The Following is Intended for Mature Audiences Only

After reading two awesome birth stories, I have become inspired to share my own with you, lucky readers! Well, one of them. All three of my birth stories are, of course, interesting and inspirational and amazing. But I will share with you the one that is most fresh in my mind: the birth of Liam.

I'm going to skip over a lot. I went in to be induced (amazing considering I had spent 4 months on bedrest trying to retain the child in my womb) and all were impressed that I needed only to have my water broken to get things moving. Pitocen was not required. I sailed along, quite smug and proud of myself, and impressed that my body was so smart. It knew just what to do! No drugs required! Therein lies the root of the strange idea that I wouldn't need drugs AT ALL. I had had an epidural with Caleb and with Aidan. I had planned on having one with Liam. But I was doing so well! It wasn't bad! It hurt, yeah, but it was manageable! And my body was amazing! It was doing what it needed to do. All by itself.

The nurse checked me and discovered that I was 6cm. All present (Jim, my sister Jen, another nurse) appeared impressed at my courage and my great resolve to do this without an epidural. Simultaneously, my nurse broke my water again, having discovered a small pocket remaining.
A contraction hit. Hit like a freight train, and a small seed of fear germinated within me.
Oh my God, I said.

My onlookers were unconcerned.

Another contraction, and I was writhing on the bed and screaming.

OH MY GAAAAAAAAAAWWWWD! I said.

Some concern was registering on the faces of my onlookers.

The nurse said maybe she should check me again. 8cm. In two contractions, I had dialated two centimeters, and I was sure I was going to die. That small seed of fear grew to something of Jack and the Beanstalk proportions.

My nurse called the doctor, and I writhed and screamed as another contraction ripped through me. My eyes rolled back in my head with the pain of it, and I knew only one thing: the pain. And that I had to get this painby (a.k.a. wondrous fruit of my womb) out of my paingina painmmediately or else I was going to pain from the utter pain of it all and who decided that pain should be such a huge part of this whole paincreation business anyway ok I get the whole Adam and Eve thing but I didn't pick the painple!

The doctor arrived post-haste (I was the only woman on the ward, or so I thought) and examined me as I thrashed and screamed, and declared that the baby was in a weird position (I can only assume it was the same position he'd been in for two months, hence the plagiocephaly) and he would not be born that way. My brain chose to retain "he will not be born" and I became convinced that I would be in this pain for the remainder of my life. Which wouldn't be that long, anyway, considering the pain. I started to cry. Now I was screaming and crying, and the nurse was urging me onto all fours, and shoving an oxygen mask onto my face.

I rocked side to side at the insistance of my nurse, trying to turn the baby into a more birth-able position, crying and screaming the whole time. At some point, I screamed "I have to PUUUUUUUSH" without really intending to. I flipped over and the sensation worsened. Let me tell you, having not have had the actual sensation of a baby crowning before, I was shocked and quite positive that the baby was not going to fit.

I looked at my nurse.
"He's not going to fit!!!" I exclaimed.

The doctor and the other nurse in the room chuckled. Apparently they were not sympathetic to my plight.

"No, really! He's not going to fitohholyshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" And then my body took over. I was pushing, pushing with my whole self and with every muscle I owned without thinking.

It subsided and I gazed at Jim in disbelief. I had no control. And Jim was crying. And Jen was crying. Oh, I feel sad about that oh my God another another "aaaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHH!"
At this point I remember thinking that I have a nice set of lungs on me. And wasn't it interesting that I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling back into my head? That must be disturbing to onlookers.

"Look down, Theresa! Look, your baby is coming!" shouted the nurse, and I tried to look, I really did, but my eyeballs were so far back in my head that all I could see was my brain.
Then, in one amazing moment, he was gone from my body and laying on my belly, warm and wriggling, and looking into my eyes with such deep emotion and understanding that I was overwhelmed with love and awe at his existance.

"Oh, he's beautiful! He's beautiful, isn't he?" I looked at Jim, who had obviously been crying quite a lot. He nodded and apologized for getting snot on my shirt while he had been trying to comfort me.

I looked at Jen, who looked simultaneously like she had been slapped and like she had just won a trillion dollars. I remembered that the doctor had had to ask her to be quiet and stop stressing me out while I was pushing.

"How do you feel?" asked my nurse, and I remembered her leaning in so that her mouth was right next to my ear and saying, with barely contained control, "you are digging your fingernails into my hand and I need you to stop right now."

I remembered throwing the oxygen mask, with chutzpah, as far away from me as it would fly, as it was useless.

I said, "Wow, I'm sorry about all the screaming! Good thing I'm the only woman on the ward!" The nurse replied softly that another woman had come in just before I started to push. Eek.

I looked at my baby. My baby. And I knew that, although I had been sure I would die...although I felt as though my body had torn in half...although as I looked at him I realized that a rather sizeable piece of my heart would henceforth be living outside my body...I knew that I would do it again. I would do it a million times over for him.