheduled an induction for Tuesday, but I thought surely I would go into labor before then. Monday night, I called the doc's office and with a heavy heart canceled the sure bet of having a baby the next day. The thought of trying to have a baby naturally with the aid of Pitocin just sounded miserable. And after all the effort of planning on a natural birth just to give it all up in the final week seemed petty. But I was sooooo ready not to be pregnant any more. And I wanted Mom to meet her grandson before she had to fly back to Louisiana. We had four more days.

We made the most of Mom's visit by going to the Biltmore, where she had never been before. We went to the pool, where I continued the belly parade. We ate good food, which Mom generously cooked for us. We went shopping for cute little baby things, and Mom stocked our baby medicine cabinet with things a pediatric nurse knows best to purchase. And we had a good time.

Thursday morning, I thought maybe I was leaking amniotic fluid and went into the hospital. They said it was just a little, but that they would go ahead and keep me. Yes! I was having a baby...but would all go as planned? I asked that they break my water instead of begin Pitocin, and because I have such a great doctor who understood my desire to have this baby naturally, they were flexible.

So, they broke my water at 2 in the afternoon. The doula showed up a few minutes later, yoga pants and birth ball and all, ready to rock and roll. She and Brandon and I began walking the halls, and I wasn't really having any contractions of notice. We walked up and down the stairs in the stair well, and things started happening. I think I was so excited to actually be in labor that I didn't focus on the pain. It turns out I walked through active labor, and by the time we got back to the room, I was 8 cm dilated. At that point they wanted me to stay in the room, and I was feeling pained enough not to argue. I sat on the birth ball with my hands on Brandon's chest, eyes closed, and entered the zone. All along, the doula was encouraging us and helping keep us on track. Our amazing Scottish nurse Maggie was there to help with anything we needed. And all along, my husband was at my side, holding my hand, wiping my forehead, telling me I was doing great. I can't say enough for the support he gave me.

An hour later, when the doctor checked again, I was 9 1/2 cm, and everyone got excited, like I might have this baby by 7 that night. I got on the bed and they said to go ahead and start pushing. And push I did. Two hours in, and I started feeling very discouraged. It didn't seem like we were making much progress, and I felt exhausted, breathless, and hungry. "I just need some hope," I remember saying. Brandon went and made a few calls, asking people to pray. And it's like I could feel their prayers being answered as I labored. Just when I would think I couldn't make it any longer, I would get the strength I needed. God was with me, and he was in the room, and in my pain, I felt comforted.

My doctor's shift was up, so he went home, and a woman doctor from the same practice came in to do the delivery. As the doula's hippie music played in the background, my room transformed into a bona fide hospital room--it looked like a place where a baby might actually be born, and that inspired me. As did the clock. I had about two more hours until Friday the Thirteenth, so I told myself that I had to have that baby before then. Sparing all the gory details, at 11:30, our sweet little boy made his entrance into the world. They put him on my chest, and I kissed him, and Brandon and I looked at each other, filled with love for our son. Our 9 pound, 3 ounce, very large son.

We named him Charles Penn after Brandon's Uncle Charlie and my mom Penny. We couldn't think of two more humble people to name him after, and I'm proud of the heritage that he shares in his namesakes.

Penn's birth was an awesome challenge, but even more awesomely rewarding. We had the best team of nurses, doctors, and doula who supported us through the birth plan, and who cheered us on. I felt empowered that we had a plan and stuck to it, even though it was at times frustrating, difficult to be patient, and hurt like heck. In the two weeks following, I've felt so good, better than my last weeks of pregnancy. Penn is such a good baby, eating and sleeping and growing into a healthy little guy, one day at a time.