Week 40: My Water Birth

I’m overjoyed to announce the birth of our daughter Lucinda born on Monday, three days past her due date. She’s a whopping 4.33kg and 55cm of pure scrumptiousness, with her daddy’s long legs and the chubbiest cheeks since Chubby Checker.

As for how she got here? I can thank Anna Wintour.

Resigned to being overdue, I made plans to see Vogue documentary The September Issue at the movies at midday, secretly hoping that I’d jinx myself into labour. Sure enough, 15 minutes in to the movie, just as Paris Fashion Week was in full swing, I clocked the light contractions I’d had all morning at 6 minutes apart. The regularity convinced me that this could indeed be ‘it’ so I figured I needed to leave while I could still drive home, so rang my husband and had him meet me back at the house.

At home, I practised a few techniques from Active Birth to get me through the increasingly strong back contractions. Vocalisation (”Ahhhh”) worked well, stamping and bouncing on a fitball not so much. Just like my son’s posterior labour I found the greatest relief under a scalding hot shower by candlelight. Strangely, contractions usually came on when S. wasn’t in the room, giving credence to Michael Odent’s recent theories on men and labour.

Once the contractions were four minutes apart, I called the birth centre and asked if I should come in. The midwife’s advice was to hold out until either I couldn’t take the pain anymore or I ran out of hot water. Whatever came first.

I held out for another hour or so in the bathroom before the faint promise of pain relief became an overwhelming need. So at about 7.30pm we headed off to the hospital, me screaming through two contractions in the front seat and again out the front of the hospital. I think i may have frightened some small children…

At the birth centre I was examined and found to be 4-5cm dilated – promising, but I still thought I had a long wait ahead, based on my last labour which was about 17 hours long.

But back under the blissful double hot water jets, The frequency and force of the contractions, which had slowed as my body adjusted to the new environment, kicked back in with great intensity. I summoned for the gas and clamped down on the hose like a demented animal.

The next hour and a half was quite a blur of shouting, sucking on gas and sobbing as the contractions started to come right on top of each other. I frequently told my partner that I couldn’t do it anymore, he responded each time that I was doing it and that she’d be here soon. I felt really strong baby movements and could actually physically see my stomach distorting as she changed positions from posterior. No natural “pain management technique” was useful anymore, all I could do was hang in there for dear life.

The next thing I knew, the new shift Midwife, Sue, had me on my back in the bath and my waters broke. She took my crack pipe gas hose away said that if I felt like pushing, to go right ahead.

Woah, steady on! I was only just getting my breath back from going through transition. I announced that I was not ready to push and wanted to get out of the bath. Intense emotions are common at this stage of labour and in my case I was shaking and in denial. Sue and my husband kept up the encouragement and sure enough, the next contraction (thankfully these were not as fast and painful as the earlier ones) were accompanied by the urge to ‘bear down’. Having had an epidural with my son the feeling was unusual and scared the crap out of me.

Within only two rounds of pushing, her head was ready to crown. Terrified, but overwhelmed now by the incredible, primal urge running through me I bore down several times in quick succession and several excruciating seconds later the worst was over and her head was out. All too quickly I was being told to give just a couple of small pushes and she slid out, scooped out of the water by Sue and placed in my arms. Squealing ‘my baby, my baby!’ it was a moment of utter joy as Shane and I held our beautiful screaming girl for the first time. I felt the flood of oxytocin that I’d only read about and all pain was forgotten as I cradled her. Here is the magic moment.

It was 10.30pm, only 12 hours since I’d gone into early labour. The midwives marvelled at her size and the skipping-rope length umbilical cord. At 4.33kg she was almost half a kilo bigger than my son who was born 10 days later in gestation, with the same big head size of 37cm (yes, I needed stitches, lots of them, let’s not talk about it.)

The next couple of hours were idyllic as the placenta was delivered without incident and we were left alone in the home-like confines of the birth centre for skin-to-skin bonding time and a brilliant first breastfeed, after which Lucinda fell into a massive seven hour sleep.

I couldn’t believe how amazing I felt after a natural birth. Too wired to stay in bed, I woke at 5am, put on lip gloss, made some toast and read Grazia magazine while my new family slept. Such a civilised way to recover post-birth.

The exhaustion has caught up with me a few days later, but now that I’m home after a short hospital stay I can sit on my own couch, eat chocolates and take endless photos of Lucie. We’re getting the hang of the whole feeding thing, her brother is getting used to not being the centre of the universe anymore (anyone got any tips on sibling jealousy?) and I’m remarking at how it is indeed possible to function on only 4 hours of broken sleep a night.

Thanks for following my journey to this point and I wish all my pregnant readers the best of luck with their own births and baby moons. So, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go take a nap.