Baby #4 Birth Story

How to Cope When You’re Expecting Free Bird and You Get Fuel


I am a quote fiend. I love to spout the wisdom of others who have said what I think more eloquently or humorously than I ever could. A few favorites are:

“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.” –Jimmy Dugan, ‘A League of Their Own’

“We must dare to be great; and we must realize that greatness is the fruit of toil and sacrifice and high courage.” – Teddy Roosevelt

“Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty… I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life.” –Teddy Roosevelt

(Any Teddy Roosevelt quote, really.)

Do you notice a pattern? I’ve spent my life valuing personal challenge, believing it is important to do hard things because strenuous effort is one of the essential ways to build character.

That might explain why I have appreciated the process of childbirth. I don’t love the painful aspect, but I do value the unexpected lessons I’ve learned during those very hard experiences. With that in mind, I’m going to share the story of my fourth and final baby’s birth and my quest for the lesson embedded in that process.

First, I’m going to summarize my older kids' births because I believe my history is significant... My first child was a cesarean delivery due to “failure to descend” after 34 hours of labor (two and a half of those hours were active pushing). After he was born, we realized he was positioned Occiput Posterior (or OP, with the back of his head facing my back) and was asynclitic (his head was tilted so one ear was touching one shoulder), which we believe accounted for his failure to descend. My second baby appeared to turn into the OP position during labor and was actually born “sunny side up” after a five hour labor (again, two and a half of those hours were pushing). We figured it simply may have been a coincidence. By the time my third baby turned OP, again during labor (following two and a half hours of pushing, naturally) and also came out facing the ceiling, my midwife and I had a Come to Jesus talk. We needed to face facts: My pelvis, the midwife explained, is likely shaped in a way that my babies need to turn OP to best facilitate their exits.

When I learned we were expecting our fourth baby, I decided to do some research into OP babies and birth. My research left me feeling glad I’d gone into previous labors without that knowledge.

As it turns out, OP labors are notoriously longer, harder, and less predictable than “typical” labor patterns with rear-facing, or Occiput Anterior (OA) babies. The back labor that can be associated with OP labors is described as extremely painful. One source I found indicated only four percent of babies are born facing up as my kids were; most turn earlier in the labor process, or many women opt for cesareans because of the notoriously long, difficult labors. (Again, these things may have defeated me had I known them going into previous labors.)

With this history in mind, I set out to be physically, mentally, and emotionally prepared to the greatest extent possible.  I walked at least four miles a day most days and focused on hydration and excellent nutrition. Even though I had the best of intentions, I didn’t get serious about Spinning Babies and Birthing From Within until about 37 weeks gestation. Spinning Babies was helpful because my baby was positioned ideally in LOA (left occiput anterior) position by 38 weeks. I was feeling more confident about pain management because of the Birthing From Within exercises.

I have given birth medicated and unmedicated, and the unmedicated birth was a far better experience for me for a number of reasons (one of which was my blood pressure completely tanking during my third labor). For my last baby, I hoped to have another unmedicated experience.

When people would constantly comment on how I must be “so ready” for the baby to be born (this seems to start around 32 weeks), I would honestly answer that I feel great when I’m pregnant. Since this was my last pregnancy, I was trying to really enjoy the experience while it lasted, too.

I started telling people, around the 38 week mark, that I needed the baby to “stay in” until at least June 6, even though my 40 week date was June 4. My mom wouldn’t be arriving in town to watch my older kids until June 2, so I didn’t want to deal with finding childcare on the fly if I went into labor prior to that. I had a hair appointment on June 4, and I was planning to make much-anticipated jambalaya for dinner June 5 (priorities, people!).  So June 6 or any time after was my goal.

The baby must have heard me. On the night of June 6, Nate and I were watching Law and Order when I started having contractions around 10:30 p.m. Even though I’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions of increasing intensity for weeks, I had a feeling these were going to evolve into actual labor. I headed to bed to get some rest.

I woke up around 2:00 a.m. to use the restroom and noticed mild contractions. They continued and I couldn’t get back to sleep; I just had a feeling this was going to turn into something more. So I took a shower, packed for the hospital, wrote some last-minute notes for my mom, texted the birth photographer, and Nate and I left the house around 5:15. Even though my contractions weren't what I considered "serious" yet, we didn’t want to be stuck in rush hour traffic if they intensified (we live 45 minutes away from the hospital).

At that point, I had to stop to focus and breathe through every contraction, but they were still manageable. I suggested to Nate that he stop for coffee on the way, since I thought we probably had a few hours ahead of us. My contractions were only 30 seconds long, at the most, and I felt they would need to get longer and stronger before we could make any progress and get admitted to the hospital.

The drive was unexpectedly a bit poignant for me. We were greeted by the sight of a beautiful sunrise when we started our trip. We also saw a group of wild horses grazing by the side of the road, which I captured on film completely by accident as I took a picture of the sunrise.  It seemed like an auspicious morning to start a new chapter of our lives.

