Making his entrance – Part 1

It’s crazy how much guilt one simple thing — like when and how the baby comes — can bring with it.

Originally, baby boy’s due date was September 3. Then the doctor told me at some point September 1 was more accurate, but it never got changed in the computer — so September 3 it stayed in the system. And when his little belly was measuring at the 98th percentile on August 29, the doctor suggested we schedule an induction for September 4th if he didn’t come before then. I readily agreed.

“He has 6 days to decide on his own before we help him out on Monday.” The doctor said before we left the office.

Brian and I were ready. We’d been ready since I realized the week before that I was having regular contractions. So, from then on I did whatever google said to in order to encourage this baby to come sooner.

And. Well. Nothing worked. And I was beginning to feel defeated.

So Sunday morning, the day before baby boy’s induction, I sat down to sort through my feelings. Man I had a lot of guilt.

• Guilt that I didn’t push to have him induced at 38 weeks when he was still smaller and a VBAC would be more likely to be successful
• Guilt that I was trying to take control of the situation and “make him come sooner”
• Guilt that my interventions didn’t work
• Guilt that I’d agreed to an induction rather than let him come when my body and he decided
• Guilt that I knew that having an induction meant a higher chance labor would end in C-section
• Guilt that I was afraid of labor and really just wanted to be a scaredy cat and choose a C-section to make things nice and planned and straightforward for me

Whew. As I sorted through all of those guilty feelings, I realized many of the regrets even contradicted each other. If I’d fulfilled one of them I’d have failed another. My criteria for success was impossible— it seemed I was determined to beat myself up no matter what I did.

So I paused. And I asked Jesus to give me his perspective. A redeemed one that wasn’t full of accusations and finger pointing at myself. A perspective of compassion and acceptance.

And boy oh boy were the thoughts that came way better.

I had the option to choose a c-section early on, but instead, I chose to face my fears and opt for a VBAC, which definitely wasn’t a selfish decision. I let him wait until fullterm and did everything I could to help prep my body and him to come, that was loving. But then I also listened to medical advice to schedule a time for him to come, again with the understanding that if we waited much longer, a VBAC might become physically impossible. Besides, even if the induction ended in a C-section, it was good to remember that childbirth was highly deadly to moms and babies for almost all of humanity’s time on earth. Now in the last century isn’t it incredible that we have an option to save both our lives if a c-section is medically necessary l?

Wow. Those thoughts were far kinder and more loving than the others I’d been having.

I felt a sort of resigned peace and calmness descend. I’d done what I could. Induction, while it wasn’t my hope, was still okay. I was making the best decisions I could with the information I had. Even though he didn’t end up choosing his timing in the end, we were going to be okay.

So I spent the rest of Sunday, his official due date, preparing the last minute details of coordinating schedules and puppy watchers and Eloise carers. And went to bed by 10 at night, knowing I’d need my rest for what I was expecting to be a 24+ hour marathon of having this baby starting at 8 on Monday.

Then, less than 1.5 hours later, I woke up in a puddle of water in our bed. Baby boy decided to take the doctor’s advice after all and come on his own before the induction started.

I called our midwife to let her know, and then tried to get more rest like she suggested. Unsurprisingly, sleep was hard to come by. And within a few hours, I could hear Eloise crying — which was very unusual for her in the middle of the night. So before I knew it, we had a circus in our living room — the entire house was wide awake.

Our friend, who was going to stay with Eloise while Brian and I were in the hospital, was already at our home and wide awake, and Brian soon was, too. So at 3am the three of us sat in the living room in what felt like a circus. Brian played guitar to soothe Eloise. Our friend bounced our hysterical toddler. I sang her favorite song from on top of a yoga ball. All the while puppy played happily and kept bringing each of us toys. The situation felt absurdly comical — at some point we all looked at each other and burst out laughing. Eventually, though, Eloise calmed down enough that it felt safe for us all to go back to our beds.

So everyone fell back asleep while I laid down and waited for either sleep or strong contractions to come (because, timing wise, I’d been having very regular contractions that were super mild for almost 2 weeks by then). By 6 am I still hadn’t slept and decided maybe my contractions were getting stronger indeed.

So at 8:30 on Monday, Brian and I pulled up to the hospital — 30 minutes after our original induction appointment when they had planned to break my waters to get the party started. It turned out there had been no need, because baby boy had started the party on his own. I felt so proud.

By the time they checked, I was 4cm dilated, so I called our midwife who headed out from her home. Within an hour, she was stuck in traffic and my contractions were getting very painful very quickly. My pain tolerance has never been great, so I asked for an epidural before she’d even arrived. It turns out I’d dilated to almost 8cm by then. But, thankfully, they still agreed to try it and the epidural worked.

I’ll spare you the details of what came next, but I can indeed confirm, as I had suspected, I am a wimp when it comes to pain. I definitely thought I was going to die. Pass out. That he wasn’t going to fit. That we needed to just give up and go for surgery.

Over and over again, though, our midwife reassured me I was doing great. I didn’t believe it.

Over and over again, Brian looked at the monitor and reassured me baby boy’s heart rate was steady and staying within a safe range during my contractions. I barely believed it.

Yet still, with the patience and kindness of Brian and our midwife and the doctors who came in the final hour, our sweet baby boy was born around 2:30pm on Monday.

He made his entrance and for a moment, everything was silent. I held my breath.

Then, he started crying.

Both Brian and I joined him, but with tears of joy. Immediately they laid him on my chest, covered him with a towel, and I was overcome with such relief and gratitude.

That Bible verse about women forgetting the pain of labor when they get their baby? Completely true this time for me.

A woman giving birth to a child has painbecause her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.

John 16:22 NLT

All that pain of labor seemed like a momentary inconvenience when I got to hold our baby boy.

He made it. I made it. We made it.

On social media we’ll refer to him as K. But his name was one Brian suggested and we both agreed upon 16 years ago, probably right around this exact time actually. His name means “gift devoted to God.”

And well, he really is a gift. A long awaited for one.

Meet the (big) little guy.

Next part — on what came after.

All our love,

Mallory, Brian, Big Sis Eloise, and Baby Boy K

P.S. These first days especially are so deeply precious to us. I want to savor them — we’ve waited so long. So if you send me a message or leave a comment in the next few days or even weeks (maybe months!) please don’t be offended if I never respond. 🫣 It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that I like him more.