Quick recap on my first birth experience: I wanted to do anything I could to avoid a cesarean. I switched from my OB to a midwife at 28 weeks and enthusiastically embraced home birth. I trusted that my baby and my body knew how to get the job done with little intervention. Just over a week past my due date, I went into labor on a Tuesday evening. By Thursday afternoon, I had only made it to 3 cm and I had come to the realization the my midwives really didn't have a grasp on what was going on. After a botched IV that resulted in me pouring blood all over my bathroom floor, I headed to the hospital, where I labored until Friday morning when I eventually wound up with a c-section. My recovery was terrible and there was no way that I could imagine doing that again with a toddler (a.k.a. the Texas Tornado) living in my house.
After Niamh was born, I chose a new OB in a very VBAC-friendly practice. She was totally on board when I initially expressed interest and even encouraged me to give it a go in order to avoid some of the complications that could potentially arise with 3 or 4 cesareans. Of course, there are risks associated with every birth and, as any mom knows, babies tend to have their own plans and don't want to be influenced by our attempts to formulate "birth plans." Damn kids.
Throughout my pregnancy with Rowan, I tried to take things as they came; I was going to shoot for a VBAC, but if it didn't work out, it was ok. Looking back, I think that decision to simply try again gave me a feeling of power and control that I had lost the first time around.
I woke up on my due date with some crampiness and contractions around 6:00 am. By 8:00 I was in the tub relaxing and getting cleaned up (anticipating that I would probably be heading to the hospital in the next 24 hours and should probably shave my legs!) and Jeff and Niamh ran off to pick up some breakfast tacos. My contractions were about 9 minutes apart and lasting 45 seconds to a minute. No big deal, eh?
All of a sudden, it was like someone flipped a switch: my contractions were one minute on and one minute off. Frantic, I called Jeff and told him to get home so we could get to the hospital. I was concerned that I get there with plenty of time to monitor my scar for any signs of rupture and also to get an epidural so that I could be awake for the birth in the event that I wound up with another c-section.
By 10:15 we arrived at Texas Children's and my water broke immediately. With only one minute of rest in between contractions, I was begging for an epidural...although they could probably figure out that I wanted one based on my choice language. Lots of f-bombs. Whoops.
By 5:30 that evening, I was fully dilated and ready to have a baby! She was being VERY cooperative and working her way down on her own so I firmly believed she and I were on the same page and this was going to happen. The L&D team (who was amazing, by the way) coached me on how to push and within 30 minutes, BAM! All my doubts about my ability to birth a baby went right out the window.
The experience was unbelievably surreal; still to this day, I almost don't even believe it worked out the way it did. My recovery has been so drastically different this time, both physically and emotionally. I went through a tough period after Niamh was born because I felt as though I had done everything I could to avoid a c-section but failed. Yes, let's dwell on that insidious little thought for a moment: I. had. failed. It took me quite some time to realize that I hadn't actually failed myself or my baby; the way a woman brings a child into the world is not a reflection on how hard she worked, how badly she wanted it, or how beautifully she decorated her well-researched birth plan for the hospital staff. Sometimes things happen. Sometimes things unfold in a way that we wish they hadn't despite our best efforts. And that sucks. But life is funny and babies are funny; there's no telling what's around the corner.
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