We got to the hospital around 6:00. I remember telling Nate I wanted to avoid bothering the nurses around shift change at 7:00.  We decided to walk around outside the hospital and in the little meditation garden. My contractions seemed pretty close together, definitely less than every five minutes, but they were still short. I was trying hard not to stress but I kept thinking, “they need to get longer and stronger if I’m going to have this baby in two or three hours” (a two or three hour labor was the goal the kids and I had been praying for during recent bedtime prayers).

I would keep stopping with every contraction, breathe, and try different pain management techniques from Birthing From Within. They definitely were effective at that point.

I believe we only did one lap around the garden when we stopped at an outdoor table. I leaned on the table to have a contraction and felt something pop. What had just occurred didn’t immediately register, but I told Nate “something just happened.” It became abundantly clear very soon that my water had just broken. We decided to head inside to L & D because I was making a mess.

Without exaggeration, I can say labor went from zero to sixty immediately. My contractions got incredibly intense and incredibly close together. I had at least two in the less than five minutes it took us to walk to L & D. When we got to the nurses’ station (I’ll be damned if it wasn’t 6:45, right before shift change), I couldn’t even speak to give my social security number to the nurse at the desk. I had to completely stop all movement and just retreat inward every time a contraction came.

A nurse took us to a room right away. I should mention here that the next hour is blurry at points, so I'm recounting the story to the best of my ability. The back of my hospital bed was at a 90 degree angle. After I changed into a gown, I got in right away and knelt facing the back, hugging the bed. For some reason, that position was most comfortable in my second and third labors, too. I was having the urge to push at times, so I went ahead and did that when it felt right.

At the same time, I was trying to give my nurse my pertinent information: “fourth baby… VBAC… GBS positive… babies all turn OP during labor. I've always pushed for two and a half hours before they come out.” A few minutes later, I heard one nurse sharing this information with another nurse (presumably during shift change). The nurse who was checking my dilation at that time responded, “This baby isn’t OP and it will be here way before two hours.”

I was a little shocked to hear this, but I couldn’t give it much thought because my contractions seemed to be coming with only seconds in between. I can also now say with confidence that I have experienced back labor (it's hard to say if I did with the other kids because I don't remember the pain clearly enough, to tell the truth). The uterine contractions didn’t hurt a bit compared to the unrelenting, excruciating pain in my tailbone. From the moment I got into the bed, that sensation was present. I felt the need to bear down but that didn’t alleviate the pain at all.

The midwife came in pretty soon after I arrived, although I was facing the back of my bed and had very little awareness of what was happening behind me. I did hear her and the nurses agree to forgo the IV antibiotics for the Group B Strep, since they felt the baby was coming imminently. The on-call OBGYN also came into the room fairly early, which I thought was unusual. The policy has always been for the physicians to come in to VBAC midwife-attended labors around two hours of pushing, but when I asked later, I was told this doctor just happened to come in to say hello and ended up sticking around.

Someone (I don’t know if it was the doctor, midwife, or nurse) was suggesting position changes when they didn’t feel pushing was progressing quickly enough. I didn’t really love the way things were going, to tell the truth. I have had long pushing stages before, but the group of people in the room kept directing me to try different things when they didn’t think things were going fast enough. No one seemed to understand that this pattern is normal for me. I was in too much pain to speak most of the time, but when I did speak, I didn’t feel heard.

I read (after this birth happened) that some women experience back labor as nonstop. This was definitely my experience during the birth of this baby. To my frustration, the doctor would say things like, “You’re not having a contraction right now, you can’t push right now. Relax your face and hands. Just relax and take a break until your next contraction.” What I didn’t have the energy, focus, or breath to tell her was that the uterine contractions had nothing to do with my tension. The constant pain in my coccyx was so severe I couldn’t speak, and I was trying to push when my body wanted to push because it felt like the pain was nonstop.  Because I didn’t have the energy to argue, though, I did whatever the team directed me to do.

In hindsight, I know the doctor meant well. Maybe she wanted the pushing to go quickly because she wanted to alleviate my pain. I’m grateful for that. But this birth felt different from my other kids’ births, and it was unique in the sense that I felt disempowered. Everything felt directed by the health care team and I felt like my body wasn't moving fast enough for anyone.

After about half an hour of pushing, the team decided maybe the baby wasn’t coming immediately and to get my antibiotics going. I remember my nurse, Angela, apologizing when she inserted an IV during a contraction and it got messy. Something similar happened during my second baby’s birth, and it cracks me up. During labor, I got 99 problems and my IV ain’t one.

The midwife and doctor had me push on my side for a while, then on my back (which I have hated in all my kids’ births). Again, I couldn’t spare the energy to argue. After a few pushes, I felt the same but everyone else in the room started to get excited. Someone said, “Jill, the baby’s head is RIGHT THERE!” Honestly, my overall attitude about that was, BFD. Ask the midwife who attended my first child’s birth how long she stared at the top of my baby’s head before I eventually was sent for my cesarean (spoiler: it was about 24 hours).

The doctor said, “Jill, you need to push like you just did on that last contraction. If you can do that, we’ll have a baby on the next push!”

There are some pretty obvious benefits to expedient childbirth. But I have to give a shout out to long pushing stages because, with my older kids, I pushed for over two hours and was too numb to feel the babies' actual exits when they eventually happened. This time, I felt it. It wasn’t such a big deal since it happened in less than a second, and truthfully, I was more focused on the blessed relief of getting the pain off my tailbone during that last push. But feeling my second degree tear as it happened was not the highlight of my day.

The highlight of my day, as it turns out, happened right after someone placed the baby on my abdomen. Nate couldn’t stand the suspense and looked right away to find out the baby’s sex. He seemed so shocked and happy when he said to me, “It’s a GIRL!!!!!”

As with our first daughter, I didn’t believe him at all. I had wanted another girl but I had been afraid to even hope for that. Two girls and two boys in our family just seemed too perfect and I hadn’t wanted to be disappointed.

So, it was Catherine Belle who came barreling into our world at 7:58 a.m. on June 7, about an hour after we’d arrived in L & D. And yes, that child had turned OP after the nurse examined me and declared "this baby is not OP." She was born facing the sky like her awesome siblings.

I spent some time snuggling her while the midwife stitched me up. We were all pretty adrenalized, and the pictures of us laughing and joking around reflect that. I was bleeding more than my team was comfortable with, so my nurse started a Pitocin drip and kept me in my delivery room for a bit longer instead of transferring me.  (That was fine with me! My nurse, Angela, was amazing. She completely pampered us; even though she was really busy, she took the time to make Kate a hat with a bow and a totally girly name sign.)

After a bit, everyone cleared out of the room and Nate, Kate, and I were alone. This is my favorite part of her birth story and I regret being unable to fully articulate those moments. I've never been skydiving, but I think that part of the day is best compared to my understanding of skydiving. We had this intense, fast-paced birth that felt like we were careening from a plane toward the earth. The part when everyone finally left the room felt like the moment the skydiver activates his or her parachute. We just kind of floated for a bit. Everything felt so out of focus and surreal.

Nate and I both just sat back quietly, a little in shock, and absorbed the miracle that had just unfolded in our lives. I think we both had a sense that we needed to ease back onto a normal plane of existence. So naturally, there was nothing to do but put on Dark Side of the Moon and relax.

I couldn't say for sure what Nate was thinking about, but I sat in bed and imagined telling our four year-old daughter that she had the sister she wanted so badly (and that made me weepy). I also felt a really bittersweet mix of relief and melancholy that our final family member was here. On one hand, I felt like we'd been waiting to eat some fantastic holiday meal until every guest had arrived, and that guest was finally here. On the other hand, my belly felt really empty (which also made me weepy).

When I've reflected on my older kids' births, I've always felt important lessons were embedded in the experiences. I've spent days trying to figure out what I have learned from Kate's birth, and it was challenging. Given my deeply ingrained belief that HARD experiences are THE BEST experiences, one hour of HARD (even if it was one hour of a nonstop, horrifying contraction) doesn't necessarily feel like it was hard enough. (I believe my Catholic may be showing here.)

When I've talked about my first three kids' births, people sometimes seem sympathetic that I had to push so long and vigorously before the babies were born. I've started comparing it to the Lynyrd Skynyrd song "Free Bird." If I flip on the radio and find myself at the beginning of Free Bird, I'm going to sit through about six minutes of music I would typically turn off  (I'm being honest here) because I know the song gets amazing toward the end. It's worth the wait.

I was expecting Free Bird for my fourth baby's birth. I would classify Kate's birth as less Free Bird and more Metallica's "Fuel." It was crazy from the very beginning; no wait needed.

So, what could I have learned in one short hour of HARD? I've thought and all I can come up with, really, is this: Life has some pretty dark moments. We face devastating news at times and we have to go through hard seasons of life that shape us irrevocably. We get dealt bad hands when we were hoping for much more. But maybe, just maybe, sometimes God just hands us a beautiful gift, no strings attached. Sometimes we do a rain dance and we get rain.

Maybe my last childbirth experience is really one that conveys more than a parenting lesson to me. I have four safe and healthy children. I get to parent them with my best friend and the love of my life. I have my own health, amazing friends, and a wonderful extended family. We live in a country with so many freedoms.

My blessings are too many to count and that weighs on me every day when I read the news. I often feel guilty that so many others are suffering while I'm living my life. So, I can continue to advocate for others who don't share my privileges. I can continue to pray for them, donate money and time to their causes, teach my children to stand with them or for them. But after I do those things, I can put aside my guilt and try to feel worthy of the staggering, truly breathtaking gifts that have been showered on me. Because, goddamn it, I'm in the middle of my rainstorm, whether I deserve it or not. And I think the best way I can offer my prayer of gratitude, the best way I can be worthy of it, is to dance around in it.